#just sick of how awful people can treat one another and believe this is acceptable | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghosttotheparty · 2 years

Text

angel

AO3 // 10,644 words

Nico has a crush on Will Solace.

He’s not happy about it.

If anything, he’s bitter. He finally gets over one boy that he’s had a crush on for ages, finally comes to terms with his queerness, finally accepts it as a part of himself that isn’t awful or evil, finally decided to make an effort to live his life as himself without hiding, and then…

And then the universe drops this boy in his life, right in the way, and no matter what Nico does, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get around him, can’t get over him.

He tries to annoyed with him, to be bothered by how he spends ninety seven percent of his time in the infirmary, by how he forced Nico to stay in bed for days on end, by how he taps his fingers on any surface within reach.

But he fucking can’t.

Even when he’s in the infirmary more often than anyone else, more often than his sibling and even the most clumsy campers, he’s helping people. Even when he forced Nico to stay, he was kind. He only touched him to heal him, left him alone when he wanted to be left alone, made fun of him just enough to get him to laugh, to relax. Even his incessant tapping is cute; soft gentle rhythms that sound like music.

Every single thing makes Nico fall harder and harder and harder, and he isn’t sure how many more times he can fall in love before it’s all too much.

And it makes it all worse that Will Solace is Nico’s best friend.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“I cannot believe you got yourself stabbed.”

“I didn’t get myself stabbed, I got stabbed. There’s a difference.”

Nico watches Will shake his head, tutting quietly, and smiles fondly. Will’s hair is tied back in a little knot, out of his face, out of the way, exposing the angles of his face. Nico lets his head fall not the bed, shutting his eyes, trying to dismiss the desire to kiss him.

It hurts as Will cleans the would and keeps pressure on it, and Nico is self-conscious with his shirt tucked up to his armpits, but he’s facing away from Will, and knows Will can’t see the blush colouring his cheeks.

“It isn’t too deep,” Will says softly, thoughtfully, like he’s just thinking out loud. He speaks like that a lot. Sometimes Nico doesn’t know whether or not he’s meant to respond to him. “You’ll have a sick scar. And a story to tell, I guess.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Nico says, grimacing as Will applies the butterfly stitches.

“What’s that, Nico?” Will responds with a sigh, resigned to what he already seems to know is going to be some absolute bullshit.

“You haven’t lived until you’ve been impaled by a sword.”

Will snorts, and Nico grins, proud. He hasn’t seen Will smile all day. (Except the soft friendly ones that he’s given to the other patients, but Nico knows those aren’t real. He doesn’t seem to really smile much these days. He always looks so serious. So focussed, even when he’s just staring at a wall, or at his dinner plate. Like he’s too busy thinking, too busy in his own head, to exist with everyone else.)

“No one fucking says that, Nico,” Will says. He gently takes Nico’s shirt, pulling it down over his sides and the wound, then he touching Nico’s back, his hand sliding up his spine for a moment.

“Well, they should.” Nico starts to sit up, wincing, and Will grabs his arms, his other hand pressing to his upper back to help. “I think everyone should get stabbed at least once before they die.”

“You’re a menace to society,” Will says, and Nico finally looks up at him, relaxing against the headboard of the bed. He has an eyebrows raised, his lips curved into a small smile. Nico’s mouth goes dry, and he just shrugs.

They stare at each other for another second before Will looks away, across the infirmary, his eyes flicking around at kids being treated, like he’s searching for something. Nico takes a breath, tangling his fingers in his lap, looking down at Will’s hands as he takes off his gloves. His nails are painted purple, but they’re all chipped and scratched.

“So am I good to go or do I have to stay here for three days?“ Nico asks, looking up at him. Will’s eyes cut to him, and he’s smiling again.

“Well, you’re not in the verge of passing out right now,” he says, facing him again. “So I think you’re good to go.”

Nico sighs, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and looking around.

“Is Joy here today?”

“Wow,” Will says sarcastically, balling up the gloves and tossing them to the bin next to him. “You just wanna hang out with my sister, don’t you.” He raises his eyebrows, pressing his lips together in an I see how it is expression. “Your best friend.”

“Yeah, the superior Apollo kid.”

“Wow…”

Nico snickers, and Will reaches out and pokes him in the side. Nico swats his hand away even though he wants to grab it from the air and hold them close.

“Is she here or not?”

“Yeah, she’s dealing drugs.”

Nico gives him an immense eye roll and kicks him as he stands up. Will pokes him again. Nico sends a glare over his shoulder as he walks away, pretending Will’s little smile doesn’t make his whole body ache.

“Hi,” he greets Joy when he approaches her at her station, and she looks up from where she’s funnelling pain killers into a bottle.

“Hi!” she says brightly, her eyes wide. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I got stabbed.”

She stares, her eyebrows furrowing for a moment.

“I’m fine,” he clarifies. “Will fixed it up.”

“Ah.” She gives him a knowing look with a little nod, and his cheeks burn, before her brows furrow again. “He’s still here?”

“Uh. Yeah?”

She sighs heavily and looks past him, looking for Will, and Nico glances back. Will is talking to another camper, looking down at their wrist.

“Gosh.” Joy sighs again. Nico looks back at her questioningly.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…” She tosses a hand. “He’s been here for days. He only leaves to shower and sleep and eat, and it doesn’t even feel like he does that often, you know?”

“Yeah,” Nico says softly. He knows.

“He’s overworking himself,” Joy says curtly, looking back down and finishing with the bottle of pills. “He’s not taking care of himself.”

Nico frowns, looking back at Will. He’s wrapping the kid’s wrist in bandages, brows furrowed in focus. Nico’s heart hurts.

“Should I tell him to leave?”

Joy twists the bottle shut until it clicks, looking up at Will.

“I don’t know,” she says weakly. “Vinny tried to tell him to leave last week for a day off and Will just got mad.”

“Mad?”

“Snapped at him,” Joy says softly. “Told him to leave him alone and mind his business.”

Nico doesn’t say anything. He’s looking at Will again. The camper thanks him with a bright smile, and Will smiles back, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and it falls as soon as the kid has their back to him. Then he sighs and looks to the ceiling.

“He insists that he knows how to take care of himself but I don’t think he does,” Joy says, almost to herself, like she’s just thinking out loud.

“Me either,” Nico agrees quietly.

Will smiles again when a kid comes up to him with a bleeding hand. It still doesn’t reach his eyes.

Nico watches him during dinner, and when he sees him mix his food around on his plate for a few minutes before he tosses his fork to his plate and sighs, something shifts. Nico looks down at his own plate, uneaten food, tossed aside fork.

He looks back at Will. Sees that achingly familiar emptiness in his eyes that must echo the emptiness in his chest.

And Nico’s eyes burn, because No. Not him. Please, not him too.

He lowers his head, letting his hair curtain around his face so no one sees as a tear falls down his cheek. He doubts anyone is looking, but he hides anyway. He always does.

He aggressively wipes the tear away, sniffling and hardening his face in a weak attempt to get his eyes to stop stinging, and he grabs his plate, swinging his legs over the bench of the Hades table. He dumps the rest of his food in the fire and leaves his dishes behind on the cart before he leaves.

(He doesn’t see Will watching him go.)

Nico shuts his door loudly behind himself, his angry face finally falling, his tears finally falling. And then he sits on the floor, his back against his bed, his forehead on his knees. He’s crying.

He hates crying.

It makes him feel weak, makes his head hurt and his hands shake. He can’t see when he’s crying because the whole world is swimming in salt water, and it scares him.

It scares him.

He hates himself for it, being scared by something he can’t control. (Maybe that’s the part that scares him.) (He hates himself for a lot of things.)

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Nico doesn’t see Will as much as he used to. They used to have lunch together in the dining hall, sitting across from each other and kicking at each other’s legs and muffling laughter behind their hands. They used to hang out in Nico’s cabin, reading or bickering or playing Mythomagic (which is to say, Will would listen patiently with a little smile while Nico would rant and ramble about Mythomagic).

Nico sometimes likes to lay sideways on his bed, his head hanging off the edge upside down, and Will used to sit on the ground in front of him when he did, close enough to kiss. (They never did.) Other times they’d sit up against the wall together, not touching because Nico couldn’t stand it, and Will was always kind. Patient.

He never said anything about the way Nico would chew on his sleeve or the string of his hoodie or whatever else was convenient. He never gave him weird looks when Nico made noises, quiet grunts or hums with no real purpose other than to lessen the heavy, overbearing feeling on his shoulders, and he never interrupted or told Nico to stop when he paced across the floor over and over or flapped his hands in the air or rocked back and forth. (He only intervened when Nico hit things, his legs or chest, or the floor or wall. He’d take a pillow and put it between Nico’s hands and whatever it was, ignoring Nico’s soft whine of Will… with a gentle, “I know you need it, Ni, but I’m not gonna let you hurt yourself, okay?”)

But he doesn’t really see Will anymore. Except in passing, only if Nico is awake early enough to see him on his way to the infirmary.

So he tries. He sets his alarm clock for a ridiculous fucking hour that he knows Will will be awake at, smacks it off in the morning with a loud groan. Heavily, tiredly gets dressed and brushes his teeth and pulls on his shoes, careful to make sure they’re on the right feet. Ties them messily and too tightly and doesn’t care.

He waits by the infirmary, leaning against a tree, giving Will’s siblings and the others little smiles until Will shows up. He stands up straight, looking at Will and waiting until he seems him too.

“Hey,” Will says lightly, looking up from the clipboard that’s resting on his arm when Dahlia elbows him. “You okay?”

Nico hesitates. Gestures a little come here, stepping away from the tree, and Will goes to him without question, following him to the side of the infirmary, hidden from view. Dahlia silently passes by them, going inside.

The sun is hidden by clouds, and Will looks sad, but he’s still almost glowing. He always is.

“Hi,” he says when he’s standing in front of Nico.

“I feel like I never see you anymore.”

His face burns as soon as he says it, mentally cursing his lack of filter when he’s tired. It sounds ridiculous. They’re not boyfriends.

Will’s face falls even more and he looks away, at the ground, at the dead leaves and dirt under their feet.

“I know,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“You work too much.”

Will blinks. Looks him in the eye.

“You’ve been talking to Joy.”

“I haven’t talked to Joy about you in two weeks,” Nico says almost defiantly. “I don’t need to talk to her to know you work too much. I don’t see you anymore.”

Will blinks again.

He doesn’t say anything, his lips pursing slightly in a tiny frown.

“I miss you,” Nico adds. He knows his cheeks are pink with embarrassment, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“I miss you too,” Will says in a small voice. “But I…”

“Can you take a day off?” Nico asks, clenching his fists in the pockets of his hoodie. “Just to hang out.”

Will’s eyebrows furrow, conflicted, and then he’s shaking his head. Slowly, like he doesn’t want to.

“I can’t, Ni.”

Nico looks away, disappointment and angry and frustration and despair tangling in his chest so messily that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. The world is underwater again.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he hears Will sigh, and he looks at him, watching him toss the clipboard to the ground, and then Will is wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs as Nico is hugging him back, reaching up to wrap his arms around his neck, burying his face against him, and Nico believes him.

He squeezes his eyes shut, like he’s trying to absorb the feeling of Will’s arms around him. Tight and warm and safe.

When they finally pull away, Will wipes his tears away gently.

“…I really am sorry,” he says quietly.

Nico swallows, his eyes falling to Will’s necklaces. The string of colourful camp beads, a gold chain with a red heart charm on it.

“I know.”

They part. Will picks up his clipboard, biting his lip, and Nico pushes his hands back into his pockets.

“Will you eat dinner with me?” Will asks after a moment. “Tonight?”

Nico cuts his eyes up to him.

“Will you actually eat?”

Will scoffs, looking away. He’s smiling.

“Yeah, sure.” He sways on his feet, glancing over as more people go into the infirmary. “Will you?”

“…Yeah. Sure.”

Will smiles. Actually smiles. It makes Nico want to eat three meals a day for the rest of his life.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Will says softly. Nico nods. Will reaches out and takes his hand gently, squeezing it once and then releasing him.

Nico goes back to his cabin and falls asleep.

He sits across from Will at dinner, and kicks his legs under the table when he notices he’s not eating. Will kicks him back, and he begrudgingly picks up his fork, watching Will do the same.

Joy sits next to Nico. He knows she notices it all, the sneaking, smiling glances he and Will send each other, the little kicks and later on, the way their ankles lock, but she doesn’t say anything.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

It’s bright in Nico’s cabin when he wakes up. It’s not a pleasant thing to wake up to, ever; the knowledge that most of the day is gone, that the rest of world is passing him by. But it’s especially horrible when he wakes up like this: cold, sweating, gasping for breath, throwing his pillow across the room like it’s attacking him.

He looks around frantically, searching for something, but he doesn’t know what, his throat dry with gasps, his hands shaking, his eyes burning. He shrinks into himself, hiding, drawing his knees to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut.

And then he’s throwing himself out of bed, throwing clothes off the sofa across the room until he finds a hoodie, pulling it on quickly and searching for his shoes.

Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will Will

He barely closes the door behind himself, adrenaline coursing through his veins, every cell consumed by fear.

He bursts into the infirmary, his eyes scanning around the room, breathing hard.

“Nico?”

He turns sharply at Dahlia’s voice. She’s staring at him, wide-eyed, hands raised as if in surrender, close to his shoulders.

“Is Will here?”

“Uh, no?”

A pit grows in his stomach. It almost consumes him.

“Where— Where is he?” he asks, his voice breaking.

“I kicked him out,” she says. “He put up a hell of a fight but he should be in the Apollo cabin.”

“I…”

“Are you okay?” she asks gently. “Can I help you?” She says it kindly. He’s reminded of why he likes her.

“I have to go,” he says, his voice sharper than he intended, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” He goes.

The door to the Apollo cabin is open like it always is, and he steps inside. Joy is sitting on the floor, a painting in the floor in front of her, half-finished. She looks up when she hears him.

“Are you okay?”

“Is Will here?” he asks, ignoring her question.

“He’s in bed.” She straightens her back, wincing as it cracks.

“Oh.” He looks up past her, at the doorway to the bedroom. He knows where Will’s is, in the corner against the wall, bottom bunk. He takes a breath. “I can… I can come back later.”

“He’s not asleep,” Joy says. “He’s just laying there.” He looks at her. Her eyes are wide, earnest. “He’s having a really rough day. Maybe seeing you will make him feel better.”

He exhales. And then goes, passing by her silently and pushing through the beaded entryway. It’s dark inside, all the curtains drawn.

“Will?”

Will is facing the wall, his arms wrapped around himself, but he sits up when Nico speaks, lifts his head and looking at him in the dim room. His brows are furrowed, his hair messy and tangled, his cheeks red and sleep warm, but Nico exhales, relief swallowing him whole.

“What’s wrong?”

(His voice is rough, and Nico almost shivers.)

“You’re okay?”

(His voice is shaking, and Will nods.)

“I’m okay.”

Nico nods, taking another breath that trembles on its way out. Will stares up at him for another moment before he lifts his arm.

“Come here.”

Nico deflates. He melts. He collapses onto the bed beside Will, pressing his face to his chest and taking a shuddering breath, his heart pounding in his chest.

“What happened?” he asks when his heart finally slows down.

Will’s hand runs down his back, over the folds of his hoodie.

“Got in a fight with Dahli.”

Will’s voice is small, clipped. Nico shifts so he can reach a hand up, run it over Will’s hair.

“I feel like shit about it,” Will continues. “She was just telling me to take today off because— because nothing was working out for me, and I—“

Will cuts off, choking on his words, and Nico shifts, moving up so his face is buried in Will’s neck, their chests pressed together. Will’s arms tighten.

“I wanna apologise,” Will says softly after a moment. “When I see her tonight.”

Nico nods against him.

“She’ll understand,” he whispers.

Will sighs. Nico feels his chest rise and fall against him.

“Why did you come looking for me?” Will asks quietly, one of his hands pressing to the small of Nico’s back. Nico squeezes his eyes shut at the pressure holding him down, holding him in place, wishing he could feel it everywhere.

“Had a bad dream,” he mumbles.

Will’s hand rubs back and forth. Nico aches.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Nico takes a careful, slow breath, his heart pounding. Will must notice, because he rolls onto his back, pulling Nico on top of himself, his hand still rubbing his lower back, his other hand on his waist.

“I… You were gone,” Nico summarises shortly. He skips all the details, not wanting to see them flash in his head again.

“Gone?” Will whispers. Nico nods. Will takes a deep breath, squeezing Nico, pressing him against himself. “I’m right here, Ni,” he murmurs softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Nico wants to ask him to promise. To swear. To stay forever.

He doesn’t.

He nuzzles his face into his neck and stays there until Will’s hand stops moving, until his breathing is heavy and slow, and Nico knows he’s asleep. He shifts after a while, moving to his side and watching Will, still asleep, roll to face him, a hand still resting on his waist. Hair falls in Will’s face. Nico carefully moves it away.

Even in the darkness Nico can see the freckles scattered across his face. There’s one on his upper lip. Nico wants to kiss it.

He closes his eyes.

Moves closer, curling a hand against Will’s chest, smiling when Will’s arm tightens around him and pulls him close. He’s drifting off. He knows he is. But he presses his face into Will, taking a deep breath. He smells like oranges and lemons, like fruit that’s been sitting in the sun, sweet and like summer, and like nothing Nico would ever have imagined himself finding home in. But here he is, letting Will surround him.

He falls asleep.

He wakes up to voices, but he’s too tired to even open his eyes. He hears Will’s voice, soft and rumbly across the room, and his body aches.

“I just want you to take care of yourself. Will,” Dahlia’s voice says softly. “You can’t do that if you’re… working to the point of exhaustion.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I do, it’s just…” Will sighs, the sound muffled by what Nico assumes is his hands. He wants to sit up, wrap his arms around him. But something tells him he’s not supposed to be hearing this conversation. “If I’m not working, I— I don’t know, it’s like my brain won’t shut off. I need…”

“You need to prioritise yourself.”

“…It’s hard.”

“I know. Will you just—“ She pauses. “Will you just listen to me now? When I tell you it’s time for you to take a break?”

He’s quiet.

“…Okay.”

“Come here.”

Nico shifts, pressing his face into Will’s pillow. They’re still talking indistinctly, their voices muffled by what Nico assumes are each other’s shoulders. He’s still almost asleep, his body too heavy to move.

“So are you gonna tell me what your boyfriend is doing here?” Dahlia asks when they part. Nico’s face flushes with heat.

“Dahlia.”

“I know,” Dahlia says in a teasing tone. “He came by the infirmary earlier, looking for you. Is everything okay?”

“He, uhm. He had a nightmare.”

“…And he came to you for comfort.”

“Well, he said… I think something happened to me. In his dream.”

“…Will.”

“Fuck off.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Nico can just imagine them staring at each other, communicating telepathically the way Will communicates with Joy sometimes, until Will speaks again.

“…If— If he spends the night…”

“Nobody’s gonna snitch, Will. You’re everyone’s OTP.” (Nico doesn’t know what that means. He doesn’t really care.) “Don’t worry.”

“Jesus,” Will mutters.

“Alright, go back to bed, lover boy.”

“You’re so annoying.”

The bed dips, and Nico finally moves, rolling onto his stomach and pressing his face into the pillow as Will lays back down. The beads move in the doorway, and Will sighs.

He shifts again, and then Nico’s insides are lighting up as Will’s hand lands gently on his lower back. A moment passes before his hand moves again, rubbing across his back, and Nico’s eyes squeeze. He shifts, moving closer to him without facing him, and Will’s hand runs across his waist to his stomach, gently, carefully pulling him against himself.

He slides his arm under Nico’s neck, and Nico lifts his head enough for Will to move, letting his head fall again when he stills. Nico rolls back onto his side, sighing, his back pressed to Will’s chest, his cheek against Will’s bare bicep. Will’s breath is against the back of his neck. Nico wants to cry.

He cracks his eyes open, sees Will’s hand in front of him against the bed. Reaches out and slides his own hand into it, letting their fingers lock. Will’s hand is warm against his. He’s always warm.

Will falls asleep again, his arm around Nico’s waist, his hand pressing to his chest, and Nico drifts, floating somewhere between asleep and awake. He’s conscious of people coming into the cabin a while later, talking under their breaths.

“Is Will finally asleep?”

“Oh my gods, he’s sleeping.”

“Who’s that with him?”

“Is he allowed to sleep in here?”

“Who gives a shit? Look how cute they are.”

Will’s hand tightens on Nico’s. Nico squeezes back, smiling against his arm.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The curtains are drawn. Nico is huddled on his bed, against the wall in the corner, a blanket around his shoulders. His eyes are trained on a light across the room, a lamp next to the small sofa. The lampshade is purple, emitting a soft glow throughout the room.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting here. His joints ache, his knees drawn to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, gripping the blanket in his fingers tightly.

His eyes are tired.

He can’t sleep. He knows it would be good for him to leave, go get dressed her some sunlight and talk to someone, but he doesn’t think he can deal with the genuine gentleness of people’s Are you okay?s and What’s wrong?s. Just thinking about it makes his skin itch.

He drops his head to his knees, tightening the blanket around him, trying to ignore the overwhelming, all-enveloping nothing inside of him.

He only lifts his head when there’s a knock on the door, and he squints over as it cracks open, sunlight pouring inside.

“Will?” Nico says weakly, his voice rough with disuse.

“Yeah,” Will says, shutting the door.

“Are you okay?”

Will scoffs lightly, kicking his shoes off and crossing the room quietly.

“I’m fine,” he says, his voice soft. “Dahlia kicked me out for the day.”

He sits on Nico’s bed, crossing his legs and looking at him, and Nico suddenly wants to find the nearest cliff to jump off of it. He must look pathetic, sitting in bed and wrapped in a blanket in the middle of the day, while other people are working and training and playing and laughing.

But Will just looks. Lifts his chin.

“What’s up?” he asks casually. Nico wants to cry.

He looks away, at the bed between them. He has too many blankets on his bed. They’re all bunched and bundled into an odd sort of nest.

“I keep having nightmares.”

Will is quiet for a moment before he moves, taking a blanket and spreading it out, sitting up onto his knees and swinging the blanket around his shoulders. He sits next to Nico against the wall. Their shoulders press together.

“About what?” he asks quietly.

Nico looks back at the lamp, wondering what to say, remembering.

Every dream has been different over the past few days. (Or maybe it’s been weeks. He doesn’t know.)

He was surrounded by glass one night. There was nothing outside of the glass, just a dark void, and he was running out of air. The glass wouldn’t break under his fists, and he woke up to a bruised hand and a dented wall. Another night he was being followed. He doesn’t remember where he was, or who (or what) was following him, just the adrenaline rushing through his veins and the way he couldn’t quite catch his breath, but he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t stop to breathe.

Another night he was trapped in an elevator. All the buttons lit up when he pressed them, glowing red, but it wouldn’t move. When he pressed the emergency button, the elevator filled with this awful staticky screech that made him clap his hands over his ears and cry. The next night he was in the elevator again but it was slowly filling with water.

In one dream he was freezing. He could see his breath in the air in front of him, and every breath hurt so bad it almost burned. He’d fallen to his knees, shivering and trembling, his teeth chattering, his upper body bare and covered in a thin layer of ice, shining blue and purple. When he woke up he put on two sweaters and covered himself in every blanket he has.

In another dream he had to watch Hazel be swallowed by a hole in the ground. He was too late to catch her hand, and he’d been left to stare at the ground where she’d been, at the dead grass and dirt.

In another, Will left.

“Everything,” Nico says quietly.

Will doesn’t say anything. He holds a hand out expectantly. It hovers between them, and Nico looks at it, at the chipped nail polish and callused palm, knowing exactly what Will wants.

His own hand slowly emerges from the blankets and reaches for Will’s. Their fingertips touch, and Will tugs his hand closer, their fingers curling around each other. Nico watches his face.

His brows furrow slightly, and he frowns, and after a few quiet moments he runs his thumb over Nico’s knuckles, looking into his eyes.

“You need to sleep, Ni,” Will says softly.

Nico exhales, swallowing, his eyes burning.

“I can’t,” he breathes. “They keep coming back.”

Will sighs softly, moving so his other hand comes out of the blanket around him, holding Nico’s hand between his. Nico closes his eyes, trying to memorise the warmth.

“Did you… Did you have any nightmares when you spent the night with me?” Will asks quietly, looking at their hands.

Nico shakes his head slowly.

“No.”

Nico watches him. Watches his tongue slip across his lip, watches his throat bob as he swallows.

“If I…” Will pauses, hesitating, twisting his fingers with Nico’s and tracing his knuckles. “If I stay, would you be able to sleep?”

Nico deflates, falling against Will’s shoulder and exhaling. Will laughs lightly, and the sound makes Nico feel like everything will be okay.

“Is that a yes?” he asks softly, tilting his head to rest on Nico’s.

“Please.”

“C’mere.”

He tugs Nico’s hand and legs go of it, moving against the wall as Nico sleepily moves up onto his knees and crawls to sit on his lap, the blanket still around him. He lays against Will’s chest, and Will wraps his arms around him, one arm around his back, the other across his lap.

Nico takes a deep breath, relaxing against him, tucking his face into his neck.

“I’m scared,” he whispers.

“I’m right here,” Will tells him softly. He runs a hand across his waist to the small of his back. (Nico must be really obvious that he likes it when Will touches him there.) “I’ll be here if anything happens, okay?”

Nico swallows anxiously, gripping his blanket tightly.

“…Promise?”

Will rubs his back gently, his other hand pushing under Nico’s blanket to hold his thigh gently. Firmly. Nico squeezes his eyes shut.

“Promise.”

(He doesn’t have any nightmares. He doesn’t seem to have any dreams at all, his mind blissfully and mercifully blank until he wakes up again to find that his hand is pressed over Will’s chest, over his heart.)

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ ┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Nico ruffles his hair with his towel. He thought maybe a shower would make him feel less like shit. It didn’t really work that much. But at least he smells good now.

He throws the towel into the hamper in the corner, and it falls from the overflowing pile of laundry to the floor. He ignores it. He doesn’t have nearly enough energy to do his laundry.

He finds a sweater on his desk chair and smells it before pulling it on and leaning against his desk, looking at his cabin. It’s messy. Too messy for him to do anything about it. Blankets and pillows all over his bed, tossed aside and scattered on the floor below it, clothes around the hamper and around the room, along with scrap, discarded paper. Incense ashes and sticks are covering a small table.

Nico scans the room, imagining all the dust that must cling to every surface and every random object he’s collected over the years; jars, bottles, lamps, candles, stacks and stacks of books. He sighs heavily, closing his eyes and dropping his head, rubbing his face harshly in disappointment.

He only looks up when there’s a knock on the door, and then he’s headed to open it before remembering he’s wearing a sweater and boxers. His face flushes with embarrassment as he swings the door open to see Will, but then he doesn’t give a shit about what he’s wearing, because Will’s eyes are shining and his cheeks and nose are red, and he looks about ready to fall over.

“What’s wrong?” Nico asks, a hand on the door. It’s grey outside. He usually likes this weather, but he didn’t even realise what colour the sky was until now. “What happened?”

Will looks at him desperately, taking a shuddering breath, choking on his words.

“I— I’m having… a really fucking shitty day,” he says, his voice wavering and breaking. “And I can’t fucking do it anymore.”

Nico looks up at him, his heart hurting so much he thinks it might be splitting apart at the seams.

“Do you want a hug?“ he asks softly, his eyes stinging, and Will squeezes his eyes shut, nodding. “Come here.”

He reaches out and grabs the front of Will’s t-shirt, pulling him inside and standing up on his tiptoes, wrapping his arms around his neck and kicking the door shut. Will sways, hugging him back. His body is shaking.

Nico whispers to him, holding him as tightly as he can as he cries, as sobs wrack his body.

It’s okay. It’s okay, baby, I got you.

He closes his eyes, tears falling down his own cheeks as he listens to Will, whose voice is rough as he sobs, his throat becoming raw as time passes. He pushes a hand into Will’s hair, combing through it and shushing him gently. Will presses his face into Nico’s neck, and Nico feels his tears against his skin.

Will finally stops sobbing after a long while, and Nico pulls away enough to look at him. To wipe his face with the sleeves of his sweater, his cheeks and under his eyes and nose, as gently and carefully as he can, still murmuring under his breath.

It’s okay. Don’t worry, baby.

Will lets him, his eyes falling shut as tears continue falling down his cheeks. It makes Nico’s heart swell, that Will is letting him do this, letting him take care of him.

Will is taking stuttering breathes, and Nico presses a hand to his chest firmly.

“Slow,” he directs. “In all the way.” Will looks into his eyes, pressing a hand over Nico’s, breathing in. Nico nods, running his other hand over his cheek and wiping a tear. “Out, slow.” Will exhales, his breath on Nico’s face. “You’re okay.”

When Will’s breathing is finally under control, it’s darker in the cabin, and Will sighs heavily, letting his head fall against Nico’s shoulder. Nico presses his cheek against the back of his head, running his fingers through his hair.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispers. “Promise.”

Will takes another breath, lifting his head and sliding his hands down to Nico’s legs before he pulls them up, lifting Nico off the ground. Nico gasps, his hand tightening in Will’s hair in surprise before he wraps his legs around his waist. Will sets him on his desk, pressing his hands to his waist and burying his face in his neck.

“Are you okay?” Nico asks softly after a minute, and Will nuzzles into his neck for a moment before lifting his face. He looks exhausted, his eyes almost closed, his lashes wet, lips chapped, cheeks flushed. Nico aches. Will leans forward, setting his forehead against his. “What happened?”

“Just…” He takes a breath, closing his eyes. “Everything’s been going wrong,” he says softly. “And I��ve been breaking things, and forgetting things, and I’ve been so— so angry, with everything, and I feel like shit.” He looks at Nico, eyes watery. “They just wanna help me,” he chokes. “And I’m such a dick to them. And I don’t know what to do.” He takes a sharp breath, looking at Nico desperately. “I’m so fucking tired, Ni.”

Nico wipes his tears again.

“Baby,” he breathes. “You need to rest.” Will squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “I know you don’t want to, but, Will.” Will opens his eyes, filled with tears and anguish. “You’re not taking care of yourself.”

He carefully wipes another tear and finds one of Will’s hands with his own, pulling it to his lap and holding it tightly.

“I bet if I could do that thing you do, I’d be able to tell that you need it.”

Will laughs weakly, his fingers curling around Nico’s. His nail polish is almost gone.

“Will you take the weekend off?” Nico asks, looking down at their hands. “With me?”

He looks up when Will doesn’t answer.

Will is staring at him, biting the inside of his lip anxiously.

“Please,” Nico adds.

“What will we do?” Will asks after a moment, and Nico smiles.

“Uhm.” He looks back at their hands, twisting his fingers around Will’s, thinking. “I’ll let you wake me up for breakfast,” he says finally, looking up at him to see a soft smile. “We’ll eat three meals,” he adds, squeezing his hand and raising his eyebrows, and Will nods.

“What else?”

Nico holds Will’s hand. Runs his finger across his nails.

“We can paint your nails,” he says softly. “They look naked.”

Will laughs lightly again.

“You wanna do my nails?”

“No promises that they’ll look good, but…”

Will’s smile widens. Nico reaches out and touches his face, just because, setting a palm on his cheek.

“Can I do yours?” Will asks, turning his face into Nico’s hand. Nico raises his eyebrows.

“I guess.”

“Any colour?”

“Within reason.”

Will grins, and Nico melts, his eyes falling to his smile, to the freckle on his lip. He doesn’t realise he’s staring until Will’s smile falls slightly.

“What?” Will breathes, and Nico’s suddenly overly conscious of his palm on Will’s cheek, of their hands joined in his lap, of the way Will’s eyes are flicking down to his mouth.

“I love it when you smile,” he says softly.

Will’s eyes soften, and he exhales, leaning forward until their foreheads press together. Nico shifts, eyes closed, to press his lips to Will’s forehead.

——————

Will leaves to find Dahlia a while later, after Nico handed him a bottle of water and made him drink at least half of it.

While he’s gone, Nico forced himself to tidy up a little bit. He finds the laundry around the room and tosses it to the hamper, finds a bag to shove all the scrap paper into, to dust the ashes of the incense into. (And then he washes his hands after hanging the bag on the doorknob of the bathroom.)

He’s sorting his pillows and blankets when there’s a thud on the door, and he swings it open to find Will with two plates of food.

“Uh. I brought dinner.”

They eat on the floor, Nico’s back against his bed, Will’s back against his desk, their plates on their knees or between their legs.

“How did it go with Dahlia?” Nico asks between bites.

Will sighs.

“Fine.” He pushes some food around on his plate. “We talked for a while, us and Vincent, and I apologised to them, and they… forgave me. But I…” He swallows, looking at his plate. “I still kinda feel like shit.”

Nico gazes at him. Takes a bite of his food.

“You’re really nice, Will.”

“I’ve been an asshole to them.”

“And you’re self-aware,” Nico points out. “You actually feel bad about it, and you actually apologise for it. A lot of people just… pretend it’s all fine. But you know it’s not.”

Will looks back at him.

He takes a bite of his food, sighing.

“Doesn’t really make me feel much better,” he says with his mouth full.

Nico watches him, watches his jaw flex as he chews, watches the way he dejectedly pushes food around.

“You need to forgive yourself,” Nico says softly. Will looks up at him, listening, and Nico looks away, his eyes too intense on his for the moment. “Everybody has. If you don’t… forgive yourself, give yourself a break, then you’ll just…” He shrugs. “Spiral. …End up hating yourself.”

He looks up at him. Their eyes meet, and this time Nico stays. Looks into the shining blue that Nico sees in the skies, in the seas, and he sees that it’s too late for that. He wants to throw up. He wants to cry and scream and break everything in the room. He wants to fight the gods and the wind and the fucking universe for ever convincing Will fucking Solace that he’s anything less than everything. He wants to hold Will until there isn’t a single thought of self hatred in his mind, until he can see how perfect he really is.

“Speaking from experience?” Will says softly.

Nico looks away.

“Yeah.”

They eat in silence, until Will breaks it.

“You’re one of my favourite people,” Will says abruptly, his cheeks flushing red when Nico looks at him. “You really… You’re my best friend.” Nico starts to smile, watching him. “Even if you hate yourself, I… I don’t hate you.”

Nico’s face flushes with warmth.

“I don’t hate you too.”

He falls asleep that night with his face presses to Will’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. He’s completely wrapped around him, legs around his hips, arms around his neck, fingers in his hair, and he feels Will’s hands on his back, on his hips and his legs. Soft. Gentle. Sleepy.

Will wakes up first. Of course.

Nico wakes up to Will’s fingertips tracing his face, brushing over his eyebrows and cheeks and down the bridge of his nose. Nico’s eyes flutter open, squinting at him weakly, and he smiles. (He’s never smiled this early in the morning. He doesn’t mind it.)

Will’s fingertip runs over Nico’s lips, tracing his smile.

Nico closes his eyes again.

He usually hates mornings. They’re always too bright, too full of possibility and chances. But if they’re like this…

Maybe they’re not all awful.

“Breakfast,” Will says quietly, and Nico’s smile falls promptly. Will laughs, dropping his hand to the bed between them. Nico groans, moving forward until his face presses to Will’s chest, smushing his cheek against him. “You said,” Will says, still laughing, and Nico groans again.

“I know, just…” He finds Will’s hand, pulls it close, smiling again when Will presses his hand to Nico’s back. “Just wait a minute.”

(He falls asleep again. Will lets him.)

——————

“Okay, here’s what I brought.”

Will hops up onto Nico’s bed, sitting cross-legged, dropping some things onto the bed between them: some bottles of nail polish, two nail files, a pale pink, translucent bottle, and cotton swabs. He cracks open the window as Nico looks.

“I don’t know what to do with any of this,” Nico says, staring.

“That’s okay.”

Nico watches as Will demonstrates the nail polish remover (the pale pink bottle), taking off the tiny chips of polish that are left on his nails, shows him the nail file, warns him that it’s going to feel funny. He’s right; it feels like vibrations running through his fingers, up his arms, and he has a full-body reaction, tightening. Will stops right away, looking up at him.

“Okay?” Nico nods, wide-eyed, moving to kneel in front of him. “Here, this side is softer.” He flips the file over and runs its across the edge of his nail carefully, looking at him. “Better?” Nico nods.

He files his nails slowly, carefully, and Nico watches as the rough, bitten edges of his nails become smooth.

He watches Will do his own nails next, watches the way his brows furrow in focus, the way his lips purse.

“I brought this colour for you,” he says when he finishes, holding up one of the bottles. Nico takes it, analysing it. It’s a deep red, almost purple, the glass of the bottle sleek and smooth, fitting nicely in his hand. “I thought you’d like it better than, like, yellow or something.”

Nico looks up at him with a smile.

“Is it okay?” Will asks, and Nico nods.

“Yeah, I like it.”

Will takes the bottle and smacks it against his palm, smiling, and Nico moves back to sit with his legs crossed. Will opens the bottle, setting it on the windowsill next to them, by Nico’s rings and candles holding his hand out, and Nico holds out his own.

Will takes his hand, carefully moving it so he can drag the brush carefully over his thumbnail. The paint is translucent, a lighter red than it looked in the bottle.

“This one needs like two layers,” Will says, like he can hear Nico’s thoughts. “But this brand dries really fast.”

“It’s cold,” Nico says softly, watching, engrossed.

“Is it okay?”

“Yes.”

They’re quiet as Will paints, expertly wiping away excess polish. The second coat of paint makes it much darker, almost black, only red when Nico really looks. It’s shiny, and Nico smiles, watching the light shift on it as Will moves his hand.

“This one will make it last longer,” Will says, picking up another bottle. “But you can take it off later if you want to.”

“I don’t want to,” Nico says, too quickly. Will looks up from his hand, pausing. “I like it.”

Will looks back down, smiling.

When Nico paints Will’s nails, he’s more careful than he thinks he’s ever been in his life, hunched over with Will’s hand close to his face, dragging the brush over his nails and feeling Will’s eyes on him. The polish Will uses is a nice pink. The bottle reads Vintage Rose.

While it’s drying, Nico holds his hand and stares at his work, at the way the dark red of his nails looks next to the pink of Will’s.

“Can I try something?” he asks, looking up. Will is looking at him fondly, and he nods.

Nico releases his hands and scrambles out of the bed, his sweater falling just below his boxer shorts because it’s a few sizes too big. (It’s his favourite sweater, soft and cozy and the perfect kind of warm.) He opens the drawer of his bedside table, bending down to search through it, knowing that Will is watching him. He rummages through the papers and lighters and pens and tiny glass jars and bottles that he’ll think what to do with someday. At the back of the drawer, hidden in the corner, he finally finds a hair pin, left behind by Hazel during her last visit.

He holds it up triumphantly, standing up and using his knee to close the drawer.

He climbs back onto the bed, unfolding the pin, sitting cross-legged and grabbing the bottle of red polish as Will watches. He tucks his hair behind his ear before opening the bottle and touching the end of the pin to the brush and taking Will’s hand.

He moves so he’s holds Will’s thumb, and he carefully, meticulously paints a smiley face with the end of the pin.

The eyes are different sizes, and the smile is crooked, but he grins, letting go of Will’s hand so he can look.

Will looks at it as Nico closes the nail polish and drops the hair pin on the windowsill, and when Nico looks at him again, his lips are pressed together.

“Is it okay?” Nico asks. Will nods, swallowing.

“I love it, Ni.”

Nico beams.

He watches as Will looks at the smiley face again, smiling, watches as his hair falls in his face and he rocks back and forth happily. He looks at his purple shorts and his worn and faded tye-dyed shirt and the woven strings around his ankles and wrists and the tiny gold hoop at the top of his ear. He looks at the freckles covering his face and the bridge of his nose and then he’s looking into his eyes, and Will isn’t smiling anymore.

“What’s wrong?” Will asks softly.

“I have to tell you something,” Nico’s mouth says without his permission.

“Okay?” Will says, dropping his hands to his lap. “What is it?”

Worry paints his expression, and Nico takes a sudden breath, like a gasp, his heart pounding.

“Uhm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Nico says breathlessly. “I just…

Will blinks at him, tilting his head. Nico takes another sharp breath.

“I— I really like you.” Will blinks again, straightening. “As— As more than friends, like in a gay way.” His hands are shaking. “I have a crush on you.”

“Really?” Will says softly, his voice small.

Nico hesitates, then nods.

“You’re my best friend,” he says, almost hyperventilating. “But I’ve liked you for a really long time, and I tried so hard to get over it, but I— I couldn’t, because everything you do makes me fall harder for you, and I—I didn’t know how to tell you, and I was so scared that you—“

Will leans forward, shutting him up by grabbing his face and crashing their mouths together.

Nico’s eyes widen, and his hands fly to Will’s wrists, holding him tightly before he jerks away.

“What?” he says breathlessly, panting. Will’s eyes are wide, and he’s breathing hard too, his hands pressed to Nico’s face.

“I like you too,” Will tells him. “I like you so much, I thought— I thought you would hate me if you found out.”

“I don’t hate you,” Nico says quickly, shaking his head. “I could never hate you, baby, I couldn’t, I—“

He cuts off with a gasp, still shaking his head, and Will furrows his brows, exhaling. And then he pulls Nico back in, kissing him.

Nico squeezes his eyes shut, moving his hands to hold Will’s face, pulling back to lick his lips and tilt his head before kissing him again.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. But he doesn’t really care, because Will is holding his face almost tenderly, and his hair is soft between Nico’s fingers, and he’s so warm that Nico doesn’t remember what it feels like to be cold.

When they part, Nico is breathing hard, his eyes shut, and he wraps his arms around his neck, lifting onto his knees and grinning when Will grabs at his sweater and pulls him closer.

He lowers himself on Will’s lap, wrapping his legs around his waist, letting out a soft groan when Will presses a hand against the small of his back. Will laughs lightly.

Nico pushes his hands through Will’s hair again, revelling in the way Will sighs and presses his face into Nico’s neck. They stay there, wrapped around each other, until Will’s hand rubs his back gently.

“Ni,” he says softly.

“Mmhmm.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and Nico lifts his head, looking at him. He has that worried expression again, eyebrows furrowed, face tense. Nico pulls his hands away from his hair, touching his cheeks lightly.

“What is it?”

“I, uhm.” Will swallows, sliding his hands to hold Nico’s waist. “I have to tell you something.”

“Okay,” Nico says softly. He leans in and kisses him again, slowly and intently, holding his chin, before moving back so their legs around around each other still. “What is it?”

Will takes a deep breath. It shakes as he exhales, and Nico runs his hands down his arms, finding Will’s hands with his and pulling them away from his waist to hold between them. Will takes another breath.

“I…” He squeezes his eyes shut. Swallows. Lowers his face. “I’ve been wanting to tell to for— for a while, because you’re my best friend,” he says, glancing up at him. “And I really want you to know, if we’re…” He swallows again. “I just never knew how to… Say it.”

“Say what?” Nico asks softly, running his thumbs over Will’s knuckles.

Will’s hands tighten on his, and he takes a deep, shuddering breath, looking away.

“I’m, uhm.” He squeezes his eyes shut, laughing lightly. “Jesus.”

“It’s okay,” Nico tells him, squeezing his hands. They’re shaking. “Just… Just tell me, it’s okay.”

“I really don’t want you to hate me,” he says weakly, and Nico tugs his hands roughly.

“Will.” Will looks at him, his eyes shining with fear. “What did I say? I’m never going to hate you.”

Will squeezes his hands again, taking a sharp breath.

“Promise?”

Nico exhales, his chest aching, and then he leans in, kissing Will softly, tilting his head and gently sucking on his lower lip, listening to Will sigh, feeling him relax. He pulls away, just far enough that their lips brush when he speaks.

“I promise.”

He pulls away, looking at Will, whose cheeks are flushed.

“Tell me,” Nico prompts gently. “What is it?”

“I’m…” Will takes one last breath. “I’m trans.”

His eyes are flicking anxiously back and forth between Nico’s, but Nico just blinks blankly.

“Okay,” he says softly. “I don’t… know what that means, but…”

Will exhales in despair, dropping his head and laughing lightly.

“All that build up…” He looks up at the ceiling, blinking.

“It’s okay,” Nico reassures him, moving closer. “Tell me. I’m here to learn.”

Will laughs again, sliding his hands up to hold Nico’s wrists loosely, pushing under his sleeves.

“Okay,” he says, nodding like he’s trying to prepare himself. “So.”

“So.”

“Trans is short for, uhm. Transgender.”

“Okay,” Nico says softly, listening.

“It means I was… When I was born, everyone said I was a girl.” Will’s hands are trembling against Nico’s wrist, and Nico shifts, moving so he’s holding Will’s hands tightly, firmly running his thumbs across the backs of his hands. “Because I had female anatomy. But every time… Every time people referred to me as a girl, or as my mom’s daughter, it just felt wrong. Like— Like it made viscerally uncomfortable.”

He pauses, and Nico nods, looking into his eyes. Will looks away.

“And I didn’t get why no one could see that I was a boy,” he continues quietly. “And then my body… started changing, and it made me…” His lip trembles. “Miserable. And I would hide, I’d wear these giant hoodies in the middle of summer, and I’d use medical tape and bandages to bind my chest, and it fucking sucked, because no matter what I did, no one ever saw me.”

Nico lifts Will’s hand to his lips, kissing him gently.

“I told my mom when I got a little older,” Will continues. “And I was really lucky, she— she accepted me, and respected me, and she…” He smiles softly, looking at the bed between them. “She took me shopping for new clothes and let me donate and give away everything I didn’t want. And she helped me pick a new name.”

Nico smiles.

“She paid for me to start hormone replacement therapy.”

“What is that?” Nico interrupts quietly, and Will looks up at him.

“I take, uhm. Testosterone injections,” he explains nervously. “It makes my voice deeper and everything.”

“Okay.”

Will exhales, smiling softly, and he looks like he’s going to cry.

“I came out to Mr D a while ago, and he was really nice—“ He cuts off with a little laugh at Nico’s expression. “I know, weird. But he, uhm. He sorted out my top surgery, which…” He must see the blank look in Nico’s eyes. “Which made it so my chest is flat.”

“Okay.”

“Most of my siblings know, like— like Dahlia and Vincent and Joy, and… Most of them have seen my scars while changing and stuff, but I haven’t told… most of my friends.”

“Okay,” Nico says again. Will looks into his eyes. He still looks like he’s about to burst into tears.

Nico lifts his hand again, kissing his knuckles.

“Will,” he says softly. “I don’t care.” He blinks, sitting up straight. “No, I do care, of course I care, I just…” He searches for the words he needs, and Will waits for him. “It doesn’t change anything,” he settles on. Will stares at him, a crooked smile appearing on his face. “I really like you. I don’t think anything is ever gonna change that.”

Will closes his eyes, falling forward until his head rests on Nico’s shoulder, and Nico laughs lightly, releasing his hands and reaching to comb through his hair.

“Can I kiss you again?”

Will lifts his head, nodding, and Nico smiles, thumbing under his eyes before he leans in and kisses him. Will runs his hands over Nico’s thighs, his fingertips slipping under the hems of his boxers, his hands warm against Nico’s skin, and Nico hums, moving one hand to hold the back of his neck, his other hand pressing lightly to his throat.

Will’s tongue slips across Nico’s lip, and Nico lets out a whimper, furrowing his eyebrows as his hands tighten on him. Will pulls away with a smile, his eyes trained on Nico’s parted lips as he gasps for breath, and then he’s leaning back in, sucking on Nico’s lip and pressing his tongue into his mouth.

Nico groans softly, pushing a hand into Will’s hair, kissing him, and kissing him, and kissing him.

A rush goes through his body when he realises that he’s kissing a boy. That he gets to kiss a boy. That a boy wants to kiss him, too.

“Will you be my boyfriend?” he gasps when they part.

“Will you be mine?” Will asks, smiling, and Nico melts, nodding.

“Yours,” he breathes.

He leans in, kissing Will desperately, his teeth closing on his lip, before he kisses across his cheek, down his jaw, along the side of his neck. Will’s head falls back and he sighs, his fingers spreading over Nico’s lower back. Nico kisses over his throat slowly, lingering over his pulse, and then he’s reaching to pull at the collar of his shirt, tugging it out of the way so he can kiss his collarbone.

“Will,” he breathes, and Will hums back. “Can you take this off?” He lifts his head to look into his eyes. “You don’t have to.”

Will nods, out of breath.

“No, I want to.” He hesitates. “Can you… take yours off too?”

Nico nods, smiling, and they release each other just lost enough to tug their shirts over their head. Nico gets tangled in his sweater for a moment, and he hears Will’s soft laughter through the fabric before he finally gets it off and tosses it away like it’s offensive. Will leans forward, catching Nico’s face between his hands and kissing him slowly.

Nico runs his hands over Will’s sides. He’s almost hot to the touch. Nico worries for a moment that his hands might be too cold, but Will just hums breathily at him, smiling.

“We shoulder probably shut the window, right?” Nico says softly when they part to breath, and a small laugh bursts out of Will.

“That’s probably smart.” He keeps a hand on Nico, resting on the side of his neck, and reaches with the other for the window, pulling it shut. Nico leans in as he’s tugging the curtains closed, kissing the side of his neck carefully and slowly. “Ni…”

Nico hums back, patting his lips and slipping his tongue over Will’s skin softly, smiling when a ragged breath escapes Will.

He kisses over his collarbones, nibbling the skin lightly the way he chews the strings of his hoodies and his forks when he’s not eating. Will buries his fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp lightly, sighing, his other hand landing on his hip.

“Will,” Nico whispers after leaving a lingering kiss on the hallow of his throat. “Can you lay back for me?”

Will nods, eyes closed, releasing Nico and falling onto his back promptly. Nico giggles, leaning over him and catching himself, hands on either side of Will’s head, careful not to land in his hair.

“Thank you,” he breathes, nuzzling into his neck, and Will lets out a soft Uh-huh.

Nico grins, moving down to kiss his chest, biting and licking to his heart’s content because Will is letting him. He baring his neck, tilting his head back against the bed, sighing, draping his arms over Nico’s shoulders and trailing his fingertips over his spine. Nico reaches his scars, and he pauses, looking.

“You know your scars are golden?” Nico asks, tracing one lightly. Will shivers.

“Are they?” he says breathlessly.

“Yeah,” Nico breathes, gazing in awe.

They’re almost shimmering gold, standing out against his skin. He looks like something holy, divine, so beautiful that Nico almost whimpers. He want to cry.

He leans down and presses his lips over one side, leaving lingering kisses across it before moving to the other side.

When he swipes his tongue over a scar, Will whines, pushing a hand into Nico’s hair.

“Okay?” Nico whispers.

“Yeah,” Will breathes. “Yeah, angel, it’s okay.”

Nico’s body flushes with heat, and he beams so brightly it almost hurts. He leans down and does it again, and again, and again, across his chest and collarbones and shoulder and neck, over his golden scars and silver stretch marks, the freckles covering his shoulders like stars in the night sky, the soft bruises already blooming on his skin.

And then he’s licking into Will’s mouth, sighing blissfully as Will tugs his hair and presses against his back and entwines their legs.

Will rolls them over so he’s above Nico, and Nico groans, wrapping his arms around Will’s neck.

Will pulls away, panting, grinning, and Nico gazes at him, at his messy hair and flushed cheeks and lidded eyes and glistening lips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Nico murmurs. Will looks at him. “Don’t argue with me.”

Will laughs, looking away. His hair falls into Nico’s face. It smells like oranges.

“There’s one more thing I have to tell you,” Will whispers after kissing him again. Nico wraps his legs around his waist, holding the sides of his neck gently.

“What is it?”

“…I don’t just like you.”

Nico tugs him in, tears sparking his eyes, his breath stuttering in his chest, hitching in his throat, and kisses him deeply, their tongues sliding together.

“Say it,” he gasps when they part, still close enough that their lips brush, their foreheads press together. “Tell me, baby, please.”

“I love you.”

Nico whimpers, feeling the words wrap around him like a tight bandage, his eyes squeezing shut. Will is kissing him again, peppering soft kisses over his lips and then his cheeks and chin and nose and forehead. Over his closed eyes. Down his neck and collarbones.

“Will,” he says desperately, and Will raises to his level, looking into his eyes. “I love you— I love you too, I love you so much.”

Will lowers to kiss him.

“Promise?” he whispers when he pulls away, and Nico laughs tearfully, pulling at Will’s back so their chests press together.

He can almost feel the heat of Will’s heart against his own.

“Promise.”

#realised i havent posted any fics on here in ages #have this <3 #solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace

15 notes · View notes

themomsandthecity · 1 year

Text

Like Hilary Swank, I Gave Birth in My 40s - and I'm Sick of Older-Mom Bias

Congratulations are in order for Hilary Swank, who welcomed twins on April 9. But if my experience is anything to go off of, Swank may also be on the receiving end of plenty of judgment as well. That's because, in case you missed the headlines trumpeting the news, Swank was 48 when she gave birth. I, too, had a baby in my 40s - in my case, just a few weeks before I turned 42. And I've heard it all from gobsmacked folks who couldn't believe I could take a break from sipping prune juice long enough to give birth at my "advanced maternal age." "What was that like?" one acquaintance asked, upon learning both my age and my new-mom status. Um, like giving birth, I wanted to reply. Another acquaintance: "You'll be in your 60s by the time he goes to college." My internal monologue: Amazing math skills. The comments didn't start once I had my baby, either. I also received countless dire warnings while expecting about the risks associated with "geriatric pregnancies." Not just at my doctor's office, either. I want to be super clear that there are risks to consider when you're an older pregnant person. Yes, there are risks involved with being pregnant at any age, but many increase after age 35 or so. I also think it's important to acknowledge that sometimes people my age require interventions to get pregnant (although I also firmly believe it's incredibly rude to ask anyone if they required such intervention; and believe me, I got some of those questions from people who knew I was over 40 when I conceived). I'm not trying to deny medical reality, or suggest that there's nothing noteworthy about someone who becomes a parent in their 40s. What I take issue with is how so much of society reacts to people who have babies in their 40s. These days, the accepted mantra is that women can do anything, at any age. We love to celebrate women who start businesses, become writers, and win Oscars only after they enter or pass that tenuous period known as "middle aged." We're quick to point out that women over 40 do CrossFit, fall in love, have sex, look sexy, don't just follow but set current fashion and beauty trends. But often, people in their 40s who are or who want to be new parents are treated to pure, unbridled judgment, sometimes bordering on disdain. Some people seem to think that there's a perfect time to have a baby, and that anyone who has one over the age of 40 aren't "doing it right." Even baby announcement headlines can contain some judge-y subtext. When a celebrity gives birth in their 20s or 30s, the headline simply announces the happy news; when a celeb gives birth in their 40s, the headline often works in their age. Can't we leave it at "congratulations"? Not all reactions are negative, of course. I've met plenty of people who are purely happy for me, and others who seem to feel a sense of awe at my journey. (The latter still can make me feel like an exhibit at a zoo, but is somewhat preferable to disdain.) I'm also aware that even the negative responses could stem from someone's own experiences. I have tremendous compassion and understanding for people who've had difficulty conceiving or had very difficult pregnancies, who might be more inclined to react to people who are able to have children in their 40s. But, while I don't presume to speak for all parents in this age group, as a 42-year-old new parent, my only wish was that the world treat me the same as other pregnant people or new parents. I knew I was over 40, and didn't need anyone to remind me. And I could never understand why other people seemed to care so much about how others choose to parent, whether it was about when someone becomes a parent or if they choose to breastfeed. So, to anyone who has a problem with older parenthood - or people who just want to remind me, again, that I'll be 60 when my kid goes to college - I have one thing to say: I can't hear you with these ancient ears. You'll have to speak up. https://www.popsugar.com/family/pregnancy-after-40-older-parent-bias-essay-49140247?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

0 notes

floralkittygambler · 3 years

Text

Reposting for reasons

Response to Honest’s post here: Doing this to spread this awareness more as I know theres a bit of a rift in the critical community - plus I really fucking go on. Im PISSED and I do apologise however it NEEDS urgent addressing. I know people will hate me for it but Im used to hate and honestly? Hating rather than helping to solve the issue only furthers my fucking point here. So yeah this is so more people are aware (no offense to any of those involved in said rift either, but this is an important message. Thank you for understanding and if I can do anything to make all sides comfortable, then please message me and I’ll do my upmost.) “ More awareness of this is needed. Even if it’s your favourite, you can’t justify their shit but rally against another’s shit. Have people tell you you’re experiences arent real or invalid because, like Husk, people have - in real life - shipped you with someone you are far from comfortable with but you still treat them like a person. Because you have basic respect. And people force you to accept harassment, touching, stalking, advances for THEIR satisfaction. People use you for their fantasies. But you’re just a ‘tsundere’ for it. Or you have addiction issues but people think being with another addict will ‘save’ you because you’re apparently too incompetent to save yourself. Love isnt some magic fuckin cure so stop romanticising it as a fuckin saviour. It’s gross and fuckin creepy. Get stalked and have someone NEVER accept your no just because you show youre still decent enough to not treat them shitty or any different from anyone else. Try having someone way older or way younger (both in morally fucked up ways) advance on you and people encourage that. People you’re supposed to feel safe around.

People touch you when you pull away or show discomfort. Follow you home. Have pictures of you and wont accept you dont like them like that and it’s not ‘playing hard to get’ or ‘the thrill of the chase’. Fuck. OFF. In fact, Im not only disappointed in the fandom. Im disappointed in the entire team who some should know better from their OWN personal experiences - or at least the bare minimal of being a fucking adult. Im disappointed in especially females (sorry idk whether girl or woman is more appropriate here-) who statistically are more likely to have experienced something similar at some point in their lives think this is a cute gay moment. No. Angel is made out as a fucking predator - Im not saying he is, Im saying that his persistence is very fucking unwelcome like one. People like Husk dont need that fucking invasiveness. They/We need patience and someone on our level. Angel’s I know are the fuckin polar opposite - and some of them I know are very sexually harassing, including unwanted touching. It’s a shitty way to present gay people. Gays are fuckin people. Some are cunts and some arent. It’s a HUMAN thing. But considering the shit theyve been subjected to, presenting a gay as a victim only to also show them as a perpetrator is insulting! And for those Ive seen argue this about how people like AD wouldnt know how to express their love normally and whatnot? His pig. His best friend. He’s in his fucking 30s. There are literal real life criminals who get molested as kids and then go on to molest kids. Not all who grow up like that turn into nonces. Stop just fucking STOP justifying and romanticising this bullshit! I used to see the good in AD but now he makes me fucking sick. Especially with my verrrrrry fucking real traumas and connections. But fuck me, eh? Because this fictional guy matters so much more. Fuck real victims. And whilst we’re at it, fuck AD too when it suits your fetishes! Sarcasm aside, the fans and the team need to straighten up their abhorrent behaviour. Stolas. Fucking clearly having an affair, knowingly fucking up his daughter’s mental health and bribing a guy into sex who only wants the book and nothing more. He even has a fucking warning button over Stolas- Guys, how do you think any of this is cute? Even the team gross me out- I genuinely see potential and talent and it’s all gone to shit to satisfy horny teens, horny adults, and literally everyone who doesnt for the life of them understand being an adult is more than sex, drugs, violence and swears! I REALLY want to keep enjoying HB/HH but it’s getting harder and harder with such ignorant and bordering lazy creators (note: lazy as in wont do the fucking research or actually listen to real criticism and victims), such despicable fans (yeah, some HDers fuckin mocked that they triggered my ED, yet they had the fucking NERVE to support Angel’s potential ED AND laugh and blame me for me getting treated so badly for actually having the balls to call Angel and the teams hypocrisy. I got told to kill myself, that my problems arent real - oh but Angels apparently is! Which... They *are* but AD isnt real so technically only onlookers will suffer and not a drawing - and they just excused their toxic behaviours. These people are like “aww poor angie babey!” yet fuckin INSULT sex workers. All this red in Hazbin yet it feels everyone and they mama colour blind. The issues are getting worse and fans are outright becoming EVIL, VILE, Vindictive little bullies - from kids to adults. You SHOULD be ashamed of yourself if you conduct yourself in such a manner. And you need to readjust your attitudes and behaviours because the only fuckers getting hurt are actual fucking victims. Ever been violated and been gaslit so much you STILL fucking question it’s reality? So you drown that shit out yet somehow it’s effects still hit you? Fetishise it. Make it your uwu gae couple goals, you’re no better than people believing Harley and the Joker werent toxic af. If this shit happened to you, most of you would actually SEE where we’re all coming from. Also, stop making gay a fetish - you’re like those creepy old men in the alley heckling lesbians to make out so they can wank off. Gays, no ALL the LGBT+ are fucking people too. So dont give me that bullshit then start turning everything just gay or just straight to mentally wank off to. It’s degrading and dehumanising. And yes, fiction does effect reality. You crush on a fictional character? Mourn one? Support one? Hell, fuckin jerk off to one - that’s affecting reality. Remember how in fiction all blacks were treated as villians? Look how theyre treated IRL. JAWS, great classic unfortunately their was a spike in shark killings over a fucking movie - the shark in the movie wasnt even real for the most part because they dont behave like that! (Also the animatronic was so shit they genuinely had so many issues - I think they even took to naming each one! Some fun trivia there!). Tiger sharks are more nasty than great whites as tiger sharks will hunt and eat a human. Great whites prefer seals and dislike human flesh, they just mistake us for seals. Hell, theres the toothless basking shark - theyre often SWAM WITH by divers for being so friendly. Yet Jaws made people think all sharks are bloodlusting over humans. Slenderman was created for a fucking contest and that influenced a stabbing (NOT Victor’s fault). Watch a horror movie that isnt based on a real life event and tell me that at least ONE has left you peaking over your shoulder. Stella may be a bitch - we dont know for certain - but try getting cheated on. Y’know what? Try growing up in such a broken home like Octavia. Yeah reaaaaaal fucking cute now, huh? Funny how as well y’all petition for male victims to be taken seriously then laugh when fictional males experience this abuse, further adding to stigma. You can be hit on by the hottest mf on the planet but if you arent interested, that should be respected! Also we’ve all been inspired by at least one fictional character so yeah. Yknow, since I was little Ive been fighting for sex worker and homeless rights. But HH/HB treatment of both leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I’ll still fully support sex workers and the homeless, but that’s the fucking effect this show is having. Bearing in mind I wont ever share everything Ive been through - and I shouldnt fucking have to in order to be believed and validated (obvs proof is required in a legal case but that’s a whole other topic). Why should I share MY fucking pain especially when you fuckers have belittled and triggered it more so? We have our rights to our secrets but fuck ME you lot NEED to start acting appropriately and like decent fucking humans. ‘iTs HeLl’ yeah and welcome to Earth- the team and yourselves live HERE. You obide by THESE rules. And as someone with beliefs (and a LOT of ancient fucking texts and studies on this shit) their Hell isnt even a proper Hell! It’s closer to purgatory and even then it’s not. Regardless, it’s a poorly built world with the lore consistently changing per episode and tweet, with many plot holes, and is apparently easy to get into - even via accidentally watching porn according to a stream. If youre gonna parade youre a fucking expert and research into demonology and use real believed figures, at least get THAT right. In fact, Lucifer and Lilith (and Stolas tbf) are ESPECIALLY risky as theyre a lot more complex than most easy access texts will tell you. Likewise, Stolas’s first introduction and main focus is sex. He’s one of the FEW Goetia demons that dont have some involvement in relationship issues at ALL. He’s known for astrology, crystals and herbs but hes also known to aid MONEY troubles (it’s lesser known but it’s true! HB Stolas is an insult to the Prince). Turning Vodou into something evil is vile considering it’s powerful and liberated slaves. Pentagrams are nothing to do with Satan, they’re magic based sigils. Upside down cross is the symbol of a SAINT. It’s just some edgy attempt to trick people into believing they know more than they do. Also you should NEVER dabble and doodle sigils without knowing the meanings or respecting what they behold. Vox and Val, real fuckin cute way to make them look like a stupid fucking highschool drama instead of a fucking SEX TRAFFICKER (note: real pimps often target YOUNG folks too - aka minors - and groom them into sex work. Theres different types of pimp. Viv has shown barely any understanding of ‘the game’ and its a fucking insult to injury. Yes we KNOW what a fucking pimp and prozzie are! We dont need to see it. We need REAL AWARENESS.) and a fucking scheming bastard of a CEO salesman botman. And yet even THEN lets go a step further and make some yandere wuv on boyfweind aboose! Fuck off- Now I love a good anime but these tropes are getting fucking dangerous now. And unrealistic to real love and relationships. Kids nowadays know fuck all on a healthy relationship (neither did the fuckin 50s tbf) and Im seeing more romaticism and glorifying abusive situations. Like the show ‘You’. Ok, there’s a fuckin bloke online who slaughtered innocents and kidnapped yet people commented how cute he is on his IG and that they want to be kidnapped or killed by him next. Dont believe me? Look up Peter Manfredonia Connecticut and the comments people left him and then tell me why shit like whats being presented in HH/HB ISNT fucking concerning - because it is. For a series about redemption, it’s brilliant at the opposite (Quote from the creator herself, Viv has posted that it’s influencing her bad choices. Even as a joke, proof’s in the pudding). And the overall focus on sex in the way Viv does is so immature and really creepy, and this is from an ADULTS perspective. From one adult to another, Im concerned as to why any of them think this is a normal fixation. Then again they’ve hired quite a large amount of dodgy folks and even a child. Most of this shit gets avoided with a basic background check like most companies run. I DO like Hazbin. Or the premise. I love some of the cast and spite the others. In Helluva, I just like a tiny portion of the cast. And I critique it so harshly because Viv DOES need a wakeup slap, grounding to reality, people who arent going to big her up or kiss her arse for once and shape her up to be the best she can be. The actually reach and even surpass her potential. And to reach where you need to be, there’s a lot of harsh lessons youll face. That’s life. Shes chosen one of the most HEARTLESS industries and if she blocks out critique as ‘hate’ then she’s not strong enough and wont last. It’s just another unprepped YanDev again (except I dont believe Viv to be a nonce. Even with her dodgy past and dodgy present, I think her perspective on sex and relationship with sexuality is FAR from healthy BUT I dont believe she’s a pedophile. Ive bled my fair share and so far, I just think her sex perspective isnt healthy or mature for her age. But there’s little to nothing to suggest actual noncery - dont worry about accusations there. But YanDev is totally a dirty predator. Just clearing that up). Viv NEEDS some harshness and stability if she wants to do things right. And it’ll make her fucking cry but if she loves these projects as much as she claims to, then you’ll sacrifice blood, sweat and tears for that shit. Even the strongest points are mediocre at best when properly observed. She CAN do more, but she’ll have to face the harsh music. Viv wont see this, but if she does, I dont care if it upsets her. Why? Because this is that much of an issue - something she’s cultivated - that she needs to take action and not ignore it or be secretive about it. She needs to grow up and get tougher skin. Im not saying this to cause her pain. In fact, I wouldnt waste my fucking limited time if I DIDNT care. Trust me, I have duties to be met at a certain quota every single day. I say this shit only because I give a shit and care. If we met, she’d fucking hate me. But people like me are good for shaping people up to their potential. And we arent always this ‘tough love’ either. But when someone needs that level of harshness to help themselves, we’re not afraid to lose people or cause upset if the results end up being the best for them. If she ever saw this, she needs to re fucking evaluate her message, her story, and those she’s choosing to welcome into her circle. And all Im seeing is one rookie mistake after the other. Her paid patreon discord. Just like the messages Honest has posted on her side of being harassed (not in Vivs fyi), Ive experienced shit and bullying and even stay silent on their for being attacked for a group I fuckin paid to be in and yet I feel isolated. It’s all arsekissing and ‘thank you viv’ (thats an actual channel-) and it feels like a place of borderline worship and people trying to appease her 24/7 whilst kicking others with different opinions down. There’s so many I love but I aint kissin yer fuckin arse. Ask the closest friend I have - we’re fucking raw and wont just side with each other just because. We’ll call each other out if we think they’ve fucked up and then help each other build themselves up better. Because real fuckin people who actually care wont just want to be adored by you. They’ll care enough to point out your bullshit and help you, even if they upset you at the time. They’re real and upfront with you. People like us arent always the easiest to be close to either because we arent afraid of upsetting someone if it’s in their best interest and to help them. Likewise, we dont go out looking for fights either. Most times, we’re fuckin soft bastards- All this shit listed is the fuckin surface level of the real life hell of this fandom. And unsurprisingly, those who experience little to no toxicity have always been higher on that popularity ‘food chain’ - enough admirers and shared opinions that people wanna arse kiss regardless of their OWN feelings as well as neutral perspectives. I’d say you’re the lucky fans, but you’re not. You’re sheltered, and that isnt always the best way to be sadly. As for the fans. If Ive upset you. Well... I dont care. Because many of you have actively sought me out and weaponised my traumas against me. You never cared about my feelings then. Why should I care about yours? Im not doing this out of malice. Im fed up of humans behaving so pathetically yet claiming to be high and mighty. Most of you have been arseholes to those in and out of the community. The victims and non-victims alike. Hardly any of you considered once my real suffering. You put a drawing over a life. Many lives. You had the audacity to tell me Im full of shit. Some even using my real traumas to make a mockery of me and those Im around with a very similar history. Some with traumatic histories that differ from my own. You hardly ever considered the real lives of those effected. So no, Im not sorry for having the fucking balls to this day to still stand up for our rights and give us a voice that’s long been stolen. Im not sorry for being a fucking victim. Im not sorry for saying what desperately NEEDS voicing. And Im not sorry for not conforming to you or any fandom just to belong. We deserve better than to constantly be your fuckin arse monkeys (well... the trope is butt monkey but yknow-) and to be mistreated, misrepresented and harmed by you. You’re no different to the school bullies who give speeches on anti-bullying day. And I hope every single one of you starts looking into yourselves and improving. PS: Depending on the texts you read, Lucifer is said to have been redeemed or to be redeemed. Fun fact to haunt yalls with~ “

#warning long #long post #hazbin critical #very long rant #important #hear victims voices #just sick of how awful people can treat one another and believe this is acceptable #everyone is accountable #toxic fanbase #Toxic shippers #toxic ships #im literally too fucking old for this #forgive the anger but after years and years it gets so cumbersome and tiring #im happy to be the pariah if it means victims actually get heard and helped

6 notes · View notes

niuniente · 2 years

Note

I found you through your Death's Head Deals comics, but I want you know I'm also gonna be checking out your other stuff.

Also:

Your art style is lovely, and your way of drawing is so expressive! I really appreciate what you'te showing with your comics, and, and as queer bisexual transmasc, I am so, so appreciative of your making Alrick a cishet man. Like, I feel like I can't tell you anything you don't already know, but as a transmasc, seeing such a positive example of a cishet man means...so much to me. In so many progressive spaces there's this sort of idea that anyone who isn't Woman Enough is pitiable at best. And, you know, as someone for whom womanhood was...oh, man. It was awful. I can't begin to explain to you what it did to me. Because it wasn't right. I was never a girl. But other people – cis and trans – look at someone like me and see someone who chose to transition. Who chose to be...a toxic gender, I guess?? Never mind that I'm not a binary man, the fact that my gender is masculine is enough to damn me!

So to see a cis man – a cis man who is also straight! so his gender can't be waved off like it's incidental to his sexuality! a cishet man! who is cis and het and gender conforming and not queer in any way – as something positive?? To see him as someone worth loving?? To see him as an okay way to exist?? To see someone like that, presented in a genuine, joyous way? Without the toxic masculinity one sees so often in popular media?? He's just...a good person? He's just...a person????

I can't explain how much that means to me. I'm queer in every way and reading about Alrick is healing to me. Because you don't present him as a failure because of his gender or sexuality. Because you, as the author, stated firmly that being a man, even a straight one, isn't a bad thing. Because Alrick is good. Because I can also be who I am, and not be lesser for it. I'm not 'joining the enemy:' men aren't the enemy. There's nothing wrong with manhood. There's nothing wrong with heterosexuality. None of these are toxic identities. They're just identities. They're neutral. And I, as a queer person, who is neither cis nor straight, find so much comfort in that. So. Thank you.

And I hope this doesn't stress you out!! Even if the story goes in a way I don't personally like, it won't ever change the fact that this story helped me. I just wanted to thank you for bringing it into the world as it is now, and how much that means to me.

(I had a LOT of limoncello, but I mean everything I said. I am just drunk enough to think you might like to hear what I have to say)

Aaaw, thank you! I read your feedback 8568506 times, seriously! I really don't even have words how to reply to your sweet message.

Your message doesn't stress me out, no sweat about it! All's good :3

Just once more louder to the back if people didn't hear me the last time I spoke about this:

BEING A MAN OR CISHET OR STRAIGHT OR BOTH IS NOT A CARDINAL SIN, NOT EVEN A SMALL SIN!

That's condemning people, judging them based on stereotypes. How well has that worked on you, dear minorities? Have you enjoyed it? Did it make you to like the oppose site even more? Why would use the same tactic towards your enemy - whoever or whatever it is - and expect different results?

Some resistance is always needed when things are being changed as the change does require strength, even positive aggression, but if you take it too far you only create another war.

Everyone wants to be treated with kindness and acceptance. People generally react negatively if you react negatively to them first.

When it comes to positive masculinity, I believe its the true form of manhood and masculinity. The toxic patriarch, man-made system has destroyed so much masculinity, given everyone sick expectations and models of "manhood". The same way as it has tainted true femininity and womanhood. It's not a sin to be a woman either. It's not a sin to be feminine, soft, gentle, sensitive, nurturing, emphatic, like cute things etc!

There are a few positive masculine men in media that I admire and I'm happy that they exist. I keep them in mind when working with Alrick.

Sláine is a feminist barbarian, who is shown in multiple cases to show compassion and kindness towards women without wanting anything in return. Unlike other men who have abandoned the old Goddess, Sláine still serves her and has vowed his loyalty to her till his death. His wife Niamh is shown to be incarnated in many different lives to be together with Sláine, as their souls always find each other. Pat Mills has created Sláine series together with his wife Angela Kincaid.

Ken Kitano (Sun-Ken Rock) is definitely the best positive masculinity examples in any media I have encountered. Here, Ken has just taken by force the whole control all South-Korean's entertainment business after he heard women were sexually exploited and abused in it. He asked nothing in return and sacrificed his possibility to ever leave mafia life - something he had dreamed of since the day one - to achieve the safety of all women. He's very loyal to his sweetheart and always refuses from any other women.

Ken is also extremely compassionate towards his enemies, all citizens and uses all his resources, fame, money and strength for the better of others, unconditionally.

Like “Shit. I have other things to do but there’s this victim of human trafficking, who I already saved once, but the other mafia hunted her down and forced her to work again. Well, better take the whole red light district’s ownership from 500+ member mafia with my less than 10 members mafia so that the girls can have their freedom and be safe for the rest of their lives under my protection”.

The best thing? He's THE mafia boss. The most powerful man in the whole South-Korea, above any law, above any other living person. Ken could do and get anything he wants but he always chooses to use all he's got for good.

Tatsu (Gokushufudou / The Way of The House Husband) left his yakuza life behind and married Miku. He's a most devoted husband and always treats Miku, neighbors, the women of the Housewife Association, all kids and animals with kindness. Other mafia members come to challenge him but he never takes the bait as he's got a dinner to make and laundry to do! He remembers everyone's birthdays, celebrations, is very kind and attentive towards his parents-in-law and always aims to make Miku happy. He's equal to his wife as his wife is equal to him.

I really like this series as it's pretty phenomenal in Japan, where the strict gender roles still sit very tight! Everyone is expected to marry early, and then men are expected to be the breadwinners and women stay-home wives and mothers. Men are above women and women's salaries are still lower than men's.. I've been delighted to see small changes in Japan within the last 12 years I've visited there. Last time I saw many home-stay dads looking after the kids and found men's bathroom with a nursery table inside.

#positive masculinity #ask niu #alrick #DHD #support

154 notes · View notes

siswritesyanderes · 3 years

Note

All versions of yandere Loki are wonderful. I wish have them all! But first, King of Midgard Loki (I assume Loki tricked Thanos and killed him with two stones). The Reader is a sweet creature. Loki treats her gently despite his sadistic side (he has the Avengers to torture, he doesn't have to hurt his queen). Loki pampers her with jewels, dresses. She is afraid to stand up to him and accepts his sick love.

You're dressed in what you're pretty sure is a historical artifact- some queen's gown, or something, it must be -and draped in necklaces and rings that you're pretty sure have been taken from museums. He has given himself no shortage of finery, too, but you get the sense that he takes great pride in spoiling you so visibly.

He actually doesn't make as big a deal as he could out of the fact that his queen is a human. That is, he doesn't use it to explicitly persuade the people of Midgard to succumb to his rule. You suspect this is partly because he doesn't need to persuade anyone to do anything, anymore- as there are very few rebels left and those who do exist are living in absolute fear -and partly because he doesn't want to seem insincere with you.

Midgard as a whole gets the silvery words of goodwill, but with you he makes sure to show his devotion.

At the moment, you're sitting with him in a huge amphitheater, watching a dramatic reenactment of his life. It's the most hilariously self-indulgent thing, and you're the only one who is allowed to laugh.

And you are laughing.

Not loudly, because you don't want your mirth to set off someone who would actually get in trouble for cracking up, but you let yourself enjoy these moments of absurd levity.

Loki, the conqueror of Earth and apparently the slayer of someone called the Mad Titan (though that's coming from his own mouth, so it could very well just be a story he tells to make himself sound awesome), has urged you to lay down in his lap so that he can play with your hair. He likes to teach himself intricate braids and knots, to weave and unweave at unearthly speeds. He's braided jewels into your hair, and flowers. If he is to be believed, he's braided magic itself into your hair before. Today, you have a suspicion that he might be weaving in the stems of the grapes he's been served.

He hums contentedly at the play, and mouths along to the script.

In moments like this, it seems as if there isn't anything to fear. You laugh drowsily.

The next time he takes you out to "see a show", there's no telling if it will be another play like this, or if he will be making a spectacle of humiliating one of the Avengers. That is never fun to watch.

The Hulk used to be a favorite of his. He doesn't do it as much anymore- or maybe he just doesn't take you to watch anymore, now that he's seen that it upsets you -but he used to make a sport of provoking Bruce Banner forcibly into his Hulk form within an enclosed and reinforced space, for the joy of watching the gaunt little scientist struggle to keep from expanding. The first several times, the Hulk had merely broken through any material meant to contain him, but somehow Loki had found something strong enough to hold him. Strong enough to hurt him. Either Bruce would manage, with extreme difficulty, to resist the change even as Loki subjected him to every possible form of ridicule in order to bring it on, or the Hulk would suffer breaks to his ribs and arms as he grew too large for the space. Either way, it was awful, as was Loki's entertainment with such a thing.

You aren't even sure how and where such cruelty fit in; most of the time, he is just frivolous and arrogant, not sadistic. But when that side of him surfaces, it seems there is no limit to it. Like he could do anything to anyone and laugh at it.

Anything to anyone...except you.

With you, he has never not been gentle. It's dizzying, and sometimes it almost makes you think that you must be missing something, or imagining either the cruel Loki or the kind one. The dissonance is just too jarring. He's murdered people, and yet he dotes on you whenever he sees you, taking you into his arms whenever he returns to the palace after a long day, as if you are his sanctuary.

You let him shower you in kisses and gifts, because what else is there to do?

"My pretty queen," he murmurs.

As you drift closer and closer to sleep, in his lap, to the sounds of world-famous actors (and a few that he apparently discovered in small community theaters) portraying key moments in his life, you find yourself staring at the first ring he ever slipped onto your finger. It's set with a stone as big as a marble, that swirls with blues and greens and little wisps of white so that, at times, it looks like the Earth itself.

#male yandere #yandere mcu #yandere loki laufeyson #yandere loki odinson #yandere marvel #obsession

267 notes · View notes

ellewords · 3 years

Note

atsumu was like the sun. he shined and glowed and warmed people just by being near them. without a single thought, he was able to brighten the mood in ways that no one else could. even on his darker days or when his being felt too harsh, he left an impact that made everyone long for more. you couldn’t always see him, couldn’t always feel his presence, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there somehow, unseen but known.

by association, that sort of made you the moon. you could shine brightly and leave a warm glow and comfort others when they felt like they were in the dark. but all of that wasn’t possible without the sun. without atsumu.

people didn’t know you unless you were by atsumu’s side. they didn’t spare you a glance until atsumu brought attention to you. but you didn’t mind. all you wanted was to have him by your side, to support you when you couldn’t hold yourself up, to be brilliant beside him even if you would never outshine him. you were content in your current situation.

so why did it hurt so much seeing him continue to shine? why did his warmth suddenly feel so cold? why couldn’t you be as bright as him all on your own?

or, atsumu will always be the sun, you always the moon. maybe now it’s time to accept that you’re nothing without him so you can finally shine for yourself.

-💛

— from elle ! 💛anon you never miss, do you? aaaa this was so good it lived in my head rent free ever since i first read it >_< i just had to write an addition to this for the way you made my heart actually ache. i hope i did your drabble justice :<< this just hit a lil too close to home ngl thank you for reading everyone, i hope you like this! reblogs are appreciated, they help a ton <3

fic notes / warnings : timeskip!miya atsumu x gn!reader, angst, fluff (-ish? kinda) ending, oneshot, wc: ~1.52k (!! my longest margins addition so far omg)

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

atsumu has a gravitational pull, that much has always been clear to you and everyone else; a pull so strong that you can’t help but orbit around him. every room he walks into, he commands the attention of everyone present. one can’t help but simply be drawn to him — with his bright smiles, boisterous laughs, and larger than life movements. it’s no wonder why everything seems to bend to his will, how the universe seems to revolve around him.

you’ve moved around him for as long as you can remember, every now and then, he lets you borrow his light. the world has associated you with him and you don’t blame anyone one bit.

his name has always come first. setter for the inarizaki volleyball team, miya atsumu. invited to the all-japan youth intensive training camp, miya atsumu. captain of the inarizaki volleyball team, miya atsumu. setter for division one volleyball team, the msby black jackals, miya atsumu.

meanwhile, yours is treated as an afterthought, an attachment, a footnote in the awe-inspiring narrative of his life. you’re known as his childhood friend. his best friend, the one who cheers him on from the stands in every single one of his games. alleged significant other, according to whispers in the hallway and to the tabloids and paparazzi. his eventual confirmed significant other, ln yn.

atsumu and who’s that with him? atsumu and his best friend. atsumu and his significant other. atsumu, oh, and yn’s here too. it’s always atsumu before yn; his name before yours. sometimes, you wonder if anyone would know your name if he hadn’t started dating you.

you walk behind atsumu, not beside him, when you enter a room. fingertips loosely intertwined with his, you attempt to keep your head up as atsumu introduces you around. they spare you a quick “hi”, before beginning a conversation with your sun.

though he’s not really your sun, is he? you’ve always had to share him with everyone else. everyone needs a little sunshine in their life, a little warmth; his brilliance is dazzling, like everyone else, you revelled in his glow.

the world has always associated you with him, but it never worked the other way around. atsumu has always shined on his own; you needed him to have light for yourself.

no one blames the sun for burning a little too bright; it’s simply the way it is. similarly, you’ve never blamed atsumu for being the way he is. he doesn’t know, didn’t mean to do it in the first place. atsumu has always existed for himself, lived life the way he sees fit.

you can’t blame him, no matter how much you wanted to. even if you forced yourself to.

staring at the sun is fascinating, but do it long enough and it starts to hurt. the warmth is no longer comforting, but harsh and prickly. the light is no longer magical and dazzling, but blinding and terrifying. it took some time, but you eventually convinced yourself to look away.

“ya sure ya wanna do this?” atsumu asked, immediately recognizing your hesitance. he doesn’t want to break up, he wants you to take your words back, he wants you to tell him that this was all just some sick prank. but right now, it doesn’t matter what he wants. what matters is how you feel, the emotions he didn’t realize you had been feeling.

“no…” you mumbled. the intensity of his gaze makes your knees buckle, but you stand your ground. even in the chilling darkness of his living room, he radiates light and understanding, making everything all the more difficult. you bite the inside of your cheek, letting a few beats pass before your next words, “but i have to.”

“i believe in you,” atsumu nodded, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his jeans. he lets out a quiet exhale, eyes gazing on the suitcases in your hand, “yer gonna do so many amazin’ things.”

your grip on the bag’s handle tightened. it was the end of an era, one that you didn’t expect would be ending at all. but it had to be done. for the first time since you met atsumu, you finally began to think of yourself. a small smile plays on your lips, hoping that he picks up on the pure gratefulness of your tone, “thank you for lending me your light.”

his reply would play in a loop in your mind. even in a breakup, the darkest the night has ever been, atsumu offers you a little bit of light. as expected from the sun.

the moon goes through several phases. some days are better than others. it’s a wave of several highs and lows, but you grow to understand that’s how things are. on some nights it’s as invisible as they come, the clouds blocking out what little light it already produced. though it glowed on other nights, you often feel like nothing has changed. but you learn to trust the process either way.

gazing at the moon is calming, not dazzling and exceptional, but calming. it provides peace, serenity. you often gazed at the moon, especially on the nights where you could only toss and turn. a cold breeze would blow past you and send shivers down your spine, painting your bare skin with several goosebumps. leaning on the balcony railing and taking in the sounds of a city that barely slept makes you think of him.

you miss the sun; you miss your sun. you miss his presence and the warmth he brings you. atsumu checks in every now and then, asking how you’re doing and wondering if you’d ever want to meet for a cup of coffee. you’ve never accepted any of his offers for fear of only getting pulled back in.

you’ve never realized that you always had a gravitational pull of your own. atsumu spends most of his nights gazing at the moon. when his heart raced and his mind buzzed, the moon brought him tranquility — as did you, his anchor.

[ miya atsumu ] : the night sky is nice tonight, it makes me think of you. i like that we’re always looking at the same one.

[ miya atsumu ] : i hope you’re doing okay.

he’s right, the night sky does look nice. the moon is full and shining the brightest you’ve ever seen it shine. gleaming, enchanting, and breathtaking doesn’t seem to do its beauty any justice. perhaps the poets and artists had been right all along, the moon is the perfect muse. your thoughts almost convince you that its light isn’t artificial. but twinkling beside the moon are the stars, shimmering high above the world you know, their light completely their own.

you’re not okay. being the moon may not be too bad, but you’ve already realized that you want to be amongst the stars as one.

days turn into weeks, and eventually months. sometimes they blend together when nothing of interest or importance happens, though you strive for events that are worth remembering. you’ve found a job that you actually like, one that you truly excelled at. you’ve started to put yourself out there, to meet people that pushed you to be better than you had been the day before. slowly but surely, you began to create your own light.

some days your light faltered, some days are dimmer than others, but it was a light of your own. it’s one that didn’t need another’s glow to exist. soon enough, you find yourself accepting one of atsumu’s many offers for a cup of coffee.

he’s now brighter than ever. setter for division one volleyball team, the msby black jackals, miya atsumu, has turned into setter for japan’s olympic team, miya atsumu. his radiance is as blinding as ever, the largest grin on his face as he waves his hand out the second he caught sight of you.

but you’re brighter now too, weaving through the cafe tables with your head up high. you’re more sure of yourself, standing taller, making each step towards him with purpose. you’ve lost the tension in your shoulders, the weight that built in your chest. and atsumu notices it too.

“you’ve changed.” he smiles, much softer than you’re used to. his gaze is fond as you settle in the seat in front of him.

“i know,” you reply, the corners of your lips twitching upwards, “but thank you for lending me your light.”

atsumu’s smile remains that same soft one that you’re not used to as he recognizes your words almost immediately. he leans back in his seat, gesturing a hand to you, “never gave ya anythin’, this is all you.”

he replies with the same words he said several months ago, the latter half of the sentence being the only addition. warmth fills your chest as he never lost a single ounce of sincerity. the only difference? this time you actually believe him.

atsumu may still be the sun, but you’ve become a star in your own right; you no longer need him to shine. maybe someday you’ll shine bright enough to allow yourself to exist beside him. but for now, this is enough.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

send me a hc / or a scenario ! <3 | written on the margins masterlist

taglist : @haikyuutothetop @crystal-lilac @tobioespresso @sushijimawakatoshi @itsmeaudrieee @pantherhappy @jesssobs @mysticstrawberryballoon @cloudedsky29 @sakusasimpbot @aoirohi @kokogxddess @livy384 @itachislut @crapimahuman @dkeela @duhsies @rmjace @atzuums @sanchooinc @sassyglassesbunny @cemeiia @nikiniki743 @savantsoulfinder @miyadarling @tooru--o @rinsangel @asaitashi

join my hq taglist here. <3

211 notes · View notes

thebadbatch · 3 years

Note

Hii, can I request Crosshair being send by the empire to delay a rebel politician reader with the excuse of protecting her, but it happens to be a mission longer than expected and they start bonding and such? Thank you

A /N: l hope this is what you were looking for! I really liked writing this one so it's longer than the other oneshots I've written because I got carried away!

Imperial!Crosshair x Fem!RebelSenate

Plot: The empire have taken over the planet you try to protect and you've been assigned an imperial guard to protect you from the Bounty Hunter's who want you dead or for their own use. Crosshair ends up being your guard and connections blossom throughout the ongoing mission.

Warnings: Detailed description of Violence and a light mention of blood.

------------

Delay

"Why on Stars would you think I'd accept somebody from the Empire to protect me?" You shouted, anger clearly coating your voice as you spoke to your helpers. One sighed and stood forward, gently walking with you through the large and rather extravagant hallways of the place you were assigned to stay. "Don't you understand I'm a rebel? I speak for peace." Your helper nodded lightly, doing her best to remain professional.

"The planet you speak for is under the Empire now, my lady." She paused as you both continued to walk where you'd be greeted with the being who said they'd have to protect you. Things didn't feel right though, it was all so sudden but you had no choice but to leave your questions unanswered otherwise the Empire would silence you once and for all. "Please, allow them to give you their protection - just until things calm down." Nodding slightly in agreement you couldn't help but sigh as imperial ships came into view, storm troopers littering the streets whilst an admiral came to greet you whilst a darker clothed storm trooper stood behind him.

"Ah, senator y/n - I'm glad to hear the news that you've accepted our protection from bounty hunters set to kill you." Rolling your eyes, you soon narrowed your gaze onto him.

"Well it's not like I had much of a choice, is it?" Your words were coated in venom which only made the admiral laugh lightly sending wary shivers down your spine. You had spent years giving people hope, but now you were working alongside the very thing you swore to destroy.

"I'm sure time with your newly assigned guard will change your view of things and you'll give out a good word for the Empire." The trooper stepped forward and removed his helmet to place it under his arm. His hair was a light silver, an interesting mark lay over his eye which only left you with burning questions. "This trooper is named Crosshair, he's the current leader of our newly formed Elite squad. This building will be on complete lockdown until the bounty hunters are eliminated, our trooper will be sure to defend you with his life."

"Yes sir." Crosshair confirmed, his voice was filled with mystery and confidence which just made you shiver.

"I appreciate your time and service, admiral." You had to practically bite your tongue to muster out those words. There was no other choice but to go along with it until there was some sort of reliable plan to get out of here.

Turning your attention to Crosshair you thought the day through, "Come then, i'll show you around." He nodded and began to trail after you, a serious expression glued to his face. Showing him each individual area on the floor you were assigned to did take some time, but it was worth the protection and the longer this lasted the longer you could take to think up a plan to leave. "This is the final room, the Sleeping quarters. There are separate beds so I do hope you're not too fussed on sharing." He took a light breath in as he looked around, walking to the empty bed which would be his.

"That's not an issue." Sitting on your own bed, you watched as he did the same on his. The beds were opposite one another which gave him the best view to ensure you were safe at any given time.

"Well since we shall be spending a week or so cooped up together I thought that we could get to know one another." You attempted a smile towards him, one in which he didn't hesitate on not returning. Everybody from the Empire were so miserable and they were treated so horribly so you understood. "My name's y/n and I'm a politician reader on behalf of the rebels, I believe in hope and peace and know that it shall be achieved one day." A moment or so went by with no response from him, "How about you?" He shifted slightly against the blankets, moving his firepuncher rifle into his hands in a swift moment.

"I'm Crosshair, a sniper and currently your guard. I work alongside the Empire because they did not abandon me, they took me in." Tilting your head to the side slightly, you gave him a questioning gaze.

"Who abandoned you?" He gave out a hollow chuckle, wiping a spec of dust that had rested against his rifle.

"Nobody of your concern."

"You know that there are better places than the Empire? People who will view you as family and not an irrelevant number they can just replace." His eyes narrowed at you as he spoke.

"I'm sick of playing 'families', I'm happy where I am." You soon decided to drop the conversation, not fully willing to make the man who was supposed to protect your life hate you. Allowing silence to fill the room once again, you soon felt comfortable with it. This would only last a few weeks at most, you could get through it.

A week had passed since Crosshair was assigned as your guard and no attempt on your life had been made yet which you found rather surprising. Time had dragged by pretty surprisingly and you couldn't help but start talking outloud to Crosshair who didn't really respond but you knew he was listening and that's all you needed.

"... And that's why I absolutely dislike the dark." His comm soon beeped, and a different voice was heard filling the room for the first time in the week you shared together.

"A breach has occured, keep y/n safe and with you. We cannot risk her life being taken when she will be valuable to us." The voice fell silent as Crosshair replied quickly, placing his helmet over his head.

"Sir, yes sir." Standing he grabbed his rifle and turned toward you, "Let's go." He walked out of the room you were both in and this time you were the one trailing behind him anxiety and fear filling your chest rapidly.

"Where are we going?" You asked, trying not to let your voice shake with fear as his pace grew quicker toward a different room.

"A more secure room, preferably without windows." A loud shatter from behind you accompanied his words before a hand gripped onto yours pulling you into their chest. Before you could realize what was happening, a blaster was against your head and a hand against your throat which made it difficult to breathe. Crosshair had just as quickly pointed his rifle to the person trying to take your life, tension filling the air alongside your jagged and desperate breaths. "Let the girl go." The person simply laughed and stepped back toward the window which only made Crosshair put pressure against the trigger.

"What makes you think I'll let her go? She belongs with us - her skills could be vital for my kind." He snarled lightly in response as your breaths turned into light whimpers, your hands trying to pry the person's grip off of your neck.

"C-cross-" You whimpered out, voice filling the room. You couldn't see Crosshairs expression behind his helmet, but at your voice calling his name his face flashed with concern, worry and then anger. He didn't hesitate as he pulled the trigger, hitting the person in the head. The grip was freed from around your neck, red marks being left around your neck as you fell. Shattered glass cut into your hand, blood soon trailing down your skin. Crosshair picked you up all whilst activating his comm system.

"The threat has been neutralized." He took a soft breath before carrying you to the room you both shared, sitting you softly on your bed. "Requesting a clean up on the third floor." He ended the communication as he reached for the medkit in one of the draws, crouching before you and tending to your hand.

"Thank you..." You mumbled, watching him tend to your hand so carefully made your heart swell - it was a sweet action but something you assumed he was hired to do.

"I'm just following orders." He responded as he finished clearing your hand up - his fingertips moving across the red marks upon your skin. You watched his face turn into anger as he viewed the marks, applying some bacta to soothe the sting. "I won't let them touch you again." In all honesty, you felt terrified - everything suddenly felt so real and who knew how many more times an attempt would be taken on your life? Exhaling a shaky breath, you nodded at his words and you finally allowed him all of your trust. His eyes seemed gentle as he gazed at you, only kindness filling them as he stood. "I suggest you get some rest now, y/n - I'll keep watch over you." He pulled the blankets back for you before he moved to his own bed sitting on the edge gripping his rifle as his eyes scanned outside the window. After climbing into bed you felt the previous shock begin to calm down, the absence of the adrenaline leaving you feeling empty and cold along with the realization that your life was on the line kicking in.

"Crosshair?" You gently called his name, "Can you stay a little closer?" Your question felt out of character for you, but things were just so terrifying and uncertain that you were desperate for some comfort - especially from the man who had just saved your life. He didn't respond so you assumed he just ignored your question rather than saying no. Your doubts soon left though as you felt a weight beside you on your bed, Crosshair sitting beside your tired self. "Thank you." You whispered, the room falling into a comfortable silence as his hand rested against your leg covered by the blanket. Sleep was quick to overtake you, all of your previous worry seemingly melting away at his touch. With him beside you, the week ahead would be bearable for sure.

Plans had changed at the news of more bounty hunters being assigned to take you out or with them, now Crosshair was staying for longer until the Empire had things under control. A month had passed since the attempt on your life and you had both grown closer than ever. During your rants he would always respond willingly and help out with things whenever he could for you, in fact you both managed to become close with one another.

"So," You hummed as he turned his attention toward you, "when do you think they'll let you go back?" He shrugged lightly as he walked closer to you, helmet under his arm.

"Soon." Those words seemed to shatter your heart into literal pieces. "But I have no intention of leaving." A smile crept onto your lips as you moved closer toward him, eyes lit up like a city at night. Your hands held his own as thoughts raced around your head at an incredible speed,

"Why don't I make you my permanent guard? I'm sure the Empire will be overjoyed that I've taken a liking to their services…" You didn't miss the smirk that placed itself onto his lips, his hands softly squeezing your own. Before he could speak, his comm system lit up again.

"Trooper, are you prepared to move out? We have another mission assigned." Your eyes met him in a gentle gaze praying to the stars that he'd stay alongside you.

"Actually, there's been a delay- a proposition has been made which I'm sure will benefit the Empire." The comm fell silent as You moved closer into his arms before the communication device lit up in confirmation,

"Understood. Take your time." With that, you held his face and met your lips with hisin a gentle get loving kiss. Pulling away you couldn't help but sheepishly grin at him - a rare smile of his falling back onto his face which you adored.

"You'll stay with me?" You asked, voice beyond helpful as he moved closer to you.

"I'll stay - I don't want to leave you like they left me." Nodding softly, you offered him a smaller smile.

"I won't ever leave you Cross like they did, I love you." His lips met yours once again before you both came up with a detailed plan on keeping him with you whilst still getting your hope filled messages out there. You were going to take down the Empire one way or another, but now you had Crosshair with you which made everything better. It was you two against the galaxy for years to come.

"I love you too."

#the bad batch #Tbb #The bad batch x Reader #Crosshair x reader #Clone Force 99 #Bad Batch #Starwars #Fanfiction

62 notes · View notes

lesbiansforboromir · 3 years

Text

Let me tell you all about a very personally satisfying HC I have that, whilst perhaps explaining some things within the books, is really just for my own enjoyment.

So, the idea originates in the concept that everyone in the Dol Amrothian line are very spooky. The close elven lineage and living near an old abandoned elven haven had particularly mysterious effects on the whole family. Sure there are Dunadain in Gondor and they can develop certain spooky traits, but the Lords of Dol Amroth start out spooky and usually stay that way. It goes up and down depending on the individual, but generally they are all uncanny at the very least.

Denethor can see into the hearts of men, yeah ok cool I guess. Imrahil goes down to the Dol Amroth harbour at dusk and whispers to the swans until midnight, he answers questions you were sure you did not say out loud, he can make you weep with genuine grief over a sadness he hasn’t even mentioned. Speaking with Finduilas sometimes makes you feel like time passes in an instant, or incredibly slowly, or not at all... except no... really... how much time has passed? Wasn’t it just morning? How is the sun setting already? Or, oh my gosh, I’m going to be late! Or... not..? it’s barely been a few moments, yet I feel like I just lived a lifetime...

Ivriniel insists this is all nonsense, doggedly, she refuses to acknowledge it, no matter how many political rivals raise her considerable ire and come down with a mysterious and debilitating illness the next day. Grandmother Duilindes is just straight up a witch. ‘It’s all for the honour of Eru’ she says placatingly, as she enters her rooms in the Palace that she forbids anyone else from entering.

Denethor had heard these rumours before meeting Finduilas and, sure, he sometimes feels like he is being hunted, only to turn and find Adrahil’s eyes on him. But Dunadain are just a little strange like that! Surely it’s been blown out of proportion. He believes this up until he comes to Dol Amroth as Finduilas’ suitor.

Denethor: Shall we take a walk after dinner? Everyone looks up from their plates in alarm Adrahil: Are you joking? Denethor: ??? Imrahil: It's the seventh day! The gardens aren't to be disturbed! Denethor, whispering to Finduilas: What does that mean?? Finduilas, chuckling: oh, Denethor!

He sees Imrahil whispering to the swans at one point and is about to call out to him before Finduilas quickly gestures him silent.

Denethor, whispered: What is he doing? Finduilas: Shh, if the swans hear us we'll surely be attacked. Denethor: But then shouldn't Imrah- Finduilas: SHH.

One evening Ivriniel sweeps in with a stormy countenance, muttering over Lord Garahel’s stupidity. The next morning Denethor hears Imrahil mention that Lord Garahel has been taken ill with some fainting sickness. The look he gives Ivriniel is enough for her to know his mind.

Ivriniel: Your imagination will run wild Denethor, I had thought you more reasonable. You think I, what? Cursed him? Don’t be ridiculous. Denethor, turning to Finduilas: Do you think... she knows she's doing it? Finduilas: Oh no, in fact she's determined to remain ignorant to it. Denethor: Can you... do that? Finduilas: I havent tried :)

At some point Finduilas had told Denethor that ‘Imrahil is the odd one of the family’ and by the end of the visit all Denethor can think is ‘by what metric??’

Denethor had to admit to himself privately that he was not at all put off by Finduilas’ nature, but he did have cause to worry what their children would be like. Finduilas came across Denethor, early after Boromir’s birth, rocking him to sleep and murmuring softly; 'I may have my failings as a father, I am sure I shall, but I swear they will be honestly meant, I love you so dearly my son... please do not curse me when you are older and I do not allow you everything you ask. I promise I only ever have your wellness in mind.' And she thought it was very sweet and proper, but she didn’t tell him he was wrong! And for very good reason!

Boromir was an unnerving child. He learned to speak just a little too quickly, and when he did he would often say uncanny things, too knowing things, indecipherable things that became daunting the longer you thought about them. He had such a powerful grasp of complex feeling that he would often solve arguments between adults, explain emotions back at his parents or offer reasons for another child’s behaviour that were so accurate it became uncomfortable.

3yo Boromir: (explains the reason Denethor’s secretary was distracted that day unprompted) Finduilas: (laughs) yes that's right! Denethor: It's.... TOO right. Finduilas: Oh well children are intuitive aren't they? Denethor, picking Boromir up: ... I feel under qualified to teach you things. Boromir: (baby-giggles but in a like way too knowing way)

And then sometimes Denethor would be sitting reading on a bench on a balcony in the early evening with Boromir contentedly playing with a fiddle-toy beside him, and suddenly his son’s voice would break the silence with; 'When I wasn't here I was colder, so I think I like it here, I'll stay. The air isn't as delicious but there's more to see.'

And then he’d go back to playing as though nothing was wrong whilst Denethor had an existential crisis.

Denethor: W.. where were you, before? Boromir: Well I didn't know, because I couldn't know, but now I can know things, just not that. I haven't decided if I like it.

He asks Finduilas about it as soon as he can find her and she just laughs, ‘don't worry he'll forget he knows that in a few years’ she says, as though that helps at all.

But in general this is as far as Boromir ventures into the ‘spooky Dol Amroth’ territory. Sometimes he mentions things he CHOSE NOT to do that suggests he is capable of more, but other than randomly forcing Denethor to consider his position in the universe and reading him for shit, the first five years of being a parent is fine for Denethor.

At one point, when Boromir was about two, someone asked Finduilas if they were planning for another baby soon. Finduilas laughed ruefully, as though everyone would know that was a foolish question. ‘Oh no, much too soon for that’ she said. Denethor knew he had to follow up on what the hell that meant later. But when asked, all Finduilas said was ‘Oh you know! If siblings are born too close then they align their powers. Haven’t you heard my father talk about my uncles?’ She says it with the same tone as reading something out of a parenting manual. Denethor doesn’t want to hear about Finduilas’ uncles, but accepts this is important and stops thinking about it.

And it’s a good thing they did wait because, whilst Boromir was unnerving, Faramir is straight up terrifying.

What Denethor realised was that Boromir had been showing restraint. Faramir however was very comfortable with his powers and saw no reason not to use them. Denethor would find himself lost in baby Faramir’s eyes, feeling unable to move simply because of the weight of his stare. Finduilas and Boromir would have to save him from Faramir’s grasp, an act that would make Faramir look very put out.

If people irritated Denethor when he was holding his youngest son, then just a glance from this child would make them drop whatever they were holding, Faramir grinning victoriously all the while. If Faramir did not want to take a bath then Finduilas would have to be present in case the baby decided to make Denethor relive his entire childhood.

Sometimes Denethor would come outside to see his toddler just surrounded by the street cats of Minas Tirith, conducting some kind of incomprehensible tribunal that all the cats appeared to abide by. At one point Boromir was holding Faramir when Faramir grasped his brother’s face and pulled so that their eyes locked. Boromir passively held Faramir’s intense gaze for a while in this charged and tense moment, before calmly looking away as Faramir pouted. Denethor once again begged Finduilas to explain, but all she had to give was a fond sigh and a ‘Aw, Faramir just wants to get to know him, but our Boromir is too canny, Ivriniel and I used to do that.’ Denethor is used to helpless bemusement and concern by now.

Now the SECOND part to this HC- YES I’M STILL GOING, THIS IS ALL IMPORTANT- the second part is that Dol Amrothians ALSO get a kind of ‘choice’. (This is likely not at all canon friendly tbh but uwu I can have a leetle canon noncompliance if it doesn’t effect the vast expansive canon... as a treat) It is far more unconscious and happens in childhood, but there is a point where a child will ‘decide’ to continue being spooky or to be more mundane. This never overrides ALL the spookiness, hence Ivriniel’s intermittent cursing and Finduilas’ occasional time dilation, but Imrahil still out spooks the lot of them. Amongst the family this is known as ‘settling’.

Boromir settles when he is eight. One day he comes to breakfast and Denethor looks into his son’s face and feels like he is suddenly more in the world, more in the moment. Boromir seems as himself as ever, but he makes friends easier afterwards. Whereas he had always been liked, now he is popular and has close relationships with children, rather than always seeming too distant. This also coincides with one of Gandalf’s rare visits. He had been trying to connect with Boromir, trying to engage him on very specific topics. Boromir had not been amused.

Denethor would never say that Boromir hating Gandalf’s vibes was the reason he settled for mundanity. Boromir had many good reasons, he is sure. But the fact that he chose that moment to settle, so that Denethor was allowed to watch Gandalf also realise that Boromir was no longer ‘apt to his hand’, well he might have gleaned some little pleasure from it.

The only aspect Boromir retains is his general resistance to such spookiness. Hence his frustration in both Rivendell and Lothlorien, the time distortion of those places not effecting him and the imposed rest not touching him, meaning he feels every passing day keenly. It also explains his resistance towards the Balrog’s doomful presence, as well as his heightened distress at Galadriel’s ability to see into his mind, where he had always been able to defend himself before.

Faramir on the other hand is seven when he settles, thoroughly content with his spooky powers and wanting even more command over them. It is with this settling that he becomes able to sometimes cause people pain for lying to him. Denethor... struggles as a single father for many reasons.

#erran vs tolkien #denethor #finduilas #imrahil #boromir #faramir #tolkien #lotr #urrr this isn't meta um...#it'll go into #soap operas in mannish sindarin #anyway #because it's fun #text post #long post

136 notes · View notes

katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Text

Andddd here’s my chappy three thoughts 🥳🥳🥳

Hmmm Katniss saying that her mother has a dress made of velvet is actually really interesting because it shows that Mrs. Everdeen Lily-Rose really was well-er off before she married Katniss’ father Hunter.

Or did she get the velvet dress from Maysilee? Oh well, who knows.

Aww, Katniss’ nervous habit of touching soft things repeatedly to soothe herself 🤧🤧.

“Crying is not an option. There will be more cameras at the train station.” — someone tell that to Peeta 🤣🤣🤣.

Okay I gotta stop picking on Primmers, I know but like. How small is she that she sits on Katniss’ lap like a toddler but then in the following year is the same height as her? Doesn’t matter I know but still I wonder.

Okay so Mrs. E is the doctor for the people of the Seam? Idk I never thought about this but who does people like Peeta or Madge or Delly go to if they’re sick or hurt? Is there a still running apothecary shop that Katniss never mentions? Are her grandparents still running the family biz?

Also okay, I gotta stop having so many thoughts on all the lil details I know but like. Katniss says here she’s familiar with the herbs her mother doesn’t grow on her own so like a). Katniss is more of a healer than she leads on because no average person knows what kind of plant is medicinal and b). Her mother is just growing herbs and Katniss never mentions it again in the whole series? Or I just missed it.

Okay imma move on from this one singular paragraph but Gale and her made a pact a year ago that they’ll supply each other’s family with game if they were to be reaped... I’m feeling like their close friendship is probably only one year old then? Idk. Just my interpretation.

Honestly I love Katniss getting mad at her mom here.

She’s sixteen, for God’s sake, of course she’s angry at what her mother’s illness put her through.

Also I lowkey like that her mother got mad back because that lady in the movies had zero personality.

“Boys who are two to three times my size.” She sounds so little, omg 🥺🥺🥺.

“I don’t care if we’re rich, I just really want you to come home” 🤧🤧🤧😩😩😩😩 okay Primmers, you got me here.

“the Peacekeeper is at the door, signaling our time is up, and we're all hugging one another so hard it hurts and all I'm saying is ‘I love you. I love you both.’ And they're saying it back...” this is so sad leave me be 😫😫😫😫

Katniss is burying her face in a pillow to block out her emotions this is too much for me 🥵🥵🥵

Omg I forgot Peeta’s father visits Katniss 😅

Why does he visit Katniss?

She describes Peeta’s father as a “big, broad-shouldered man.” And then describes Peeta as stocky. Idk the comparison of the two descriptions has always led me to think Peeta is gonna be a big dude when he grows up like his father. This made no sense and had zero correlation but I thought, so I said it, no regrets

Oh he brought her cookies 🤧

WAIT WAIT WAIT. I just had a new thought, y’all. What if instead of the baker bringing cookies being a thing he does for all tributes, what if he’s bringing the cookies because Peeta asked him to, because he made them and wants to give them to Katniss and knows she’ll never accept / trust them coming from her competition? What if that’s the real reason the baker visited her in the first place? Because Peeta asked him to? This was such a shipper comment but idc, no regrets, remember?

Omg Peeta’s father is just mute 🤣🤣🤣

Between an abusive, angry mother and a mute for a father, the Mellark brothers must have had a fairytale of a childhood 😅😅😅😅.

But seriously #PoorPeetaMyBaby

Aww Peeta’s father is gonna help keep Prim alive 😭

Omg I just remembered he’s her mother’s ex boyfriend. Haidon Mellark, as I named him in my fics.

That one fic where he was thought to be Prim’s real father is just playing now in my head, rent free.

But does Katniss not realize that he may be offering to help Prim as a favor to her? Like she claims Prim is just so wonderful people adore her but there’s like zero evidence in the text that make her endearing? Okay I need to turn this bus around, I need to find a love for Primmy Deen.

Madge is not one for preamble apparently. No “hi, how are you? I’m sorry you’re gonna die? What will your last meal be?” Just right to “here, wear this family heirloom of mine, k thanks.”

I like that Madge had to kiss her cheek for Katniss to realize they were friends 😅😅😅.

I remember always loving her and Gale’s hug here. I’ve always felt like it was platonic, but especially when I first read the books and had zero preference one way or another for Gale or Peeta, I really liked how she said even with nothing romantic between them, “when he opens his arms, I don’t hesitate to go to him” or something I’m paraphrasing ok I’m lazy

Also though, this is the first time they’ve ever hugged? Idk why that surprises me? It shouldn’t because where is a hug gonna fit into a hunting trip 😅🤣😂 “I just caught a deer!” “let’s celebrate with a hug!”

I like that Katniss remembers how her father even failed to make a good bow sometimes. Random, I know.

I like that the Capitol weren’t entertained by the people freezing to deaths because it wasn’t bloody enough 🤭🙃

“How different can it be [to kill a human vs an animal]?” She’s about to find out, Gale 🥺. And when she comes back you won’t understand 🙄😔

What did Gale want to say before the Peacekeepers dragged him away?

I used to think it was a confession of love but I’m actually sure it wasn’t now? Just the wording “remember I-“ doesn’t sound like it, considering he never confessed anything prior to her coming home.

I’m assuming now he was just gonna give her some more advice to stay alive 🤷🏼‍♀️. Clearly if it were relevant it would have made its way to the others books.

Aww, she’s never been inside a car before 😭😭. I didn’t even know they had cars in this universe but okay.

I notice though how she says “In the Seam, we travel on foot.” So is Peeta just riding his trolly down the street every day with the other merchants then? 🤣

Peeta just openly crying on camera 😅😢.

I like how Katniss is like “ooo is this an act to get sponsors?” when in reality Peeta’s like “no, I’m just a soft and genuine boy ™️”

Omg I just realized this totally goes along with Peeta’s thing later on “I want to die as myself”

He’s refusing to hold back his emotions because he thinks he’s doomed to die and he’s already refusing to pretend to be or feel something ingenious.

But a Johanna mention in book 1 chapter 3 woohoo 🥳🥳🥳 also Katniss comparing Jo and Peeta is kind of like foreshadowing of their shared torture in book 3.

Omg she just called Peeta broad-shouldered and strong. 🥰🥰🥰 my headcanon for his post-canon body is confirmed

Also why does Katniss keep allotting his strength to carrying bread trays around? Are they heavy? Why have I never once heard of people who carry bread trays being strong? I always thought Peeta was really strong because he learned to fight in order to defend himself against his mother but that’s probably wrong.

But if a mother is abusive, it can lead to one of the kids being physically violent as well and we know Peeta isn’t but he has two older brothers I’m gonna cut myself off now but I think we all smelled what I just stepped in.

Also I just find it so fascinating now how she regards herself vs Peeta here.

When talking about herself, she says, “The competition will be far beyond my abilities. [...] Oh, there'll be people like me, too. People to weed out before the real fun begins.” But when she talks about Peeta, she immediately says, “It would take an awful lot of weeping to convince anyone to overlook him.”

It’s just funny how she discounted herself right from the start but thought he was a real contender and then come to find out, Peeta believes it’s the exact opposite 😂🙃. They’re both so stupid I can’t even take it.

Wait did they actually give the location of the Capitol and the location of District Twelve in today’s world? And I just overlooked it? Brb I’m gonna go to google maps right quick.

Okay so basically what I gathered is the Capitol is probably in New Mexico and District Twelve is somewhere between Kentucky and Alabama. Irrelevant I know. But just a reminder now to everyone that Katniss and Peeta are literally speaking, crying and screaming in thick, backwoods southern accents.

It’s literally so sad how everything for Katniss is about food. Like every motive she has, every action she does is about preventing starvation ever again. 🤧🤧🤧

First mockingjay mention 🤭🤭.

“My father was particularly fond of mockingjays” 😭😭😭 I bet he was 😭😭😭😭

We always go on and on about how Katniss is a mockingjay or her children are mockingjays but Katniss herself here says mockingjays represent her father imma cry, y’all 😫😫😫😫

“It’s like having a piece of my father with me, protecting me” shut up shut up shut up shut up

Awww, Katniss has never had food like this before 😔😔😔

Neither has Peeta 🤧🤧

Katniss disliking the way Effie put the two kids from the year before down and so began to eat like a pig just to prove her point, is so her. And the beginning of her fighting for the underdog.

Omg the Rue introduction 🥺🥺🥺

Bahahahaha the commenters calling District Twelve backwards but charming 😅😅😅 they really are the hillbilly district

Peeta’s unexpected laugh 🥺🥺🥺 I love you, baby

“He was drunk. He’s drunk every year.” “Every day.” Katniss and Peeta are already finishing each other’s sentiments and teaming up to get on Effie’s nerves I love them so much 😍

Oh my God, Effie, you selfish jerk. They’re kids having fun for like one second, no need to throw in their faces they’re gonna die if the drunk won’t help them. I’d forgotten why I don’t really like the book version of her. I actually prefer her as comedic relief in the movies.

I actually just realized I really dislike Effie Trinket, I hope they never speak to her again Post-Mockingjay. Idc how you’re raised you don’t need to treat teenagers who are sentenced to a probable death badly just because they laughed at you 🙄🙄🙄😡😡😡😡. They didn’t even really laugh at her, she’s just annoying and awful, we don’t stan Effie in this household.

Okay, that’s all for my thoughts on chapter three! Until next time, y’all ! If anyone actually read this long mess of a post.

#thgagain #this is so long I’m sorry #also yes I’m gonna use a Jennifer gif again

40 notes · View notes

evandearest · 3 years

Text

The Garden of Eden | Part I: Cycles

Pairing: James March x reader (you) | ~Part: (1/4)~

Summary (Part One): Life with James March involved has had many cycles. In a time long ago, you once flourished. But things don’t always stay the same forever, do they? Will James find his way back to you?

Warnings (in this part): physical / mental / verbal abuse (child and adult), violence, graphic descriptions of murder / blood, dark themes, heartbreak, extreme emotional grief, just overall dark. avoid if any of the aforementioned is triggering.

Word count: 2,223

IMPORTANT Notes: Hello! I’m so excited to start this series that @etoile-writings requested that I can hardly type fast enough! lol. I really hope that I can do this justice!

The request was: juxtaposition - (noun) the fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect. AND true love over a forced marriage + lots of fun ideas, such as flowers. Read on my blog for more if you want. I also suck at summaries but I thought I’d give it a try.

Speaking of flowers, I just wanted to say specifically to the requester: I didn’t just pick white roses because they are my personal favorite, but also because of their symbolism to the reader character. White roses symbolize purity, innocence, and youthfulness, associating with young love and eternal loyalty, and can also symbolize a new beginning and everlasting love. Just wanted to say that because I found it very interesting and symbolic!

SO... I have a few notes before we begin. 1) This is set before James died, approximately the year 1926. Since this is a fan-fictional story, the events are slightly warped from the show. The main plot of the show still flows, but this is kind of worked in, in a way. So the plot of the show doesn’t really change all that much. The second thing 2) a lot of things in this story will become clear as I post more parts. There will be more flashbacks and the plot will expand drastically. This is pretty much just an introduction. Just wanted to put that out there. And 3) I plan to do four parts, but that may be subject to change.

Some things never change.

That you had found to be true. The cycle of life was incredible. The lessons in life you were meant to learn were imprinted into your being by repetitious events that were sometimes out of your control. You knew that too well.

People had always told you, “God works in mysterious ways.” It hadn’t been so apparent to you until you had experienced that mystery yourself. It seemed that your life had entered its second cycle. It seemed that you had lived this exact moment once before.

Your head was pounding, a moan sounding when his fist collided into your side again. You kept your arms up in defense, as it was the only thing stopping him from hitting your face. That hurt much worse, and it was harder to hide. Explaining to your neighbors why there are bruises on your face was the last thing you would need. You’d already done it last time this had happened. Of course, you hadn’t expected this to happen again. You’d put too much faith into your husband. A wretched sob left your burning throat, your face soaking wet with tears.

“Please stop,” you pleaded, whimpering, while your husband Robert laughed.

“Maybe next time you should just keep your mouth shut,” he spat, sighing as he rubbed his knuckles. A fleeting memory flashed before your eyes.

“Maybe next time you should just keep your mouth shut!”

“I-I’m sorry!” you cried, clutching your jaw as you scrambled across the floor.

“Yeah, of course you are now,” the old man said maliciously, towering over your small frame. He laughed, shaking his head. “You think in vain of yourself. You can’t believe that a man would ever want a woman who talked to him like that. You believe that because you’re so innocent people will treat you as such.” He squatted down in front of you, his face getting closer to yours. “Well, I have something you need to know, young girl. Most of us humans don’t really care about others.” He chuckled again, standing up. “We’re all in it for ourselves.” He shook his head. His fist pulled back again, and you gasped, throwing your arms over your head.

“Leave her alone!”

James came racing into the room, his hands pushing his father’s fist away before it hit you. He shoved him back, and you watched in amazement. You couldn’t believe that he stood up to his father. Just moments before, as he had told you of the abuse, he had been shaking at even the thought of his father hitting him.

That’s what had led you into the conversation in the first place. When James had told you of how his father had been treating him since he was seven years old to now, at almost eighteen, you couldn’t help yourself. You’d thought that confrontation would stop him, or maybe he would realize how wrong it was if you had showed him. You were wrong, and now here you were, your favorite floral blouse torn, your jaw aching from the impact of his father’s hit.

You were wrong, and now James was in another bad situation. You stared at James, wondering why he would ever step in. Why he would ever step in when he knew what his father would do.

“You stupid boy!” The old man yelled, his fist striking James’ face. “Do you just like being beat? Don’t tell me it’s because you love this naïve girl!” James’ glare burned holes into his father’s face, his jaw set firmly.

It clicked behind your eyes. He loved you. He stepped in because he was protecting you, because he didn’t want you to experience what he had.

His father chuckled as he looked between the two of you; James now standing beside your form on the floor. He shook his head, and left the room without another word, although he slammed the door. You jumped at the loud impact, scurrying to stand beside James. There was a moment of silence before you spoke.

“James,” you whispered, studying his face. He didn’t say anything, but you knew he was listening. “Do you believe him? Are all people really that selfish?”

James still remained silent, but that was enough of an answer for you. You simply couldn’t accept that. You couldn’t accept that all people only cared about themselves. Not when you had seen it for yourself, firsthand with James and your family, or even the kindness of strangers.

But you were wrong again. Your own father had proved that to you when he had you married off to Robert Williams for money. It opened your eyes, and only then had you seen everything that people did just to get what they wanted. And now you know that the only person who ever cared about you was James. And you were ripped away from him just before you were able to begin a life with him, all because your father didn’t believe he would be able to take care of you. You’d never even known he cared so much about James’ wealth, or lack thereof.

For a while, that hadn’t been the end of it. You’d still think about James in your every waking moments. Sure, you’d settled into your new life with your new husband. At first, you had even gotten along with one another. You learned how to accept what you had, keep your spirit, and be as grateful as you could for simple things such as safety. But that changed too. The problem arose at the topic of children. To you, the thought of having a child with Robert made you sick to your stomach. You just didn’t want to fake it with him, but you didn’t know how to tell him that. You couldn’t give and raise a child with a man you didn’t love. You supposed it was because you still had hope that you’d see James again. For many years, he had believed your excuses, until he had grew tired of you pushing it off. That’s where the anger and violence had begun. So you ran.

At the very moment that you read about James in the newspaper, you ran. You ran straight to his luxurious brand new hotel. You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe that poor boy you’d left behind all those years ago had turned into such a successful man. You’d just hoped that he still loved you like you loved him; that he hadn’t forgotten about you.

But once again, as life repeats, you were wrong. James’ life was nothing you ever could have imagined. He’d built his hotel from scratch, and that was after he had clawed his way up the chain of command. He was filthy rich, living life in the most prosperous way imaginable, his power undeniable. You were in awe. If only your father could see him now. If only he’d seen what you had in James all those years ago when he had first began his journey to being a self-made man.

But wealth wasn’t the only thing that had changed. James obviously didn’t love you anymore. How could he, when he had a new wife? Elizabeth was her name. She seemed lovely, and it was wrong of you to assume he would never move on from you. Even if you’d never moved on from him.

So you stayed. You had no choice but to at this point. You had no where else to turn, no where else to go, no real life of your own. Just memories of a life long ago to hold onto.

You wept as you curled in on yourself. Your husband stood there, his breathing heavy as he glared at you with the anger of a thousand hurricanes in his eyes.

“You were the biggest mistake of my life,” he snarled, an expression of disappointment settling on his face. “A wife that won’t even give me children.” He scoffed and chuckled dryly. “What a pathetic joke.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. You cupped your hands over your face, sniffling.

“Stop saying that!” He suddenly boomed, his fist raising once again. You shouted out in protest at the incoming attack, bracing yourself for the pain.

At what seemed to be the most perfect timing, a knock sounded at the front door.

Robert froze in his place, his fist hovering in mid-air. You sighed in relief, pushing yourself further into the wall, balled up in a fetal position on the floor. He turned, shooting a hesitant look back at you, before slowly making his way to answer the door.

The door handle jiggled as he opened it, and although you couldn’t see, you listened intently from your position in the living room.

“Hello,” Robert greeted whomever was on the other side of the door. “May I help you?”

“Greetings, sir,” replied the voice of a man. You froze. You could’ve sworn you knew that voice. But it couldn’t be.

“Yeah?” said your husband.

“Would it happen that a woman by the name of ‘Y/F/N Y/L/N’ resides here?” said the man. You let out a breath. It was him. It was James.

Robert paused, and you began contemplating revealing yourself.

“She’s busy,” Robert rushed out nervously.

There was another pause, this time from James.

“I’m not sure you’re telling the truth, sir,” said James. “You seem to be quite flustered.”

“She- she can’t come right now,” Robert demanded, “she’s busy. Come another time.”

You panicked. He was going to make him leave! This was your only chance!

“Help!” you shouted, before even having time to think about it.

Before you knew it, the man you had dreamed of for so many years was standing before you. You gasped as your eyes met his, the same dark brown framed by his sharp masculine features. It was as if you had seen the sun after years in the dark. Your eyes took in his features before shifting to look at the object in his hands. A bouquet of white roses lay clasped between his hands; your flowers. He had remembered. He really had come back for you. Finally, you had your James again.

“What is the meaning of this?” Robert shouted as he followed quickly behind James. James’ head turned slowly to look at the man, his jaw locking firmly as his eyes settled on him.

“How about,” James clicked his tongue, pausing for a mere second, “you explain the meaning of this.” He gestured toward you, his head turning to briefly look at you again. Robert crossed his arms.

“I don’t think I’m inclined to tell you anything,” he said, a look of resentment taking over his expression. “In fact, I think you should see your way out.” James stared at the man for a moment before his lips upturned into a small smirk.

“Of course,” he grinned, his accent drawing the words out. Your heart skipped a beat as he slowly began walking towards the hallway to the front door. No, you thought. He couldn’t leave. You thought he had come back for you. He couldn’t leave you, not when you needed him the most. Not when you’d waited this long.

Just as your hopes had almost been crushed, James spun around. What happened next was hard to process immediately. Blood suddenly covered James’ face and chest, spurting out from Robert’s throat as James’ knife slid smoothly across, the skin slicing like butter. James stood, a look of satisfaction on his face, his eyes settling upon yours. A flicker of what seemed like doubt rushed across his face as you grew silent, your eyes wide and innocent as you stared at him, digesting what had just happened.

“James?” you whispered.

“Yes, dear?” he said smoothly, his jaw moving back and forth slowly as he worked it nervously. You climbed to your feet, padding over to him softly. Your hand slowly came up to rest upon his cheek, thumb softly gliding over the bone there, the blood on his face smearing with the movement. Your other hand gently grabbed the roses from his hands, glancing down at them adoringly, your lips curling into a smile.

“Darling,” James said hesitantly, eyebrows furrowing, “I apologize if I’ve frightened you.” You smiled up at him.

“No,” you said reassuringly. “No, quite the opposite.” You paused, studying James’ handsome features. You leaned in slowly, your breaths mingling. “You’ve freed me.” It was a whisper, barely audible, but at your close proximity, you knew he could hear. You could feel the warmth of his body so close to yours as you moved closer and closer. Your lips met in a passionate kiss, James arms enveloping you, the world seeming to align once more.

It seemed as if you had no worries, no hardships; that all of your anxieties had magically disappeared with his kiss. He’d reset your life. He’d given you everything you wanted just by being in yours. All those years that you had waited for him seemed worth it. All of your blind devotion seemed worth it. James had finally, finally come back to you.

All those people had been right: God did work in mysterious ways. And in that moment, you decided James was your meant to be; your heaven on Earth; your purpose of being. Or further... he was your God.

---

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

83 notes · View notes

thetravelerwrites · 3 years

Text

Courtship of the Headless King: Chapter Two

Rating: General Audiences Fandoms: 忘却の首と姫 | Boukyaku no Shirushi to Hime | The Princess and The Forgotten Head Relationship: Female Human/Male Headless King Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Political Marriage, Power Dynamic, Headless King Content Warnings: Mentions of Suicide, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Abductions Words: 4448

Lilya conducts her marriage interview with His Majesty. Please reblog and leave feedback!

There was a tense moment in which no one moved. The triplets and the king’s attendants watched apprehensively as Lilya stood there, taking in the sight she was seeing. Slowly, she took a step forward, and then another, and stopped right in front of the desk.

“Does that hurt?” Lilya asked softly.

The king actually took a small step backward, clearly not expecting this. For a moment, no one knew how to react to her question. After a minute of heavy silence, His Majesty picked up a pad of paper that lay on the desk in front of him and began to write.

~No, it doesn’t hurt.~

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Lilya said, placing a hand over her heart. “I’ve seen people lose their heads before; it always looked like it hurt terribly.”

The king began to write again. ~You were present during such barbaric acts?~

Lilya nodded shakily. “The royal family in Tritsia was captured during the war and were forced to witness many terrible things. Able-bodied countrymen were rounded up and executed en masse in a horrible show of power, even if they were just farmers or merchants. We were made to watch them all.”

All five attendants exchanged looks of horror.

~That must have been harrowing. How old were you when this happened?~

“It started when I was ten, after my father was killed, and carried on until Couliea claimed our land for themselves three years ago. I helped dig a fair number graves during that time.”

~How old are you now?~

“Nineteen, Your Majesty,” Lilya said.

Conversation died briefly, but after a moment, the king began to write again.

~Would you like to sit down?~

“Oh, yes, thank you,” Lilya said. Raba brought a chair for her and she took a seat. His Majesty waved his hand, and all five of the attendants bowed and left the room, closing the door behind them. Peridot winked at them as she exited.

~Are you not afraid of me?~ His Majesty asked.

“Not really, no,” Lilya replied. “After all that’s happened, I’m not afraid of very much anymore. Should I be scared?”

~This meeting marks three thousand, six hundred and sixty-two marriage interviews that I’ve conducted. You are the first and only woman who has seen me and not screamed, run, fainted, vomited, burst into hysterics, or begged me to let them go, fearful that I’d eat them or some other nonsense.~

“How awful. I couldn’t imagine someone treating you so cruelly. Why would they even come if they didn’t want to?”

~Pressure from their families. The political gain of a union with Banfarie would be a boon to any country on the continent. The appeal of that power and influence drives people to do things they don’t want to do. Either the women would cry hysterically and run away, or they would swallow their disgust and force themselves to conduct the interviews as if it were normal, all the while looking as if the idea of marrying me made them sick.~

“That was terribly rude of them,” Lilya replied, incensed.

His Majesty’s shoulders shook slightly, and Lilya thought he might be laughing.

~In all fairness to them, I am unusual and a little frightening.~

“That’s no excuse! So what if you’re a bit different? That’s no reason to make such a fuss. How would they like it if people acted that way around them? I know my feelings would be hurt. They should have been more considerate.”

His Majesty was completely still for a full minute. Lilya was beginning to wonder if he was alright, when he started to write again.

~You’re rather unusual, aren’t you?~

Lilya laughed good-naturedly. “I suppose so.” She looked at the paper and pen in his hand thoughtfully. “It must be difficult for you to communicate sometimes. I know most people of royal or noble birth are required to learn to read and write, but even in a prosperous nation like this one, many people are illiterate. Do you have trouble communicating with your staff?”

He moved his shoulders in such a way that it put Lilya in mind of someone shaking their head.

~No, since most of my staff are made up of fairies and spirits, my magic allows me to communicate telepathically with them. If needed, they can convey my thoughts to others.~

“Oh, I see! That’s how you spoke to Raba when the door was closed.”

~Yes.~

“Do you know any of the signing languages? Perhaps we could talk that way.”

His Majesty visibly perked up and began gesturing.

“Oh! No, I’m sorry, I don’t know the signing languages, I just meant that I’d be willing to learn it so that we could communicate easier with each other.”

He stopped signing, but he didn’t seem disappointed. Rather the opposite, he seemed touched.

~You’d be willing to learn an entire language just to be able to talk to me?~

“Well, yes. After all, if you accept me, I’d also need to learn this country’s native language to talk to the citizens. Adding another language to my curriculum wouldn’t be so bad.” She leaned forward a little, and His Majesty leaned back, as if intimidated. “This may be an impertinent question and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but may I ask how you lost your head?”

~It’s alright. I removed it myself.~

Lilya looked both horrified and impressed. “Whatever for?”

He paused for a moment before writing again, and this time he wrote out an extended statement.

~I was the son of a concubine who died during my birth. Apparently, I resembled her very much and did not take after my father, the king, at all. The queen’s children, my half-siblings, bullied me relentlessly, often questioning the legitimacy of my birth and whether or not I was indeed my father’s son. They spread rumors about me and my mother, which eventually got back to my father. He also began to question my birthright and threatened to send me into exile. In anger, I somehow managed to pry off my own head and throw it into the Aurora. I think I’d meant to end my own life, but I survived somehow. When my father saw this display of my magical power, he reversed his position and put me first in line for the throne, even though he had four sons by the queen who were all older than me. I was crowned king the following year, and the year after, my father passed away.~

“How old where you when you became king?”

~Twenty-two.~

“How old are you now?”

~One hundred and sixty years old.~

Lilya’s eyes widened in shock.

~Does my age upset you?~

“No, not at all, it’s just…” She frowned in sympathy but fell silent. It must be lonely to have lived alone for so long, she thought to herself.

~I have not aged since I lost my head. I think the magic of the Aurora is what keeps me alive.~

“That’s incredible,” Lilya breathed. “I’ve never heard of such a thing happening.”

~My family has always been strange.~

Lilya chuckled a little. “How are you able to see and hear without a head?”

~Magic. It’s hard to explain to in simple terms, but I don’t see or hear in the same way as normal humans. It’s more of a perception of the wavelengths created by light, shadow, and sound by my whole body instead of my head. I can perceive those sensations similarly to true sight and hearing, but it’s not quite the same.~

“That’s fascinating,” She said, leaning closer. “May I ask you something else that might be a little personal?”

He seemed to laugh again. ~More so than you have already done? Please do.~

“You’ve only been conducting marriage interviews for the last sixty years, right? That means you had already been ruling for almost eighty years without a queen. Why did you suddenly start looking for a wife?”

~My attendants began to pressure me to marry and sire an heir.~

“Is that the only reason?”

~What other reason would there be?~

“Weren’t you lonely?”

His Majesty’s hands were motionless and he seemed to be thinking.

~Perhaps.~

Then he fell still again, as if he didn’t know what else to say.

Lilya smiled a little. “You don’t enjoy these interviews, do you, my Lord?”

He gave another shoulder-shake of laughter. ~No, not at all. I believe this may have been the longest conversation I’ve had with a human woman in my entire life.~

“Oh, goodness,” Lilya said, holding a hand to her mouth in surprise. “I hope I haven’t bored you, my Lord.”

~Not in the slightest. This has been surprisingly pleasant.~

“Oh good,�� She said, relieved.

~You’ve asked me a fair number of questions. May I ask you something in return?~

“Of course, My Lord.”

~What is one thing you wish for more than anything?~

Lilya looked out of the far window and thought about the question. She had never spent much time wishing for anything, knowing that wishes did little to affect reality. After all, she had wished for her father back numerous times, and for the terrible atrocities committed against her country to stop, and that had never happened. The only thing she really wished for was the safety of her people, but how could she achieve that?

“Walls,” She said suddenly.

~Walls?~

“The borders of my homeland have no defenses. People from outside the kingdom come in and steal food, destroy crops, take livestock, and even abduct people right out of the fields, and we have nothing to stop them. My land grows smaller every day because people just come in and take whatever they like, whenever they like. I wish we could do more to protect ourselves, but we have no military or security forces. Walls would be just as effective as guards, perhaps more so.”

You care very much about your home and people, at your own expense, it seems.

“Yes,” Lilya said, clutching the pendant on her neck. “I… I sold the tiara you sent to me so that I could feed the people affected by a famine on our southern border. It was a lovely gift and I was quite touched by it, Peridot even took this jewel off for me to keep,” She pulled it up to show him. “But… my people needed food more than I needed a crown. I hope you won’t be too disappointed in me, but… I didn’t want to lie or mislead you.”

~I see. He sat quietly, as if in thought. Very well. It will be done. I’ll have construction teams sent out to Tritsia right away.~

Lilya looked up in shock. “Wha… You’re Majesty! I wasn’t… I didn’t mean…”

~I know you didn’t. It is my gift to you for your understanding and patience. This has been one of the most enjoyable mornings I’ve had in many years. That alone is worth giving you some peace of mind.~

He stood up and made for the door. Overwhelmed by his generosity and on the verge of tears, Lilya jumped out of her chair as his Majesty passed her.

“I’ll marry you!”

His Majesty stopped dead in his tracks and turned. He hadn’t brought the paper with him so he couldn’t respond, but he was rooted to the spot as if frozen.

“This is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me or my people. How could I possibly refuse?”

This spurred him to action. He walked briskly back to the desk and wrote on the notepad.

~I didn’t do it to buy your cooperation,~ He protested. ~It’s only a gift, nothing more. I expected for us to continue the interview after I made the arrangements. You don’t have to accept because you feel obligated to repay me.~

“No, that’s not it at all!” Lilya protested. “I don’t know what all those women saw when they looked at you, but it can’t be the same thing I see.”

~What is it that you see?~

She took a deep breath and attempt to gather her thoughts into a coherent fashion. “Maybe when they saw you, you reminded them of a storm that covered the sky at night, full of destructive power, and it made them afraid. But… all I can see when I look at you is what’s behind the storm.”

~Which is?~

“You’re the stars, not the storm. Your Majesty, you’re the light that shines when the storm passes.” She shook her head and laid it in her hands, unable to keep her overwhelmed tears from spilling. “Oh, I don’t even know if I’m making sense. But, Your Majesty, please believe me when I tell you that I don’t just want to marry you because I feel as if I’m in your debt, even though I most certainly am in your debt. I want to marry you because… I… I just do! I don’t even know how to explain it properly. I just… I would be happy to be your wife and honored to be your queen. If that’s what you want.”

~Wouldn’t you be happier marrying a normal man?~

“My Lord, I had no thoughts of marrying at all before I received your summons. If I did marry, it would most likely have been someone my family chose for me. With you, I get a choice. And I’ve chosen you.”

Slowly, he wrote, ~Are you sure?~

“Yes, I’m certain.”

~Then why are you crying?~

“Because I’m happy,” She replied, her voice shuddering as she laughed.

He held out his hand to her. ~You truly mean this? You’re accepting the proposal?~

“Yes,” She replied, taking his hand. “I’ll marry you right now if you want.”

He seemed to chuckle. ~It is enough that you said yes freely and without reservation. I am pleased.~

He turned toward the door, and it flew open after a moment, and all five of the attendants stood there with their mouths hanging open, staring at the pair holding hands. He must have told them the good news telepathically.

“Sire, congratulations!” Larima said. “It’s about time one of these women saw sense!”

“Larima, hold you’re tongue!” Aquamarine said, boxing one of his ears.

“His Majesty says that the wedding will have to be soon,” Raba told Lilya. “He regrets to have to rush it, but there is a political upheaval brewing to the west that he must take care of. He honestly hadn’t expected you to accept, so he hadn’t canceled his plans to intervene.”

“That’s quite alright,” Lilya said, grinning a little giddily. I can’t believe it! I’m really getting married! “I understand his Majesty must be terribly busy. I don’t mind if the wedding is soon. Oh!” She turned back to the king. “Can my family attend the wedding? I promised that I’d keep in touch with them, and I’d like them to meet you. Would that be alright?”

“He says that would be fine, except he’s worried that your family will not like him, which doesn’t normally bother him, but that it may cause trouble for you,” Raba said.

“It’s fine, I’ll explain everything to them. Thank you, Your Majesty!”

Lilya threw her arms around His Majesty’s waist, hugging him. He went completely still and his body tensed under hers, as if he were at the mercy of a pack of rabid dogs. Lilya, sensing his discomfort, released him immediately.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep! I was just so excited that I acted without thinking.”

If a headless person could gulp, His Majesty would have done so. He straightened his lace collar and waved his hand.

“He says it’s alright, he was just startled,” Peridot said. “He also says that as his chosen queen, your word is equal to his. You may give any order you wish and the staff with follow it without hesitation.”

“I understand, Your Majesty. Thank you.”

He bowed deeply in response, his arm across his chest as a show of respect.

Peridot clapped her hands eagerly. “Come now, princess! There’s much to do to get ready for the wedding and only a short amount of time to do it!”

The triplets led Lilya from the room, tittering happily. Once the door closed behind them, the king fell into a chair as if exhausted.

She’s like a whirlwind, He said to Raba and Larima. I am completely at her mercy.

“I’ve never seen you like this, My Lord,” Raba said. “She must have made one hell of a first impression.”

That is an understatement. Send a letter to her family inviting them to the wedding. It’ll make her happy to see them.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Larima said. “But… are you sure she’s the one? In all these years, after all those interviews, are you sure you’ve found your queen?”

It’s her; I knew it the moment I saw her, the second I heard her voice.

“The second she didn’t scream, you mean, sire?” Larima said. Raba flicked him in the forehead.

I’ve spent sixty years… no, much longer than that, looking for her. I’m not going to wait anymore. Begin preparations for the wedding immediately.

“Yes, My Lord.”

It took only a week for the preparations to be complete, seeing as the wedding would be a small affair. His Majesty said he would give Lilya any kind of wedding she wanted, no matter the expense, but she said all she wanted was for her family to be there and nothing else. All that was left now was to wait for Lilya’s family to arrive.

She hadn’t seen his Majesty since the interview, but she knew he had to have been incredibly busy. He was the monarch of a vast empire, after all, and he genuinely didn’t think he’d be getting married so soon.

A day before her family was due to arrive, a dress appeared in her quarters. It was gorgeous; a white, princess cut ball gown with a sheer layer of silk over the top painted with pink roses. The neckline was a low square-cut and it had half-sleeves with lace frills. On top of the mannequin holding it was a lace veil that trailed the ground and glittered as though it was woven from diamonds.

“Oh, how beautiful!” Lilya said. “Is this for me?”

“Yes, it’s your wedding gown,” Aquamarine said. “His Majesty had it sent down for a fitting.”

“It’s lovely,” She breathed, daring to reach out and touch the fabric, though it looked so delicate that it might disintegrate under her fingertips.

“Here, let us help you,” Garnet said, beginning to untie the laces.

Garnet, Aquarmarine, and Peridot assisted Lilya in putting the dress on. Though it fit like a glove around the waist, the skirt was just slightly too long. The sisters assured her it was a quick and easy fix.

That night, she was alone in her room looking at the dress, newly tailored and ready to be worn, and began to get anxious.

“What if I trip and tear it?” She fretted. “A dress like this couldn’t have been made in just a few days, no matter how many seamstresses worked on it; The lace on the train alone would have taken months to tat. It must be some kind of imperial heirloom. What would I do if I destroyed it? Would His Majesty be angry or cancel the wedding? What if he decides he doesn’t want a klutz for a wife?” Lilya scrubbed her face and sighed forcefully. “I need some air.”

She went to the long gable windows and unlatched one side, letting it swing open. The night air was cool and refreshing, and the aroma of the nearby gardens was soothing.

As she was about to close the window again, a wild gust of wind rushed in and caught up the veil, blowing it out of the window.

“No!” Lilya yelled, throwing her foot out of the window and jumping to the ground. It was a good thing her room was on the ground floor. She chased the veil across the lawn until it eventually got caught in the branches of a tree.

“Oh, come on!” She groused. The branched were too high for her to reach, so she was going to have to climb the tree in her nightgown to get it back. It didn’t help that there were no low branches for her to grab on, so she was basically going to have to shimmy up the trunk. How dignified.

“Okay,” She said, taking a breath before she started up. One foot, one hand, over and over. It seemed to take ages, and when she looked down, it was as if she hadn’t moved at all. “Ugh, I shouldn’t have stopped working in the stables. I have no core strength anymore.”

She was nearly at the lower-most branch when her foot slipped and she lost her grip, falling from the tree. She expected to hit the ground pretty hard, but she fell onto something soft. Looking around, she realized to her horror that His Majesty, was on his back underneath her, having broken her fall. He was dressed in a casual white buttoned-up shirt and simple black slacks, likely his sleepwear.

“Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry!” She said, scrambling to get off of him. “Are you alright?”

He pulled out a small pad of paper from the inside of his shirt and a fountain pen.

~I’m fine. Are you alright? Why were you climbing a tree at this hour?~

“My veil,” She replied, pointing at the branches. “It flew out of the window. I was trying to get it back down.”

~Why didn’t you call the sisters?~

She laughed a little self-consciously. “I panicked. I was scared that I’d tear it and you’d be upset with me.”

~I wouldn’t be upset over such a trivial thing. It’s just a piece of fabric.~

“How did you know I was out here?”

~I saw you from the window of my suite. I was worried you would hurt yourself or that you were running away.~

She was a little alarmed. “Were you chasing me down to bring me back?”

~No, I was going to watch over you until you got somewhere safe. Don’t worry, you’re free to change your mind at any time. I wouldn’t hold that against you.~

“Oh,” She said, surprised. “Your Majesty, I have no intention on going back on my decision. I meant it when I said I’m happy to be your bride. You feel the same, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stood up and easily reached the branch with the veil. He was quite a bit taller than she was. Pulling it down carefully, he folded it and handed it back to her.

“Sorry to have caused you trouble,” She said, worried by his silence. “I’m afraid you’re bride-to-be is a little clumsy.”

~It’s nothing. Let’s go back.~ He held out his hand for her to stand up, and she took it, feeling sad.

He doesn’t want to marry me, She thought. He’s just doing it because I’m the only one who didn’t refuse him. I like him very much, but he doesn’t feel anything for me. That’s not fair to him.

The triplets met them back at the castle and escorted her back to her room. His Majesty left her in their care with a bow and went back to his quarters.

“Just call us next time, My Lady!” Garnet said. “His Majesty would be devastated if anything happened to you.”

“He might be inconvenienced, but I think devastated might be too strong a word,” She said. “He doesn’t even really want to marry me, he just thinks he has to.”

Peridot scoffed. “Why on earth would you think such a thing?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m just the only person who accepted. I’ve only seen him once since the marriage interview, and that’s because he was rescuing me from a fall. He doesn’t really want to be with me.”

“My Lady, that’s absurd, of course he wants to marry you!”

“How can you be sure?”

“Look,” Aquamarine said as they reached her room. She opened the door and lay the veil back on the mannequin with the dress. “You see this? Where do you think it came from?”

“It’s an heirloom, right? Something that’s been in the royal family forever? It couldn’t have been made just for me, there wasn’t enough time for that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Garnet said. “His Majesty himself made this gown for you.”

“He did?” Lilya exclaimed, looking more carefully at the gown.

“Yes, with his magic. Do you know what he said to us when we were waiting outside of the office door after you agreed to marry him?”

“What?”

“’She said yes!’ he said. Every interview before always ended the same. He would tell us, ‘I don’t like her’ or ‘she’s lying’ or ‘she looks like she’s going to pass out, take her back to her room and let her go home’ or ‘why do they keep sending these women with dirty souls to me?’ He always sounded so dejected. But when you accepted, he was so excited. I’ve never heard him sound so happy.”

“Miss Lilya, you must understand,” Peridot said. “His Majesty’s mother died when he was born, and he was raised by nurses. In truth, he grew up never knowing the love of another person. Now as a man, he has no idea how to express affection for others. Until now, it’s never come up as a problem, but he sincerely wants you to be happy.” She pointed at the dress as an example, and then to the pad of paper on her desk. “You see those notebooks?”

“Yes?”

“Ordinarily, those would only be in one place: and His Majesty’s office, since that is the only place His Majesty meets with people who can’t hear him telepathically. But now, every single room in the castle has a notebook, just in case you’d like to talk to him. He’s doing everything he knows how to do to make it comfortable and easy for you, he’s just operating outside of his, admittedly, vast expertise. Give him some time. He’s very intelligent, if a little dense and insensitive. He’ll learn.”

Lilya smiled softly, touched. “I had no idea.” She pulled the sisters in for a hug. “You’re right, I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. His Majesty and I don’t know each other well, for all that we’ll be married in a few days. I think when he gets back from the diplomatic trip, we should spend time rectifying that.”

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” Aquamarine said.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

51 notes · View notes