#eris writes things

[im-not-corrupted]

A little 2.7k words long Dreamling drabble I wrote for @samsalami66​, using the prompt ‘please, never apologise for wanting to be loved’ from this prompt list

Edit: Now also on Ao3!

----

He found out on their third meeting in as many months.

(Three meetings. In three months. Hob was…well, he was having a bit of a hard time believing that, even if he was present during those meetings. Three meetings in three months, after one hundred and thirty three years of silence and what he thought to be avoidance. Three meetings in three months, when the two of them had only seen each other once a century.

Once a century. Every one hundred years. How had he ever been content with that?)

(He hadn’t. He remembered how it felt, before. The crushing weight of loneliness with every day that came after their centennial meetings, prompted by the knowledge that the only person who truly knew him for what he was, instead of what he was that century, was what prompted him to call his Stranger a friend in the first place.

Still. While he certainly yearned for contact outside of their centennial meetings—he was mostly content. He was alright, to sit and wait. That was what he did.

Now—now, he had monthly meetings. Monthly meetings with his Stranger, who he knows now as Dream. With Dream, his friend. He didn’t know how he’d ever coped with anything less.)

Found out perhaps wasn’t the right word. Hob…didn’t have anything to do with it, really. He didn’t go digging for information. He merely invited his friend inside for a drink, some food if he felt like it, without expectation.

Dream looked tense, the day he brought it up. Shoulders coiled tightly, jaw clenched so much it looked almost painful, eyes somewhat distant. That was enough to worry Hob, who had never seen his friend distant before. At least, not that he could recall.

And in the end, Dream merely turned to him without prompting and told him, voice severe and terribly serious, “I would’ve returned to you. In 1989.”

And—and that made something in Hob ache. He waited so long, the day of their meeting, only to be met with silence and absence. And then he waited another thirty three years, because what else could he do? He was Hob Gadling, with almost seven centuries to his name and therefore far more patience than any typical human. Waiting felt like the only natural response at the time, and, indeed, it paid off, because Dream sat beside him. Because Dream returned to him, walked across the threshold of The New Inn and called Hob a friend.

Such a simple word, that. Enough to change the rest of his day, though. The rest of his century, even—friendship with Dream was a high he knew he’d ride for decades to come.

He’d tilted his head, curious and somewhat terrified. I would’ve returned to you, Dream said. And yet he had not. And yet Hob Gadling spent that day alone, drinking away his sorrows and waiting for a friend who wouldn’t return for three decades later.

”Then why didn’t you?” Hob asked, his heart in his throat. His eyes stung and he scowled, blinking the tears away. Truthfully, he thought he was over that by this point. It had been thirty three years. More than enough time to nurse the wounds of being thoroughly abandoned on the 7th June, 1989. The sting lessened even further when Dream called him friend, when he apologised for his absence.

(It returned on occasion, usually when he least expected it. It liked to…to wait in the wings, until the moment Dream turned his back on Hob to leave. He’ll return, Hob told himself, because he would now. All he saw in his head was the sight of Dream’s back turned away from him in 1889, though, as the rainfall fell around them both but didn’t touch his friend in the slightest.

It came back in those moments, and he often found himself swallowing a question. You’ll come back, right? or Would you stay a little longer? or Might I be selfish and request more of your company tonight?

Dream would not abandon him again. He knew that much. His heart and his stomach seemed to be taking a little longer to get the memo, however, and the dread that accompanied Dream’s leavings was often irrational.)

Ocean deep eyes stared at him. They were shadowed, those eyes, full of ghosts Hob couldn’t hope to understand. He could drown in those depths easily, and even then wouldn’t understand his friend in his entirety. “I was…captured,” he said, after some hesitation. “By a magician named Roderick Burgess.”

There were many things Hob could’ve said in response to that small and ugly revelation, and all of them would’ve been appropriate. All of them no doubt would’ve been various ways of saying What the fuck, are you alright? and Do you want me to kill the bastard? Because I will.

In the end, Hob didn’t say any of that. Instead, he focused on the frustration that hid underneath the layers of forced calm, the rage that lurked beneath the surface of Dream’s voice, and he ached. He ached, because Dream had been captured.

He didn’t need to know anything more than that to pull Dream into a hug.

A light one, because captured echoed inside his head like it was an empty cavern. It was the only thought he found himself capable of thinking. He didn’t know what it entailed, but—captured. God.

They could’ve hurt him. Hob wasn’t sure Dream could be hurt—Endless seemed rather important, even if he didn’t know what it meant properly—but the idea was terrible enough that he had to force himself to keep his arms around Dream loose, had to force himself to concentrate on his friend instead of the anger bubbling in his veins on his friend’s behalf.

In his arms, Dream tensed further. Hob…hadn’t thought that possible, after seeing how tense he was before this. Immediately, guilt struck him like a blow. His friend had been captured, and he didn’t bother to ask if a hug would even be alright.

Before he could pull away, apologies and pleas for forgiveness ready to spill from his tongue, Dream moved faster than Hob thought should’ve been possible. His arms found themselves around Hob’s waist, clinging tight enough it knocked the air right out of his lungs, but that was alright. He didn’t mind, not when Dream clung on so tightly. Not when he seemed like he needed it desperately, like he hadn’t been offered such a thing before.

He ignored that thought, for it made him ache with a desperation he hadn’t felt before, a desire to make sure his friend knew he was loved, and ran a soothing hand down his friend’s back. He pretended he couldn’t count the knobs of his friend’s spine even through his coat. Dream had always been lithe, yes, all elegant limbs and graceful movements—but this. This, he thought, was tangible proof of his friend’s hurt. This was what captured meant.

After—after Dream released him, slowly and carefully like he truly didn’t want to, like he wished to remain in the circle of Hob’s arms for the foreseeable future, which Hob wouldn’t have had a problem with, not at all—this, somehow, became a regular thing.

Dream continued to appear once each month. The day and the week varied, but it was always once a month. Hob didn’t know when to expect him, but that certainly wasn’t a problem—Dream didn’t turn up when he was teaching, and every other second he had to his name was his to take up. He could take up all of Hob’s time, and Hob thought he wouldn’t even care. Not if it was Dream.

And, with each month, Dream would touch him. Hug him. Tentatively, at first, like the motions were unfamiliar. Like gentle brushes of skin against skin and little nudges, touches so casual that they were easily a part of Hob’s every day life, were strange to him. Like he didn’t know what to do with it, with touches that were made for the sake of contact.

Even after a couple more months, the touches were still hesitant. Always, always, there was something holding Dream back, some of that old reserve returning and keeping him from taking what he wanted.

Hob didn’t push.

He wanted to. God, he did. He wanted to lay everything he had—time, the ability to provide contact, conversation and space and every amount of money he had to his name—at Dream’s feet and announce, Yours, it’s yours if you want it. If you want to take it, you can. It’s yours.

That—that would be too much. He refrained. He kept the questions at bay—refused to say the words Is this enough? and Do you want more? and You know I’ll gladly give you everything you ask, you know?—and he continued to tell stories in an attempt to make Dream smile faintly, to perhaps make things…easier to deal with. And, gradually, the hesitance bled away into something a little more like confidence, and Hob was glad for it.

After all of that, Hob somehow found himself sat on his couch a year later, with Dream’s head in his lap as the two of them watched a movie. Lord of the Rings, naturally—Sorry, you haven’t seen it? Hob had said last month, and despite Dream’s protests that usually took the shape of I am the Prince of Stories, I do not need to watch it to know the story, he decided they’d watch it together the next time Dream appeared.

He tried not to think too hard on the way Dream appeared so comfortable. He took up the rest of Hob’s sofa, boots and coats abandoned, loose-limbed as though this was where he belonged. There was no tension in his body, at least that Hob could see, and a part of him ached at that knowledge. He did that. He made his friend comfortable, gave him a safe space to take up room. He was the one who Dream let himself relax with, and wasn’t that a fucking thing? A glorious, wonderful thing. Tangible and real proof of their friendship.

Hob…Hob didn’t know how they got to this point, not really. He didn’t know how he managed to bridge the distance that always felt so terribly large so easily, to the point where Dream felt comfortable enough to use his thigh as a pillow. He didn’t know when the idea of threading his fingers through the strands of his friend’s raven hair became a temptation he had to resist, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

At some point, Dream ended up sitting up. Hob missed him immediately, the absence of his weight on Hob’s thigh almost a physical pain.

A frown tugged at Dream’s lips slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “You are…thinking. Loudly.”

Hob, who still wasn’t sure Dream couldn’t read his mind—he didn’t ask questions, for all he really wanted was a name—blinked at him and offered a small smile. “Sorry,” he said with a shrug. “It is just. Strange. To see you like this. After we spent so long meeting only once a century.”

This, naturally, had the undesired affect of making Dream tense. All of that loose-limbed ease disappeared as though it was never there in the first place, only for his lips to purse and for Dream to look away from him. “I. Apologise,” he said slowly, carefully, as though he’s committed some terrible offence. “I did not mean to make you. Uncomfortable, in any way, or to take more than you were willing to give.”

He almost laughed at that, but managed to hold it back. His heart was a thing of yearning and daydreams of finding out of Dream would kiss him softly or with fire, if Dream’s fingertips would caress his skin gently or a little rougher, if Dream’s voice would sound just as lovely and velvet-soft uttering the words I love you as it did anything else. ‘More than you were willing to give’ didn’t exist to him, not for Dream. Never for Dream, who owned his heart entirely.

What he did instead was shake his head. He made to take Dream’s hand but thought better of it, letting his own fall onto the sofa between them. An invitation, if Dream felt like taking it. “Dream,” he said gently, and his friend’s eyes flooded with silver tears he didn’t allow to fall. “What are you apologising for? You didn’t make me uncomfortable. I don’t have a problem with any of this, I promise. The opposite, in fact. I would’ve told you, if I did.”

Dream didn’t look at him again. He said, voice low and carefully even, though that wasn’t enough to disguise the pain underneath it, “I have often been deemed. Too much. When it comes to offering affection.”

Affection, Hob thought, I am worthy of Dream’s affection. “You’re not too much.” He never could be.

This time, his gaze did return to Hob’s, ocean eyes cutting like steel. “I am,” he announced, and the heaviness, the certainty, with which he said it made Hob ache anew. “And I. Apologise. For inflicting my own desires upon you.”

”Oh, Christ, love,” Hob said helplessly. He did take Dream’s hand this time, clinging on for dear life, and was thankful when Dream didn’t pull away. He thought about the way Dream seemed so surprised when Hob hugged him the first time, the way he continued to hesitantly continue with small and casual contact over the last year. He thought about the way he seemed comfortable with such things, the way he seemed to need that first hug so much. Did he have nobody else who would offer him a fucking hug?

Surely he did. Surely Hob was not his only friend. As much of an achievement as that would be, he couldn’t cope with that idea. His friend deserved to love and to be able to love without—without worrying about being too much. “Please,” he said softly, and Dream stared at him with an expression he’d call blank if he wasn’t aware of how much sorrow there was in his gaze, “never apologise for wanting to be loved, Dream. This—hugs, you laying on me, whatever the fuck else you’d want—all of that, you can have. I don’t mind. I offer it freely, because I want to. Because you deserve to have that, okay? You’re not too much for wanting to be touched, especially after everything.”

Dream tensed further, somehow. His brow furrowed, as if this baffled him entirely. Christ, and Hob thought he made himself and his feelings towards Dream obvious. “You. Do not mind,” he repeated slowly, like that was a foreign concept.

Hob had half a mind to find whoever made him decide that wanting something as human as contact and ask them a couple of questions. With his fists. And maybe a knife.

For now, he just shook his head. “Not one bit,” he promised. “You can lay on me any time you like. Understood?”

For a couple more moments, Dream simply continued to stare, before he swallowed audibly. Hob thought he didn’t need to do that. He wondered if that small play at humanity was another product of his capture. “I believe,” he said slowly, voice hardly loud enough to be heard over the movie still playing in the background, “that I might be. Beginning. To understand.”

Hob smiled, relieved. This, he thought, wasn’t the end of it. And it didn’t have to be—he would assure Dream that he was never too much time and time again, if he had to. “Good. Good. I’m glad, love.”

And after another momentum’s hesitation, Dream wound his arms around Hob’s shoulders. His movements were stiff, almost awkward, but Hob hardly cared.

Perhaps he’d have to bring it up later. He’d like to. He’d like to bring this up again, to show Dream that Hob could be just as much when it came to his own affections, that he had been exercising every amount of self control he had over this last year. He’d like to show Dream that, for Hob, he—he was it. His closest, oldest friend. His longest love. Dream could take as much as he wanted, and Hob still wouldn’t care. It was all for him anyway.

For now, Dream pressed himself against Hob’s side and sighed softly. He didn’t unwind his arms from around Hob’s neck.

For now, that was enough.

------

Edit: find a part two here :)

[telestoapologist]

Immaru, as Eris points a spray bottle at him: I ain't scared of you, mooncrust. This little thing here ain't nothin' more than an empty threat. You ain't got the guts to use it, so go on, prove your worth, I don't believe for a sec-

Eris: (spritzes him right in the face)

Immaru, immediately recoiling: ECK-

[hakusins]

i need to work on my projects but my head is full of pc being remy's wife and getting fucked on the hayloft by wren when remy's away and im SCREEEEEE

[ervotica]

doing a lil celebration for 3k! nothing official, just asking for blurb requests for characters from these fandoms:

fourth wing, twilight, acotar, outer banks, call of duty, the walking dead, stranger things, the maze runner, harry potter

— preferred characters -> liam mairi, garrick tavis, paul lahote, jasper hale, eris vanserra, rhysand, rafe cameron, jj maybank, captain john price, simon “ghost” riley, johnny “soap” mactavish, könig, glenn rhee, daryl dixon, steve harrington, gally, theodore nott

— preferred genres -> WHUMP, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, smut, heavy heavy fluff

can be from my prompt lists or your own request!

tagging some mutuals for reach (please rb if you can!); @wroteclassicaly @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @eve175 @rafescurtainbangz @rafescokenostril @theostrophywife @tacticalprincess @thehighladywrites @hotchfiles @jjsmarijuana @kissitbttr @lovelyghst @littlemisstrouble @callsign-rogueone @venuslore @void-my-warranty @vampieteeth @vermithorn @nocasdatsgay @mockerycrow @murdrdocs @shellxrls @targaryenvampireslayer @taintedcigs @princessmaybank @prythianpages @babygorewhore @serpentandlily @sociorafe @proactivetypaperson @morwap @cinnamoncunt @daycourtofficial @azsazz @anqeliclust @tsunami-of-tears @plainemmanem

[black-and-yellow]

Thinking about him

Anyway read Inside.

[eriexplosion]

Cut for fandom salt

The reason I get so heated about the 'Is Tech Alive/Dead' discourse is that like. It is very hard for me to explain just how pissed I would be if he was dead. Not because 'oh no a thing happened in the show that I didn't like' I'm in my fucking thirties I've dealt with shows making stupid decisions before. It's what a permadeath here in particular would mean with everything surrounding it.

It's starting a series based around getting you to want a family to reunite just to pull the rug out 2/3rds in and say 'lol dumbass they were never going to reunite.' All those themes of family and needing it to be complete? Never meant anything.

It's building up a character, intentionally making sure he's read as neurodivergent in a very clear and confirmed way, giving him multiple plotlines, and then cutting them all off without finishing any of them by taking two episodes to set up a mission that has zero plot purpose except to kill him off and then say Oh well it's stakes and consequences there had to be a price to pay for... trying to reunite the family and save their brother I guess. How dare they.

It's providing zero confirmation in story on the death, spending months upon months saying shit like 'he doesn't come back in this episode at least' and 'this was the end of mine - and that's a good thing!' and 'if you could only see who's on my screen' knowing that there's a large portion of fans genuinely upset by his death, using social media pretty much exclusively to rub our faces in the scene, and then turns out they were just stringing everyone along the whole time, he really was dead, the lack of confirmation in episode meant nothing, us playing coy and dropping hints for ten months meant nothing, fuck you for giving a shit.

It's setting up a story where the clones could be more than soldiers and then abruptly cutting it off and going on and on about how wonderful it is that he died self sacrificing as a soldier and it's what any clone would want, because this show about how all clones are individuals is actually about how they're all interchangeable and any clone would want the same thing.

It's that if Tech is dead there is not a single piece of the show, a single interaction with the fans since it happened, a single anything from anybody involved that was not set up to make ND people hope (or god forbid even feel some kind of acceptance at seeing a neurodivergent character getting treated seriously) string them along, and then punish them for it so that everyone else can coo about how mature and bold it was to kill off the autistic guy for shock value. And then they don't even fucking address it the next season because ~oh there's just no time~

And I would really prefer if a show that I have loved almost every other aspect of, that has been genuinely well written and moving, didn't randomly decide to drop every single piece of their writing ability in order to put out the most ambiguous death scene ever, fuck with their audience for ten months, and then shit on them for caring.

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

hi I'm learning destiny lore the hard way and I've seen you in my notes, who's Eris Morn? What's her deal? This is an invitation to infodump you seem like the person to ask XD

Oh wow! I will answer your question, despite feeling unworthy to do so, but before I do, since you mentioned you're learning the lore, this is the Eris page from the Ishtar Collective website: https://www.ishtar-collective.net/categories/eris-morn It gives a list of main plot points for Eris up until just before the Season of the Witch and links to all Eris lore that exists in-game, going into far more detail than I can in one Tumblr post.

The Ishtar site pulls a large amount of its info from the D2 API and then supplements anything it can't get from there with human volutneer transcribers pulling from sources like the Destiny Lore Vault: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCqJlWJF0IucG7HXcEao78Cw .

If there is lore you can acess in-game, now or in the past, Ishtar has it and it is searchable via keywords. It is official lore, not someone's interpretation of it, and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

However, not everyone realizes that the Ishtar Collective also has a Discord: https://discord.gg/v8GsggCV

And that Discord is full of lore nerds who you can just go to and ask obscure lore questions and they will happily answer them (or sometimes get into adorkable near-academic-level debates over them, with citations as well as historical and philosophical references) because that's their definition of fun. They are, for the most part, genuinely lovely humans and I adore them all.

Everything I know about Destiny I learned from either playing the game or reading that website or asking those people.

Now, to answer your question, I'm going to give you a short quick answer and then a longer more in-depth answer afterwards.

The short quick answer is a quote from a story I wrote (A Dance with Vengeance) where I have the Drifter explaining where Eris got her eyes to an Eliksni character I made up:

Please note: this is fanfiction. This conversation never happens in lore, and the closest we've gotten to Driferis in-game is a delightfully sweet hug buried in the lore tab for a sparrow vehicle, but the events the Drifter is narrating (with a bit of dramatic flourish) did happen to Eris in-game.

The longer answer:

Eris, a former Hunter (and Ahamkara wish-dragon slayer), is the sole surviving member of the First Crota Fireteam, a team of six guardians looking to avenge all the friends and loved ones who died in The Great Disaster (when humanity sent an army of guardians to try to reclaim the Moon from the Hive) and, in particular, to avenge the death of a badass Titan named Wei Ning (Eris' friend and lover of Eriana-3, the fireteam leader). Their goal was to kill Crota, the then-leader of the Hive forces on the Moon (Crota is the son of Oryx, who, himself is both a Hive god and the Taken King, brother to the other Hive gods, Savathun, Hive god of Lies, and Xivu Arath, Hive god of War).

Everyone on the First Crota Fireteam except for Eris died horribly and Eris was lost in the Hellmouth on the Moon for a century. Eris' ghost (Brya) killed itself to protect her and Eris no longer has access to Light-based guardian powers. She killed a Hive acolyte and took its eyes (cutting out her own) since she had wished on her bone to know the way out of the Hellmouth but could no longer see. (Ahamkara wish magic is always tricksy - they're basically wish-granting genies who always twist what you ask for into the worst possible outcome.)

Eris has a few titles: "The Forgotten Blade," "Bane of the Swarm," "Crota's Bane" and, more recently in Season of the Witch, "Hive god of Vengeance." She is our main point of contact on the Moon (the Shadowkeep DLC is fantastic and the Moon is awesome and creepy and one of my favourite places to go in-game - I could go on and on about my favourite spots there).

Eris has devoted the rest of her (now mortal) life to exterminating the Hive and has guided the Guardian (the player character) to do so through many adventures, notably the Crota's End raid (where we kill Crota and finally accomplish what her fireteam set out to do), the Kings Fall raid (where we kill Oryx), the Pit of Heresy dungeon, and the Scarlet Keep strike (where she has one of her infamous fantastic lines: "Do you feel it as I do, Guardian? A hatred as pure and potent as sunshine, soaking through your skin?"

Season of the Witch is all about Eris becoming the Hive god of Vengeance to deal with Xivu Arath. If you've ever watched Full Metal Alchemist, the logistical problem with Xivu is the same: going to war with something that feeds off of violence and death just makes it stronger. Season of the Witch is still available (at the time I'm writing this) and there's some amazing scenes in there. I highly recommend playing through it but if you can't, here's an 8.5 minute video of the 3 main cutscenes including the ending [i.e. this is a spoiler if you haven't played it yet and still want to!]: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVUWu-DqZvU

Eris' storyline in-game is all about recovery from trauma. Many of her quests are either helping her seek vengeance or helping her find peace (such as recovering mementos of her fireteam from various spots on the Moon). She is haunted (literally) by the ghosts of her past (here's 19 seconds of her yelling at them: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lcs1io-kvdg ) and her recovery from that has made her the unofficial trauma therapist for the Vanguard.

In Season of the Haunted (sadly no longer playable) she guides Zavala, Crow and Cabal Empress Caiatl through combatting and laying to rest their own nightmares-of-the-past-made-real. Here's a link to a 9 min video of the main cutscenes from that season (there's more content if you watch a full playthrough): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DWHphu-iT3w

Eris taught herself how to wield Hive magic from a combination of her century of wandering on the Moon and the journals of Toland the Shattered (one of the members of her fireteam who betrayed them to the Hive and is now a floating sparkle-ball who sometimes helps us and sometimes just insults us on the Moon).

Eris is the Vanguard's Hive expert and Darkness expert. She is also one of Ikora's Hidden (Ikora is the Vanguard spymaster and the Hidden are her network of spies.) One of Eris' main story elements is that most people don't trust her, and not without cause. Another D2 character, Elsie Bray, aka the Exo Stranger, has been living her own personal Groundhog Day time-loop hell where she has watched humanity fail over and over against the Witness and then goes back in time to try to stop it. In most of Elsie's time loops Eris succumbs to her trauma and the corrupting nature of the Darkness powers she wields, goes full Hive, and leads the forces of evil to wipe out humanity in what is referred to as "the Dark Timeline."

Eris is constantly dealing with accusations that she's crazy, that she's evil, that she's unstable, and every time it's proven she's not, but people still find her untrustworthy and it isolates her from most of humanity, noteworthy exceptions to this being Ikora, Queen Mara, the player character, and the Drifter.

I am (obviously) especially enamoured of the relationship between Eris and the Drifter, and their in-game banter is absolute top-tier (he flirts and Eris roasts him and it is glorious), but the very core of their relationship is built on comfort and understanding. He trusts her (something almost no one else does) and she gives him hope (which is genuinely impressive and beautiful because the Drifter's own backstory is brutal and bleak as fuck).

Throughout most of Eris' narrative in-game she is a recovering survivor, but in Beyond Light (the DLC where we get our not-ice magic Stasis powers) we get to see Eris not just psychologically and emotionally recovered, but also getting to be a badass in battle. This is, in my opinion, the best cutscene in the entire game: (it is 1 min an 35 seconds and far, far too short): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IAD6E_vESJY

I love this cutscene not only because it is visually spectacular, but because Eris has, for most of her narrative, been an injured survivor needing the player character to fight in her place because she no longer can. But in Beyond Light she is now able to kick ass and, perhaps even more importantly, be a part of a fireteam again.

There's more but I'm going to stop there. Eris is badass and amazing and creepy and fantastic. She uses the weapons of the Hive against them. She uses her own traumatic experiences to heal others. Her dialogue lines are evocative and snarky and brooding and poetic. The voice acting for her is some of the best I've ever heard anywhere. Her character has a complex, empowering, healing, hopeful, and beautiful narrative. And I love her intensely for it.

Ideally, this has answered your question at least somewhat, but do feel free to ask me any follow up questions you have about this or anything. I maintain I am not an expert in D2 lore. I am a writer and I don't just have biases, I use them to make art. But I do love the game and while I am not an authority on anything, I have immersed myself in much of the lore with wild abandon and will happily point you to places where you can find more information where my own understanding is limited.

And with that, I leave you with another fantastic Eris quote that so many people have connected with and found beautiful but that also encapsulates "who is Eris Morn" pretty well on its own:

"Recovery is a spiral, not a circle. You may return to the same patterns, but you will break free." —Eris Morn

[a-driftamongopenstars]

Drifteris, “let me call you mine just for tonight”

ough this made me feel a lot of feelings <3 thank you for the prompt! also on ao3

list of random dialogue prompts // 10. “Let me call you mine, just for tonight.”

"Moondust?" The Drifter's surprised voice carries through the dark and dusty interior of her ship. "You called?"

"I have," she returns, beckoning him from where she stands, the green of her eyes seeping through the cloth, illuminating the space alongside her orb and a few dangling lights. The Drifter steps over something scattered on the floor, reaching Eris where she awaits him.

"What's the urgency that I gotta go up on your ship? You know you can visit me on the Haul any time, yeah?"

"Your Haul has too many eyes."

The Drifter opens his mouth for a clever retort that springs to his tongue, but holds it back. Eris' posture, everything about her... the very air is tense and tight.

"Well, what's going on then?" he asks with concern.

"I did a great deal of thinking after talking with Sloane. And I believe I came to some conclusions that I would have you hear."

Her earnestness settles in his chest heavily, crawling at his skin. Eris always talks in such a way that leaves him uneasy, and yet, he finds her comforting. Strange that it should be this way. So he listens.

"When I went into the Moon's depth, I left all of myself there. And what I carried out of there was grief and duty and nothing to my name but this."

Her fingers tighten over the green field around the bone, casting strange dancing shadows around them.

"However..."

"You're starting to scare me, Moon-"

"Hush."

Her fingertips press against his lips, and the Drifter falls quiet, feeling the flutter going up his spine. A feeling he simply can't suppress, one that makes his heart beat in his ears, loud and clear.

"You talk too much. So much," she says quietly. "I've always wondered if with your words you are trying to drown out the same things I've wanted to bury. If you say anything but what you mean, maybe, it will go away."

The Drifter's shoulders feel awfully heavy. And her words brush against the truth, too close.

"But it is not why I called you. I don't want to make things go away any more. I wish them to stay. And I want you, to stay."

"I'm not going anywhere..."

"No. But you will, later. For now, stay. Be my one thing I don't have to bury. Let me call you mine, just for tonight."

He gathers her hand in his, finding her gaze through the bind, knowing that she sees him, damn it, she sees through him, every shield and brick and trick up his sleeve, she tears it apart. No nonsense woman after his own heart, whatever shreds are left of it, she makes them whole.

How does she always talk him into corners, how does she always leave him perplexed with honesty, how is Eris Morn the only one who has seen him for what he is?

He could kiss her.

Damn it, he does.

And her lips drown out every thought in his mind, leaving all but one that matters tonight.

[codenamesazanka]

extremely questionable methodology but i compiled all the dialogue spoken between Shigaraki and Deku starting from when Shigaraki breaks out of AFO’s control in Chapter 379 up to Chapter 412.

(There are chapters where they appear but do not speak. Those are the chapter numbers.)

The takeaway is that Shigaraki is extremely chatty! A lot of it is taunts, but Shigaraki’s also revealing a lot of stuff about his plans and his opinions.

Deku does not seem as interested in returning the conversation, however. Whenever he does speak, it’s less in response to any of the content of Shigaraki’s chatter, and more heroic statements of intent. (The ‘you’re still human’ is the only direct refutation, I think.)

To be fair, his focus is all on surviving Shigaraki’s attacks. Nearly all his internal thoughts are strategy - combining a quirk with this quirk, how exactly he can physically stop Shigaraki. Additionally, before Chapter 410, he was probably too worried about All Might; while for most of Chapter 412, he was asphyxiating. Hard to chat when so much shit is happening.

And you can argue Shigaraki is just Villain monologuing. Deku doesn’t have to pay attention to anything he says - a lot which are, after all, taunts - he doesn’t have to engage with Shigaraki’s dumb rants.

His goal is to save Shigaraki/The Crying Child, and only that - not like talking or asking questions about anything or responding is required for that.

[moononastring]

Spirit Meets the Bones XXI

Find it all here.

Genre: Angst/Romance/Drama Please note: There will be heavy subjects discussed that may be triggering. Author's Note: I know this has taken a little long so I hope you enjoy this long one! I sincerely appreciate every single one of you ♥️ Feedback is always welcome and very encouraging :)

Tagging: @santababysteve | @nina-zcnik | @vanserrass | @climb-the-mountian| @positivewitch | @ladyelain | @helion-ism | @readthelastpaage | @lord-lochan | @spinachtz | @elizab3th-grace | @ladystarrynight | @daily-dose-of-sass | @highlady-fireheart | @carnythian | @theviewfromtheotherside | @lovedbyth3sun | @carolynmezzosoprano | @thedarkinmansfield | @moonfawnx | @imma-too-many-fandoms | @x-soladosisfacitvenenum-x | @krem-does-stuff | @that-golden-lyre | @cynicalpotato95 | @lattristanketcup | @tiny-dragon-lover | @runningwiththeoceans | @nightchanges20 | @sweet-but-stormy | @deedz-thrillerkilller16 | @illyrianshadowhunter | @this-is-rochelle | @thewilderheart | @yourlocalbookwhore | @applestrudeldoo | @comingupbexx | @foxybananaaaz | @weesablackbeak |

Something was wrong. 

Iris had started to sense it not too long after Eris had left, a sense of unease worked its way through her chest and twisted in her gut.  She tried to brush off the worry — today had been a whirlwind and Finn showing up suddenly was probably adding to the stress she was already feeling. Eris would be fine. He should be fine. Even if he was taking longer than she expected. 

She let herself focus on other things while she waited, mindlessly tidying the room, washing up for bed, and lastly, actually choosing something she deemed indecent to wear to bed.

It was a beautiful olive-green gown, the material satin with lace trimmings that seemed to have been made for her, hugging her body in a way she knew would send her husband into a nice little spiral. Or, at least she hoped it would. It was also much shorter than she’d ever worn around Eris, barely reaching her midthigh and that — well, that made her a little more nervous than she’d like to be.

It was just skin after all. She’d gradually been showing him a little skin with each new set but never…never this much. Iris flushed deeply and then frowned at her reflection.

“Get over yourself.” she mumbled. “It’s not like you don’t want him to touch you.” 

Because she did. If his kisses were any indication, Eris would likely be the death of her, and that had her feeling very nervous. But she had a nice long robe that would make her feel more secure. At least until they talked and she got answers to her questions. 

Today had been challenging in its own way but this moment, choosing to be just a little more intimate with him…this was for her. For the way he had been making her feel the past few weeks. For the way his eyes always watched her with just a little hunger and a whole lot of amusement. 

But mostly…for the way his voice had dropped when he had made his request earlier. He had asked so politely. It would be bad manners to refuse. 

If he’d just hurry up and come back already.

Iris had been standing in front of the vanity, fidgeting slightly with the thin strap of her nightgown when a sharp tug to her ribcage had her freezing. A gasp left her lips as she steadied herself and the dread she had been trying to keep at bay came back in full force. She felt panicked. She felt — she felt pain.

Something was wrong and she didn’t understand what that was. That — that tug.

With shaking hands, she quickly slipped the robe over her gown and tied it firmly, rushing to her door and yanking it open. 

She staggered to a halt in the doorway when one of Eris’s commanders turned to face her and she blinked in surprise. 

“Oren?” she asked and straightened. “What’s going on? Why are you here?”

The general took a moment to scan the hall, empty aside the two of them then took a small step towards her and gave her a tight smile. “His Royal Highness, Prince Eris wished for you to have some additional protection at this time.” Oren said calmly but Iris’s heart stuttered in her chest. She didn’t miss the usage of the formal title, especially when Oren and Eris were friends and that never happened between them.

“Where is he?” she demanded. “He was supposed to be meeting with Finn earlier. Has something happened?”

The tight smile remained on Oren’s face.  “The High Lord requested him earlier. He sent me here before he went.”

Iris inhaled sharply, her grip tightening on the doorframe as another sense of unease washed over her. “I knew something was wrong.” she said quietly and Oren narrowed his eyes at her.

“What do you mean?”

“Something is wrong. I can feel it.” Iris said and rubbed a hand to her forehead. “I’m going to change then go find —”

“I can’t let you leave.” Oren stated and Iris froze.

“Excuse me?”

Oren winced and Iris cocked a brow as he took a breath. “I am under orders to watch over you.” he said more gently. “Until he returns from his meeting with the High Lord.”

“He’s never had someone stand guard when he meets with the High Lord.” she said quietly and again, she felt that flutter of panic, and Oren’s lip thinned. 

“It seems, the High Lord is angrier than usual.”

Iris bit her lip and then let out a breath. He was angry with Eris and Iris knew without a doubt, it had to be because of her. Because of her horrible father. “Fuck.” she mumbled and Oren gestured gently to the room behind her. 

“I suggest you wait inside.”

“How am I supposed to wait when I know that —” she began then cut herself off in frustration, knowing she couldn’t say anything about the High Lord that wouldn’t get back to him. “How can I just wait when I’m telling you I can sense something is wrong!”

Oren gave her a look she didn’t quite understand then again, gently said, “I know it might be hard to wait but it’s better for you and him to stay here. He’ll worry about you less.”

Worry about her. As if she cared about herself at this moment. Knowing what she knew about Beron, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was tearing into Eris for not beating Iris alongside her father. She ran a hand through her hair and bit her lip, holding back a string of curses. 

The High Lord needed Eris. Surely, he wouldn’t do anything — but Iris immediately shook her head. The High Lord would do whatever he wanted to his son. 

And she could do nothing to protect him. 

Shame and anger coiled in her stomach and Iris wished there was more she could do — anything she could do other than sit here and wait.

She glanced at the commander once more who only gave her a nod. She sighed.

“You don’t have to wait outside. I’ll be fine.” she said quietly. “No one can come in here without my permission.”

Oren gave her a small smile. “I know. But I am loyal to one male and one male only,” he said. “And I will do as he requested of me.”

Iris watched Oren carefully. So he knew all about Eris and the way things were with the High Lord. He’d also been a friend and commander of his for so long…but she had to ask, “Why?”

The corner of the commander’s mouth shifted up. “Because I see what he’s been trying to do. And I believe in him,” he said then gestured with his chin behind her again. “I’ll be here if you need anything until he returns.”

Knowing she’d been dismissed, Iris turned to go back into her rooms. Oren had distracted her briefly but as she slowly shut the door, her hands started to shake again. She couldn’t help the guilt threatening to consume her, couldn't help the twist in her gut. How long would Beron keep his son? What would he do to him?

Her eyes flickered to the grandfather clock sitting in the corner of their living space and she frowned. It was already so late in the evening. How much longer would this meeting take?

But an hour went by. Then several more. 

And Iris spent the time pacing around their room, fighting back her anxiety and holding herself back from running past Oren and finding her husband herself. 

She had been seated, curled up on their bed trying and failing to distract herself when she heard the familiar thud of their door closing and leaped to her feet.

“You took so long! I started to think —” Iris started but the rest of the words died in her throat at the sight of Eris in front of her. 

Heat filled the room almost immediately as Iris halted a few feet away from him. 

Her husband stood before her and Iris wasn’t sure where to look. At the now tattered jacket somehow still on his body. Or at the blood dripping from him. Or his hair that now barely reached the nape of his neck. She couldn’t stop staring, her heart rate increasing at the cold detachment on his face and the dead look in his eyes that set her on edge. 

Iris tried to swallow, to hold back the horror and panic going through her body, to calm her shaking hands.

“What — what happened?” she asked carefully, taking a step closer to him. Eris’s gaze dropped to her feet and the step she took closer to him then back up to her face. 

A beat of silence passed. Then another. Eris watched her, barely blinking and Iris didn’t dare move or say anything more as her fingers curled into the fabric of her robe. 

Slowly and without saying a word, Eris gestured to his body, to the state he was in, and Iris tried to keep her expression from falling, tried to curb the slight panic clogging in her throat. Once again, Eris only glanced down then back up at her but this time, she saw wildfire in his eyes. The room’s temperature spiked and Iris felt her chest tighten as anger surged around them. 

Eris wasn’t angry, no. He was seething. Fuming.

He took a step towards her and her heart started to beat frantically at the flame that had started to lick at his heels. 

“Eris,” she started gently. “Tell me what happened.”

The Prince of Autumn cocked his head as his wild eyes watched her and Iris knew whatever had happened, whatever the High Lord had done to him, it was bad enough that Eris had gone someplace far, far away. And her Eris was not back yet. 

His eyes narrowed on her and Iris couldn’t find it in her to say anything more, her body tensing instead. She wanted him to say something, anything to fill the silence, where the only sound she could hear was the frantic beating of her heart. Her husband had not returned as he had left and she wasn’t sure if he fully would. She wasn’t sure what to do with herself that would help him, that would ease whatever was going through his mind right now.

It was as she opened her mouth once more that Eris moved, taking one step towards her and Iris paused. She willed herself not to flinch as his hands lowered from behind his back and knew Eris had clocked the movement. His hands wouldn’t hurt her but it still didn’t stop her from watching them carefully.

They watched each other silently. 

And Eris wanted to reply to her question, to speak, but he was having a hard time trying not to vomit. He was having a hard time trying to remember how to breathe properly. He had lost consciousness at some point enduring his father’s wrath and had woken up to find himself laying in his own blood. He didn’t remember being untied, and he didn’t know how much time had passed, but he knew he needed to check on his mother. He needed to get back to his wife. 

So Eris had forced himself to stand on trembling legs, his wits barely about him. He forced himself to leave the throne room and muster what will he had left to winnow in front of his parent’s chambers. And Eris had waited, barely able to stand as his blood dripped from him to hear something, anything to indicate that his mother was alright. But Eris had heard nothing and he didn’t know if the deafening silence was worse than the cries of pain he had expected. Only when black dots began to line his vision had he finally forced himself to winnow once more to his own door. 

He had waved off an alarmed Oren and allowed himself a moment to compose himself before walking in and standing as he stood now.

And he really, really wanted to hurl his guts because Iris was looking at him in a way he wasn’t used to in a moment like this. No one usually saw him like this. He mostly let himself go numb during his father’s unleashing and then, only when he was alone, did Eris let his anger consume him. But he had already been teetering on the edge today and he was no longer alone. 

Iris said nothing as he stood there, only watching him with a level of concern that made his chest feel tight. She cared. She cared about what happened to him. She was not his father and she was not looking at him with anything but genuine concern and everything in him recoiled at the fact that she had to see him this way at all. That his father had put him in this position, to look weak and it made him so angry that Eris went momentarily blind with rage. 

He forced himself to swallow and then do it again before he could unlock his jaw enough to speak.

“My father,” he began in a voice that wasn’t quite his and the flames licking his heels spiked up. “Wanted to give me a new look.” He held up a bloodied fist. “He suggested I choke you with what was left of this.”

Iris dropped her gaze to his hand holding — clutching strands of hair that was — she looked up at his face again then back down to his hand. 

“Oh gods.” she mumbled and her heart sank to the pits of her stomach. What had the High Lord done to him? Or rather, what hadn’t the High Lord done to him? Iris took another hesitant step toward him and started to say, “Let me —” 

But immediately, Eris held his other hand, stopping her in place and Iris fell silent. His eyes didn’t leave the hand holding the strands of his hair.

He finally glanced up at her, that wildfire in his eyes. “I told him to fuck off, of course.” he continued. “He didn’t take that well.” His gaze dropped again and Iris’s eyes followed to where a few drops of blood had dripped by his feet. She couldn’t even tell where it was coming from. “He didn’t take many things well during our conversation.”

“Conversation.” she repeated faintly and her face fell at the way his own hands had started to shake. “The state that you’re in is the result of a conversation.”

Eris fell silent again, blinking down at his trembling hands. A part of him wished he’d evaporate, simply melt into the floor and cease to exist. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel this way. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to think about how much this family had been through and how much more they’d have to suffer until his fucken father died. Maybe then he wouldn't have to worry about his wife being another body for his father to beat down. 

Maybe then —

“Eris?” 

He looked up at her gentle calling, so unlike the voice of his father who had spent the past few hours breaking him. The way she looked at him made him want to collapse.

He was bleeding and broken and there was no logical reason for it other than his father was a monster.

“How — how did you even walk the halls like this?” she finally asked and couldn’t help how choked her voice sounded, couldn’t help that she had to keep breaking his silence. Her own hands were shaking as she moved closer to him. “Let me help you — let me see wherever you’re bleeding from.”

Eris shook his head and tried to breathe. She cared and it was too much for him. He couldn’t do this now — he needed more time.

But even if he wanted to, that thread at his ribcage forced him to stay where he was. How could it not when he looked at her and it steadied him? That thread that had dragged him back here, to this room. That thread was the reason he hadn’t let his fire consume him.

It took him another moment to speak, his eyes unblinking as he watched her. “I shouldn’t be able to winnow directly in the House but stubborn as I am,” he said with a hoarse laugh and swayed slightly. “I can bend the magic to my will.” He pointed a bloody finger at her. “I think it has to do with you.”

This rooted Iris to where she stood. “With me?” she repeated in a whisper. 

“With you.” he confirmed and lowered a trembling hand to his side, his eyes unfocused. “I had to come back to you. You were waiting for me.”

Iris’s mouth trembled and she tried to swallow back the cascade of emotions surging through her body at his words. “What can I do?” she pleaded. “What do you need right now to make this moment easier?”

“What do I need.” he repeated and his eyes fell back to his hands. Iris watched his grip tighten until a flame burst in his fist and what was left of his hair was no more. Eris shook his head again, his chest rising and falling as he tried to breathe. Her face fell as he backed a step from her, both fists aflame now. “You shouldn’t be near me right now.” he said and his gaze flickered up, his wild eyes watching her. “I — I am not — I don’t —”

What was left of her battered heart broke further. He was physically standing before her but Iris could see the struggle in his eyes to connect to their reality.  She wanted to reach him. She needed to reach him and remind him, that he was hers and she would take care of him the way he took care of her.

“It’s okay.” she said as gently as possible and slowly reached out a hand. “Let me help you.”

“Don’t.” Eris snarled so viciously that Iris couldn’t stop the flinch this time, yanking her hand back immediately. 

A thick silence filled the room once more and Iris watched her husband’s chest rise and fall, his breathing starting to turn shallow, those wild eyes watching her in an almost pained resolve at her reaction.

“You flinched from me.” he said, the words barely distinguishable.

Iris swallowed and she hid her trembling hands in the folds of her robe. “It’s alright.” she said softly and saw the way he shuddered at the two words. “You — you surprised me. That’s all.” 

He took a step towards her and Iris froze, waiting as he breathed more deeply, the flame licking his body seeming to flare and then shrink with each breath. “I’m — I’m sorry.” he said, his voice guttural. “I need — I — I need —”

“You need a moment.” she said as his body shook and she fought every instinct to reach out again. She — she wanted to hold him, needed to. But he wasn’t there yet. He was still finding his way back to himself. So she tried to reassure him from their six feet of distance. “That’s alright. Why don’t you go change?”

He nodded and blinked at her, his gaze still unfocused. “Shower.”

“Okay.” she said and nodded carefully. “I’ll — I’ll ask for some tea.”

But her husband just stared at her. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t.”

“Stay.” he said then repeated, “Don't go anywhere.”

Iris gave him a tentative smile, trying and failing to hide how deep her worry ran. She tightened her grip on her robe so she wouldn’t reach out to him again. “I’m not going anywhere, Eris. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

She watched him as he watched her and again felt that tug in her ribcage that she didn’t understand as Eris swallowed hard then slowly, as if he was forcing himself to, he walked away from her and into their bathroom.

The door shut behind him and Iris’s face fell. How badly had that…conversation gone? She had no doubt her own father had played a part in it after the way Eris had humiliated him but to what extent? How many more gifts had Beron given Eris? Letting out a shaky breath, her eyes fell to the drops of blood that had left a trail behind him.

An icy rage blinded her momentarily and Iris wanted nothing more than to find the High Lord and stab him violently until he choked on his own blood. Until he had enough wounds to make up for the ones he put on his son even if it would never be enough. The world would be a better place when the time came and he was gone. 

The sound of the water running had her blinking back to reality and Iris forced herself to snap into action and move. 

It didn’t slip her mind that earlier in the day, their situations had been the opposite and Iris wanted nothing more than to erase the anger and the shame that tied both of them to shitty fathers. 

She knew Eris was…not himself yet. She knew he needed a way back and Iris needed to believe that there was a way out of this — this darkness they were surrounded in. There had to be. 

No one deserved to live like this and as she wiped away any signs of his bleeding heart, Iris knew she would give him whatever he needed. Anything that would be a bright light for him on an otherwise dark night. So she had the tea tray ready with a bottle of hard liquor seated right next to it. Most importantly, she had tried to discreetly have her healing salves ready in the event he felt comfortable enough for her to touch him. 

She waited, too restless to sit, and paced between the sitting table and hovering by the door of the bathroom, listening in case — Iris wasn’t sure in case of what but was sure she wanted to be close by. 

Iris had just moved away from the door again when it finally opened and she immediately turned to find Eris standing in his sleeping attire. She tried not to frown at the way his body was still tense and her eyes roamed his face.

“I have the tea.” she said quietly. “And um, alcohol.”

The corner of his mouth ticked up a millimeter before his expression shifted to the blank one she hated and he walked over to her, stopping a few feet away.

She waited, letting him take his time as he glanced down at his feet and then back up at her, his anger still lingering around him.

He watched her, his hands at his sides. “I made you flinch away from me.”

“You were angry.” she said simply. 

“I would never harm you, Iris.” 

His tone offered no argument and the corner of her own mouth curled up. Anger towards her had typically only meant one thing but she knew, deep in her weary bones, that Eris would never hurt her. 

So Iris took a step closer to him and made sure she met his gaze as she replied in a tone that also offered no argument, “I know.” she said. “Your anger wasn’t towards me.”

His nostrils flared at the reminder and Iris almost regretted saying anything but then he took another step closer to her. “No. It wasn’t,” he said and Iris let her gaze drop to his hands that were clenching and unclenching at his sides. “After…events like this, I usually…am alone. To process.”

The words, the resignation in them, made her ache. Iris wondered how many times he’d had to process alone, with no one to share this burden with.

She looked up again and took one more step toward him as she slowly held out her hands. “Well, you’re not alone anymore,” she said quietly and watch as his gaze dropped to her open hands. “I’m here.”

“Yes, you are.” he said so softly and Iris felt her heart twist. It took him a moment and she felt his hesitation, as if afraid to touch her but she waited. She waited as he clenched and then unclenched his hands once more before he slid his hands into hers. 

“I’m here to listen if you want to talk about it,” she said as softly as he had spoken. “If not, I’m still here.”

His grip on her hands had tightened and she watched as his breath quickened for a moment, working his jaw. “I will. I have to,” he said hoarsely. “Or I will lose my mind.”

“Okay.” she simply said even as her chest tightened at the slight tremble in his hands. “I can’t have you losing your mind over anything except me, can I now?”

Eris tried to give her a smile but it turned more into a grimace and Iris gave him a small smile of her own, wanting to bring him some sense of ease. She glanced down at their intertwined hands and let her thumb caress the back of his hand gently. “I don’t think I ever actually told you but…” she met his gaze. “I like how your hands feel holding mine. I have since that day I met the puppies for the first time and you told me I have lovely hands.”

She watched the Prince of Autumn shudder at the words and it took him another moment before he could answer her. “Not puppies,” he said and Iris couldn’t help her small smile, especially as he continued in words so quiet, she almost missed them. “I like how your hands feel in mine too.” 

“Smart male.” she said and again, the corner of his mouth lifted but this time, it remained curled up, and again, Iris couldn't stop staring at him. He may look a little different with the sloppy cut he had been given but it didn’t change the feeling that was spreading in her chest. She loved it when he smiled, especially if she was the reason. She liked his wicked mouth too much. 

Iris made to move towards the table but Eris’s grip tightened on her and she turned to find his expression tense, his body rigid.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m only getting you a drink.” she said gently and Eris swallowed then gave a small nod and squeezed her hands once more before reluctantly letting go. Iris couldn't help the way she softened at the way he watched her, as though she was his tether to his way home. 

How many times had he needed someone but had suffered alone? How many times had she been in the same scenario? It made her wonder how often had they shared a moment like this in their separate lives…two sides of the same miserable fucken coin indeed.

The thought exhausted her and with a swallow, Iris pulled away to turn to the table, feeling his eyes on her. As if she’d disappear if he blinked. She opted for the alcohol and filled both teacups to the brim. She may have the power to heal but with wounds that ran as deep as her husband’s…she wasn’t sure if she would be enough. 

She carefully handed him his teacup and stood opposite him as they glanced at one another. 

They did so much watching one another. So much observing. They exchanged so much without saying a word and Iris wondered if he could hear the way her blood was pumping so loudly in her ears. If he knew she could hear the rapid beating of his heart. 

She gestured with her chin. “Drink.”

He glanced down at the cup in his hand and then looked up with a quirked brow. “This isn’t tea.”

“I think we need something a little stronger tonight.” she said gently and Eris gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes before lifting the cup in a mock salute and knocking it back. 

Iris switched their cups and handed him hers with a small smile at the dry chuckle that escaped him before he drank it as well. But her expression immediately fell as his body gave a shudder followed by a small grunt of pain and Iris’s grip tightened on her cup.

“I’m sorry.” she whispered and the apology seemed to dim any momentary lightness Eris had experienced. 

“For what.” he said dryly. 

“For whatever happened. For all of it.” she continued and Iris tried not to fidget beneath his gaze. “For anything that I might’ve had to do with it.”

Eris stared at her in silence, his expression tight, and the only sound in the room was the tapping of his fingers against his cup. What seemed like a lifetime later, he reached out to take the empty teacup from her hands and turned from her to place them back on the table.

He stood like this for several quiet moments and it made Iris tense again, wondering if he needed more time. If she should’ve backed off and let him be alone. Even if that was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted —

“You know, my father wanted you with me for this little meeting.” Eris finally said and Iris blinked. 

“Why?”

Eris turned to face her again and leaned against the table. She didn’t miss the way, a second later, he moved a slight inch to avoid his back making contact. 

“You see,” he began and glanced down at his hands. “He found out about my little encounter with your father and didn’t quite like that.” His hands slowly clenched into fists as he spoke. “The High Lord wanted you on your knees apologizing to your father. At your father’s request, of course.”

“What?” she croaked.

“But my father also wanted me to apologize to your father for beating him. Because I did it for you,” he said and then gave her a dry smile. “And well, the High Lord can’t have his son beating people for his wife now, can he? The only person the High Lord’s son should be beating is his own wife.”

Iris’s fingers dug into the folds of her robe as anger and shame washed over her once more. For the audacity of her father and the cruelty of his. 

“He doesn’t deserve an apology,” she said through clenched teeth. “He deserves death.”

“I agree.” Eris said and he slowly made his way over to her, the room heating again with each step. “Which is why my father tied me to a flogging pole and whipped me within an inch of my life. Because I told him that my wife apologizes to no one and I certainly do not apologize to anyone either, especially filth.” he snarled softly and straightened with an angry wince. “So do me a favor? Do not apologize for their choices ever again. My wife doesn’t apologize for things she had no hand in.”

Horror slammed into her as she stared at Eris, fully engulfed in his own flame. At the way he had so casually admitted what his father had done.

“He — he whipped you?” she whispered and watched his body tense again, the temperature in the room spiking once more. 

“Yes. But before that, I broke both of your father’s legs and his face again.” he said and Iris saw his fists clench again. “So that makes us somewhat even.”

“Eris…” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. How can he ask her not to apologize when she was the reason he was hurt? When it was because of her father that he had been pulled so far away from himself.

And she hated how it fell silent between them again. She hated that he felt this way. That he was made to be feeling this level of anger and despair. As if every word that fell from his mouth took too much effort, too much work. 

Iris hadn’t realized how desperately she wanted to make him feel better. To bring back that stupid smirk she pretended to hate so much. She wanted to —

“Don’t look at me like that.” he said so tiredly and it made her ache. With a shake of his head and a deep breath, his flame went out, and he turned away from her, moving towards their bed. 

But Iris froze and every single thought emptied from her head. 

With his back to her, Eris’s shirt had clung to his skin and tiny beads of blood peppered the white shirt. 

He looked over his shoulder, meeting her horrified gaze, and immediately looked away from her, his shoulders tensing as he lowered himself to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Don’t.”

“Eris, you’re bleeding again.” 

“I know.” he managed then rubbed a hand down his face. “Just please stop looking at me like that.”

Iris bit the inside of her mouth, outraged on his behalf and hating that he felt embarrassed by any of it. She willed herself to breathe. One breath in, one breath out. They couldn’t catch a break. A small dosage of time where they could just be. Where everything between them didn’t have to get so fucken hard the moment they found a little ease.

“Look at you like what?” she finally said and made her way over to him. She sank down next to him and knew her expression gave away the panic she was trying to control. “Like I’m disgusted with what happened to you? Like I’m horrified  that your father hurt you because of me and my piece of shit father?” 

She stared at him then waved a hand helplessly. “How else am I supposed to look at my husband who left me in one way then came back another?” she added softly. “How else am I supposed to look when I want to help you so badly but I’m unsure how?”

Iris watched his throat bob as he swallowed. “Careful, wife. You sound like you care about me.” he said and Iris let out a huff of frustration then glared at him. 

“I do care, you stupid bastard.” she muttered, flushing deeply and the dead look in his eyes was given a short reprieve when he gave her a small smile. 

“That’s good to know.” he said and then fell silent, the weight of this whole day and what was left unsaid suffocating. 

And as Iris watched him, she was hit by the need to kiss him. The need to run her hands down his arms and chest and scarred back that she wanted to help him heal and then kiss better. She wanted anything but whatever this heaviness was, anything but that awful expression on his face. Her eyes scanned his slightly ruffled hair and how tired his eyes were and her frown deepened.

Slowly, she reached out a hand to gently touch his face, giving him all the time in the world to push her hand away if he desired. But he didn’t and Iris turned his head so he’d face her and his exhaustion slammed into her.

“What happened was not acceptable.” she whispered. “And for that, I am sorry that it happened to you. Because you don’t deserve it. You didn’t do anything wrong and he had no right to treat you that way.” 

Eris scoffed faintly but swallowed before closing his eyes and hesitated for a heartbeat then nuzzled gently into her hand. He hated how desperately he needed the softness of her touch. How badly he wanted to be soothed. She was here and even if he felt like death itself, she was here. “No one deserves what he delivers.” he finally said quietly. “But we still take it.” 

“You should not have to.” 

“No.” he said and straightened with a grimace, taking her hand in his hand. He let his thumb caress her palm as he added, “None of us should have to.”

“Please let me look at your back,” she whispered but he shook his head, his thumb still rubbing her hand gently. Whether it was to soothe him or to soothe her, she wasn’t sure. "Please. Let me heal it."

A muscle in his jaw flexed and Iris had to remind herself that his anger wasn't at her.

“I can heal it myself,” he replied but not unkindly. “I’m choosing not to at the moment.”

"Why?”

“Pain is good. It keeps the memory fresh.”

Once again, the room heated at the words and Iris’s body went rigid. He was so angry and gods, she knew that anger. She had tasted the humiliation he felt. And she knew without question that beneath that anger was so much sadness. So much exhaustion. So much…yearning. For more. For different.

For love. For some sense of normalcy in a fucked up home that showed them no mercy. 

Iris could practically hear his mind whirling and it pulled at her heart because she had started to understand him in a way very few people did. Slowly, she reached out once more and gently forced him to meet her gaze.

“There is no part of you that deserves pain like this, Eris.” she said firmly and hated the way she could see his disbelief, as though it wasn’t true. 

Eris’s eyes fluttered closed at the words, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “How do you know that? That I don’t deserve pain? I’ve made bad choices. I’ve had to do bad things.”

She shook her head. “Making bad decisions and being forced to do bad things doesn’t make you a bad person. You’ve had to carry so much…give yourself some room.” she said and then added quietly, “Unburden yourself with me. Let me help you.”

Eris met her gaze and she watched the internal struggle in his eyes as he worked his jaw. Finally, he said, “There’s too much. It’s a lot.”

“I know. You were ready to tell me earlier. So tell me now.” she encouraged calmly. “You told me you wanted to know the side of me I didn’t like anyone seeing. That you wanted to see.” She squeezed his hand. “Well, I want to know too. I want to see.”

Eris seemed to pause and then his gaze hardened as he straightened. “Iris,” he began and her brows furrowed at the urgency in his tone. “You have to understand whatever I tell you, it has been kept a secret in order for us to survive. I do not trust anyone as much as I’m allowing myself to trust you. Don’t — don’t make me regret it.” 

She tilted her head and watched him for a quiet minute. “Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?”

“No.” he said and swallowed. “But when you’ve been living in a pit of snakes for so long, you’re never sure which one will bite. Things have changed between us but…I have this doubt in the back of my mind that you’ll take anything I say and give it to the highest bidder to get out of this marriage and run.” He paused for a moment and licked his lips. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

She watched him quietly again and it made her chest tighten that even after things had shifted between them, this still worried him. So Iris swallowed and decided to be honest as well.

“And despite the changes between us…I still fear that someday you’ll realize you could beat the living shit out of me every single day and no matter how much I can defend myself, you’ll still overpower me.” she replied. “But I have not seen anything from you that would truly have me succumb to that doubt. Have you seen anything from me to feed into those doubts?”

He paused but Iris didn’t fail to notice how his thumb was back to caressing her hand softly, almost as a way to calm himself down. 

“No.” he said after a moment. “You’re my wife and my friend and my — you’re many things. I — I trust you.” 

“Good. Because I trust you too.” she whispered. “I’ve trusted you not to hurt me and you haven’t.” 

He shook his head and held up her hand in his. “It is my job to protect you. These fists will fight for you.”

Iris couldn’t help the small smile that bloomed on her face or the way her heart swelled at the words. “And I am grateful for that.” she said. “But then who protects you?”

His mouth curled into a tired smile and he sighed. “Apparently, it’s my wife with her healer's hands.”

Iris gave him a pointed look then gestured to his shirt with her chin. “Then let these hands help you.” 

Eris tensed and his grip tightened on his wife’s hands. He wasn’t used to anyone being near him whenever this happened. Wasn’t used to anyone seeing any of his scars, much less fresh ones.

But this was Iris. His wife. His mate. And he wanted her hands to touch him. To fit all of his pain in the palm of her lovely hands and wipe it away. 

Eris didn’t let himself overthink it as he finally released her hand from his and only hesitated for a moment before he pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground. He knew Iris hadn’t meant to make a noise but the sharp intake of breath that slipped from her mouth had him digging his hands into his thighs, tensing even further. He would not overthink it. His shirt was already off and she’d seen his scars before…even if his back had never looked this bad.

“Quite a masterpiece my father made, didn't he?” he mused quietly then dared to glance over his shoulder to find Iris’s face flushed in anger, her eyes locked on his back.

The High Lord had avoided his face, of course. He only left bruises where others couldn’t see and had certainly not held back. He knew the scars would line his back, the back of his upper arms, and his neck. He didn’t want to think about his hair and how his father had deliberately kept it down so it would stick in his wounds and make the sting worse.

“Do you think, if I didn’t want your wife here, she wouldn’t be?” his father had whispered to him after the first crack of the whip. “Do you think I couldn’t have her in your position right now if I didn’t want to?”

Eris’s blood had boiled at the mere thought of Iris being subjected to any of this but he kept his mouth shut. He had endured. 

“You’ve gotten too bold, son. You’ve forgotten yourself.”

He had indeed. Eris had forgotten how his father liked to play. But Beron had reminded him over and over again exactly what happens to those who cross the High Lord. Eris had forced his body to shut down and closed off his mind until his father was finished. The only thoughts he allowed himself were of Iris waiting for him.

“I look forward to the day his blood fills these halls.” she muttered. “He deserves nothing but a brutal and painful death.”

The corner of Eris’s mouth curled up. “Bloodthirsty, are you?”

“I am your wife.” she said with a pointed look and a small chuckle escaped him despite how wretched he felt. 

Yes, she was. His lovely little wife.

“Tell me, how pretty do you think your lovely little Iris would look bleeding all over the throne room floor?” his father had whispered. 

His magic had recoiled violently at his father’s threats. Eris had nearly choked on the taste of ash in his mouth.

“I could make you watch. Or…have you be the one to make her bleed. What do you think, son?”

“Eris?”

He blinked himself back into reality to find his fists had burst into flame again and Iris watched him patiently. Eris hadn’t even seen or heard her bring a small bowl with a towel and salves, resting them on the nightstand beside them. He cleared his throat and flexed his hands to calm down. “Hm?”

“I need to start cleaning the wounds and wanted to make sure it’s still alright for me to touch you.” she asked and Eris felt himself nearly break at the question.

He forced himself to take a steadying breath and hoped she didn’t see the slight tremble in his hands when he rubbed his forehead. “Yes.” he said. “It’s always alright for you to touch me.” 

She gently squeezed his arm at the words and he tried to hold back the shudder. He wasn’t used to anyone taking care of him. He could heal himself just fine but his wife wanted to help him. His mate wanting to touch him made a world of a difference and Eris knew the thread that he was holding on to was on its last legs. He had to get everything off his chest, all the burdens he carried.

Iris guided him to sit at the corner of the bed and turn his back to her, working in silence at first and Eris forced himself to relax as she gently dipped his head forward and began cleaning with a soft cloth. This was not his father putting his hands on him, it was his Iris. Her lovely, lovely hands soothed the broken pieces of him. She touched him with featherlike movements and the way his body was reacting to the softness of her hands alarmed him.

This was pathetic. He was pathetic. 

“Does this…has this happened often?” Iris asked into the silence of their room. “I know you have older scars.”

The cloth slid against the nape of his neck and Eris breathed in deeply through his nose, digging his fingers into his thighs. He knew without looking at his wife, that Iris had picked up on it and her touch had gotten even gentler. “You remember when I told you earlier about the High Lord and his ways?” He began tightly and Iris hummed in response. “He leads with fear and a very heavy hand. And I use the term leads very loosely.” 

Eris forced himself to swallow as Iris began to pat his back dry and continued.

“He changed Under the Mountain. He was always rough around the edges but…that time awakened a side of my father that he has not returned from. We all did what we had to do to survive those fifty years but he…he became more vicious.” he said quietly. “Prior to that, he lashed out a lot and his fists spoke before his mouth ever did but it wasn’t consistent. You weren’t sure what would trigger him. The flogging is saved for special occasions, when we really piss him off.” Eris couldn’t look at her as he added, “The first time he used it was on my mother. He made my brothers and I all watch.”

Iris froze behind him, hand in midair as revulsion coursed through her.

“It was after Lucien was born.” Eris said, his voice carefully void of emotion. “We were all locked in place by his magic and had to watch her bleed. We had to listen to her scream and could do nothing. None of us were really the same after that, especially my mother.”

“Why?” Iris managed to choke out and Eris looked over his shoulder at his wife.

“Monsters don’t need reasons but…” he turned away again and with his voice barely above a whisper said, “My mother had an affair and my father found out. Lucien…is not my father’s son.”

Iris blinked rapidly. “W-what?”

“My mother met a male that she fell in love with before she met my father but her family decided power was more important than their daughter’s happiness and married her off to my father anyway,” he said, his voice dull as he glanced at his wife again before his gaze dropped to his hands. “Their relationship was…a checkbox that was fulfilled. And things were fine. Until they weren’t.”

Iris forced herself to move, to place the cloth down on the nightstand and pick up the salves instead. “What happened?” she asked as she sat behind him once more. 

Eris tensed as she began to apply the ointment, forcing himself to breathe through his nose again and calm his thoughts. “The male she loved saved her during the first war and they reconnected.” he continued. “Then the affair began on and off for years. Until my father found out after Lucien was born and nothing about her was the same afterward.”

Iris bit her lip, trying to hold back the nausea she was feeling as tension lined Eris’s back again, his shoulders stiff. “My mother was so full of light and love. A firecracker with magic that almost rivaled my father’s. She was…happy until that day.” Eris said and dread filled Iris’s chest when Eris pulled away to meet her gaze. “After he was done spilling her blood in the throne room that day, he took her away and they were gone for days. We did not know where they went or what he did to her then but when they came back, no fire was left in the Lady of Autumn. Nothing of who my mother had been was left.”

Iris’s heart was nearly beating out of her chest as the room heated once more. She watched Eris’s knuckles turn white from how hard he was clenching them. “Later on, after my mother remembered how to speak and to look at me without flinching,” he growled softly and Iris’s heart shattered further. “She told me everything. About her affair. About what happened. That he had used her fire against her. That he beat her and hurt her, and burned her so badly, he made her fear the fire that made her who she was. She is terrified of it because of how badly he made it hurt.” He let out a breath full of rage. “Since then he has never stopped belittling her and breaking her down. Hasn’t stopped doing everything he can to make her small and weak and prey.”

“And I hate him.” he snarled darkly and Iris felt the bed heat below her as she looked over at Eris, his eyes ablaze. “I hate him with every atom in my body. I loathe him and loathe the life he has forced us to live. I cannot stand the sight of him or the sound of his voice or feeling his eyes on me. I hate that he even breathes the same air as my mother. I hate that he uses my mother against my brothers and me.” Iris watched his shoulders rise and fall as he took shallow breaths. “But most of all, I hate that he’s still alive when his final breathes are a symphony I have been waiting to hear for years.”

Iris blinked and in the next moment, their whole chamber was in flames.

She gasped, her hands dropping to her lap as fire covered every inch of their room. She looked to Eris who had his eyes closed, his head tilted as frustration dripped from every inch of him. Her eyes turned to scan the room, feeling the heat and smelling the smoke. Though none of the flames touched her body, Eris was completely aflame.

“We survived fifty years of darkness beneath that fucken mountain for the nightmare to continue within this forest. He is a plague and the dream of his death is the only thing that keeps me going.”

Silence fell between them as Iris watched his fire burn throughout the room. She wondered what would happen if he did let it melt everything away. What would happen when he eventually unleashed?

“Does he know?” Iris finally asked. “That you have all this inside you?”

“He knows. Everyone knows. I will be the next High Lord.” Eris said quietly. “My power has been brewing for years and everyone can sense it. I have all this rage and all this fire but I’ve had to hold back.” He ran his tongue over his teeth. “His death has always been marked for my mother and until she is ready to get out, we cannot make a move. We endure and play my father’s games…but every now and then, I need to let it out.”

And with those words, the flames flickered out in the room. Iris’s eyes surveyed everything and found...nothing was damaged. Nothing ruined — only a lingering smell of smoke.

Turning back to him, Iris found him staring at her, smoke coming off him in waves at what remained of his rage. He blinked at her, his expression blank as his exhaustion stared back at her. 

“Did I frighten you?” he asked quietly as she watched him. “I’ve shown you quite a bit of my dark side lately.” 

But Iris was not frightened. Not in the least. She felt — she felt seen.

She shook her head and stood carefully, returning the healing ointments to the small table beside them. How did she explain to him that there was nothing frightening about what he said? That all she felt was understood? 

Finding her way back next to him, Iris sat with little space between them and color bloomed on her face when Eris’s eyes dipped to the inch between their bodies. She let her hand slide up and gently, with a tenderness she knew they both needed, let her finger delicately trace his face.

“I’m not afraid,” she said and then let her finger continue to slide up, gently musing the hair she knew he would later mourn. “I am only enraged for you.”

A heartbeat passed then Eris shuddered beneath her touch, a sigh of relief fluttering through the whole room and Iris couldn’t help the urge to lean in and kiss him. She did so tenderly, a caress of a kiss that Eris sighed into.

He couldn’t bring himself to touch her yet, to wrap arms around her when he was still so furious He allowed himself to trace the material of her robe beneath his fingers instead. 

“I told you there was so much to tell you.” Eris said quietly and Iris pulled her hand away to rest in his empty one, the corner of her mouth curling up.

“And I told you I want to know.” she replied. “So tell me.”

Though exhaustion had melted his bones, Eris knew he needed to keep talking. He needed to get this all off his chest. And then he hoped he’d get to spend the rest of the night kissing her. 

Eris forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly rolled his shoulders back, the tightness of his skin as it healed fueling his anger. “My brothers and I excel in pretending to hate each other and pretending we want to kill each other.” Eris glanced at Iris. “We each control a territory and let my father believe what he sees about where our loyalty lies but do what we can to keep our lives moving. The two brothers who tried to kill Lucien after Jesminda were the two that were most like my father. The rest of us were not sorry to see them go.” 

Iris watched him curiously. “Your brothers…they are not as terrible as I’m supposed to believe, are they?”

“I personally think they’re all piles of shit but no, they’re not.” Eris said and the corner of his mouth ticked up at Iris’s expression. “We’re not close but we have an understanding. They’re …trying to survive.”

Iris nodded slowly, her eyes falling to her hands in his and the way his thumb was still caressing her palms. “Do your brothers know about Lucien?”

Eris pursed his lips before answering. “My mother…preferred for everyone’s sake, they stay in the dark about it for as long as possible but they needed to know. We had to be on the same page for her sake. So with her permission, I told them. But the only people in this court who know Lucien is not a Vanserra aside from my parents are my three brothers.” he said and met her gaze. “And now you.”

Iris nodded slowly, a strange sense of pride filling her chest that Eris was sharing with her. That he trusted her when he trusted very few. She felt that strange tug in her ribcage once more.

“Things are never truly what they seem with you Vanserra clan, is it?” she said with a small huff of laughter and Eris couldn’t help but scoff.

“Nothing is ever what it seems,” he said. “Except my father. He’s always been a piece of shit.”

Iris chuckled and she couldn’t quite place the emotions she felt as she watched him. She saw the exhaustion, the heavyweight suffocating him. She hadn’t forgotten when he told her how often he mediated between his parents. How many times he’d had to do it for others as well? How often had he been the one to catch the brunt of his father’s wrath? 

Eris shifted next to her and it made her focus on him once more, his expression tight and she braced herself for whatever he would say next. 

“Lucien’s father is also why he and Elain live in the Day Court.” Eris said slowly. “Courtesy of the High Lord.”

Iris blinked rapidly. “Oh.”

Eris nodded and waited for a heartbeat as it clicked for Iris. 

“Helion?” Iris’s shocked whisper had the corner of Eris’s mouth curl up before it fell once more.

“The High Lord of the Day Court is my brother’s father, yes.” Eris began then swallowed hard before continuing, “He is also…my mother’s mate.”

Iris’s shocked silence filled the room. “Oh gods.”

Everything suddenly made so much sense to Iris. The High Lord’s contempt towards Lady Enya. His reaction whenever Lucien was brought up. 

“Oh gods.” she said again and Eris’s mouth went into a thin line. “How did your father find out?”

“When Lucien was born…no one thought anything of it. He looked like any other baby.” Eris said quietly. “Until one day…he started to glow whenever he laughed. Or whenever he was fussy. It didn’t take my father long to figure it out after that. Everything went downhill from there.” He looked down at their hands. “My mother…she only ever stayed for her sons. So we wouldn’t be left completely at his mercy growing up. And my father knew this. He spared no chance in breaking us all down for her choice.”

“That’s why your father did what he did to Lucien.” Iris said and Eris nodded solemnly.

“Once he knew Lucien wasn’t his, it wasn’t hard for him to differentiate his treatment. He hated looking at him. Hated speaking to him. My father couldn’t outright disown him because it would bring questions and you want the High Lord to admit his wife had an affair? And birthed a son from another High Lord? He would never.” Eris said, scowling. “He knew he could treat my mother the way he does because she broke it off with Helion. For us. For Helion. So there wouldn’t be some kind of crisis between the two courts. She’s been suffering so others won’t.”

Eris swallowed then looked at Iris. “They’re mates.” he whispered. “And he let her go because she chose us. She chose her children. But she always wanted him and he always wanted her.” Eris’s eyes fell down to their joined hands, his shoulders dropping. “He has never stopped loving her. Helion may pretend he hasn’t been waiting for her all these years with his dalliances and carefree attitude but he will always wait for her. Even when he doesn't want to.”

Iris’s heart broke for Lady Enya and for the High Lord she didn’t know. It broke for the son who knew everything and had to watch his mother fade away and his father become a monster.

“That must’ve been so hard for your mother.” she said quietly. “After all these years…” Iris shook her head. “When did Lucien find out? And Helion?”

“A few years ago.” Eris continued with a sigh. “After the war, something…something in my mother changed. Maybe it was the war or maybe her capacity of dealing with my father had finally reached its limits or maybe she realized her sons had only suffered watching her suffer and she was done waiting but…” He shook his head. “I saw a small spark of who she was return and she decided she wanted Lucien to know.”

Iris scrunched up her nose then shook her head.“I’m sure that went well.” 

“Considering I had to be the one to tell him because he wouldn’t set foot here? It went great.” Eris said with a snort so like his usual self that Iris couldn't help the small smile. “My mother wrote him a letter. And I had to watch Lucien have a fucken meltdown once he read it.”

Iris shook her head again. “You can’t blame him, Eris. He endured all that he did with a piece of shit that wasn’t even his father.” she said and squeezed Eris’s hand. “Who knows what kind of life he would’ve had if he had known about Helion sooner. I’m sure it was hard for you both.”

“It wasn’t as hard as the time I had to be the one to tell Helion.” 

Iris’s brows went up but she held off on saying a word as Eris’s shoulder tensed again. He had been sharing with her so easily, so openly, she didn’t want to say anything to have him shut down. 

“What happened?” she asked quietly and Eris sighed.

“I told you how my mother started to…come back to us.” Eris said and Iris nodded. “Well. Lucien wasn’t the only one she wrote a letter to.”

Eris shifted, running a hand through his hair while his other hand stayed wrapped in hers. “I didn’t read it, of course, but I know she told him. And I know she told Lucien that she’d let Helion know but it was up to the two of them to connect if they wanted to,” he said quietly. “She hoped they would but didn’t want to push it. She felt awful enough to have hidden it all these years and then to not be able to tell them herself…” Eris fell silent with a grimace. His mother’s face had rarely been dry from how often she cried those days.  

“How did Helion take it?” Iris asked softly.

“I have never seen someone breakdown the way the High Lord of Day did that day.” Eris shook his head again with a frown. “I think he was already at a breaking point and that was a final straw. It was messy. For Lucien. For Helion. For my mother.” he said. “There was a lot of resentment. A lot of anger. A lot of hurt. Especially because my mother can’t speak to either of them in person…she dropped this tragic surprise on them and essentially put them in a position to deal with it without her.” Eris waved a hand. “Even if it’s not by choice, it…was hard for everyone.”

“Including you, I’m sure,” she said and squeezed his hand again. “Being the in-between.”

“I was more worried my father would find out again. What would he do to her this time if he found out she’d reached out to the one male she never stopped loving?” he said quietly then shrugged with a deep sigh. “But they have a code. She writes him letters and he replies.” 

Iris felt emotion swell in her at the Lady of Autumn and the love she never stopped holding on to. “The letters she writes to Lucien include a letter for Helion, don’t they?”

Eris let out a harsh laugh. “It’s reckless after all these years but...I see her face every time she hands me a letter and whenever he sends one back. I’ve watched her wait and suffer for all these years so she could find her way back to herself. And Helion…” His expression was tight as he continued. “He would worship the ground she walks on. He would give her everything that she’s ever wanted and a life that she deserves but we have had to watch her stay here because of us. We had to watch her die little by little each year and could do nothing.” His voice broke at the final word and Eris forced himself to swallow before continuing. “He is a better male than I could ever be. Because if my mate was suffering the way my mother has, I wouldn’t have left a person alive. I would’ve razed the whole fucken continent. I don’t know how he did it. How he still does it after they’ve reconnected.”

It took a moment for Eris to be able to continue. He sighed. “Helion has always been respectful of her choice. Even when he resented it. Even when he hated it.” he said. “Their bond…I don’t think it was ever really rejected because deep down, neither of them wanted that. I think it’s just been strained all these years.”

“And now here they are…” Iris mused quietly, her mind drifting to the conversation she had with Elain earlier. “A mating bond so strong even years apart couldn’t diminish how right it is. It’s a beautiful thing for those lucky enough to find it.”

Eris tensed at her words, his heart skipping a beat. Would she still feel this way about him when he told her? Would she consider herself lucky knowing the kind of shit he had to deal with? He rubbed a trembling hand over his face and continued. 

“My mother is ready to leave. I’m just waiting on when,” he murmured. “I’ve been helping her reconnect with her magic and it’s making her stronger, but it’s been hard when she’s so fucken terrified of it.” Iris squeezed his hand and he offered her a thin smile. “She’s been always scared to leave us but my brothers and I can handle the fallout now. We couldn’t before but we will now. We want her to get the fuck out of here. We’ve had enough and she’s most definitely had enough.”

“And you’re all…fine with her going to the Day Court?” Iris asked quietly.

“Yes. A part of me will always resent Helion the way I sometimes resent my mother for all these years of having to deal with this. Even if the fault ultimately always lies with my father.” Eris said tightly. “This could end very badly but once Helion claims her publicly as his mate, my father will have to let her go.”

“Will he, though?” Iris asked, unease creeping in her chest. “What if he invokes the Blood Duel?”

Iris felt the shift in his mood at her question and watched him carefully as he slid his hand from hers and stood. His shoulders tensed even further and all at once, Iris felt the room heat up once more and her stomach dropped as he ran both hands through his hair, his breathing turning shallow again.

“He won’t have a fucken choice. A mating bond trumps everything else.” he growled softly. “But if Beron invokes the blood duel, I can promise that it will only end in agony for him. I will do everything I can to ensure it, even if means handing Helion the spear to plant in his chest myself. I will do anything. Anything to have him gone and be rid of this misery. I just need him gone without trying to take my mother with him.”

“You said your mother wants the killing blow.” Iris said carefully and she saw his fists clench. “Will that…be possible?”

“She will be ready for it regardless, but we will have to see how the events unfold.” he said in a strained voice. “Helion has enough pent-up rage in him towards my father that I wouldn’t be surprised if he killed him with one well-aimed blow.”

Iris opened her mouth but Eris resumed pacing with another shake of his head and continued.

“Elain’s visions keep telling me that pieces are moving and all we can do is be prepared for whatever is coming next,” he said. “The problem is there are too many things out of my control. There are too many pieces on the fucken chess board and I am — I am going to lose my fucken mind if things keep piling up.” 

Iris watched as he took another breath and fisted then flexed his hands. “You don’t have to handle all this alone.” she said and stood, watching the grimace he made at her words. “You can’t stay like this when you have people willing to help you.”

“The more people that help me, the more people get hurt.” Eris snapped and Iris frowned at his tone as he kept pacing. “I can’t — I can’t keep letting that happen.”

“Eris,” she chided gently. “You can’t stop —”

But Eris let out a snarl and Iris blinked to find him aflame once more.

“Don’t.” he said. “I can’t stop because the next person that he’ll hurt if I let one thing slip is you and that will bring hell upon us all.” His snarl shook the room and Iris felt herself tense. “Because if my father touches you. If he so much as looks at you wrong, I will kill him and probably get killed in the process and then everything we’ve been enduring for years will go up in flames from my stupidity.”

Iris’s face flushed. The anger and shame she had felt earlier had found its way again and the feeling seeped down her body as he stood across from her. “I’m not asking you to kill your father for me, Eris. I’m asking you to ease some of the things you’re carrying so you don’t keep doing this to yourself.” she snapped. “You’re lashing out at me right now while all I’m trying to do is understand what happened with you and find a way to help.” 

Eris was breathing hard once more and she braced herself as he walked over to her, his body burning. His hand curled around the nape of her neck and he pulled her flush against him. “I know you’re trying to understand and I’m trying to help you understand how fucked up this all is and how much I have hated every single thing about myself and my life for the longest time. That I have always been a thing my father uses to punish everyone for everything because I can’t stomach him doing it to anyone else.” He took a breath as Iris placed a hand gently on his chest, blinking rapidly. “The only reason my father isn’t dead yet is because I need to make sure it’s a fight I can win. Because if I die, then everyone else is left dealing with him. My mother. My brothers. You.”

His grip tightened on her as he continued, his tone almost frantic. “I’m telling you all these things so you understand that I am fucked terrified of what comes next because things have changed for me and the stakes are even higher and now I am a thing that has someone to leave behind. Someone who will be brutally hurt just because you’re linked to me in a way no one else will ever be.” he said as his wild eyes locked on her wide ones. “I have laid down everything at your feet. All of my armor. Everything that I am and you want to know why? You asked me what changed earlier. What happened to me.”

“Eris, you need to breathe,” she said even as her heart rate went wild, a hand clenching his arm. “I want you to tell me but I need you to breathe.”

But Eris shook his head and before Iris could open her mouth to say anything else, his expression fell and the grip on the back of her neck tightened once more. “You.” his whisper broken and his eyes watched her wildly, wrapping her in his arm as his flame licked every inch of her. He held her to him tightly, as if afraid she would disappear and slip through his trembling fingers. “You. You. Tell me you see it. Tell me you fucken feel it.”

Iris stared at him. She stared and stared and stared and that feeling, that tug she had felt in her ribcage earlier, seemed to intensify. What he was saying — what he was insinuating. It had crossed her mind only briefly, for one hopeful moment earlier, and yet — here he was, saying — he was saying —

Something had been different since that kiss. Something had been different about him since the moment she met him. 

“I — I felt you.” Iris found herself saying then swallowed. “When you were gone and took long. I don’t know how else to describe it but…I felt you.”

“You did?” he asked, nodding. “And what did it feel like?”

“A tug.” she said slowly. “Right in my ribcage. I feel it right now.”

Eris laughed a hollow laugh as he watched her beautiful face, her expression shifting as her mind processed what he was saying. 

And Iris blinked. “I kissed you.”

“You did.”

“And everything — it felt so right.”

“You said things were always intense between us.” he said quickly. “That we couldn’t fight the pull we felt towards each other despite the way our relationship started.”

“Yes.”

“You kissed me.” he said almost desperately. “And every single thing in my life suddenly made sense. Every part of me made of stone suddenly became covered in you. Like ivy, wrapping its way around me whether I liked it or not. It was something I had never thought would be mine or something I deserved and yet somehow, this is happening. This is real.” 

Iris felt her body start to tremble at his words, the feeling inside her chest unfurling as every moment they had shared together flashed through her mind. Nothing about their relationship had made sense and yet, the two of them seemed to have been destined to find each other. Everything about them, Eris and Iris, fit together like puzzle pieces they hadn’t known were missing. She hadn’t been able to stop him from planting roots within every part of her mind and body, long before she realized what was happening — even when she had wanted nothing to do with him. 

He had always been hers and she, his.

Iris stared into his eyes, watching the hope mingle with the desperation he felt, and her hands slacked at her sides. She had spent her life adrift. Alone. She had spent her life barely mattering to anyone at all. Forgotten. And now, in a twist of fate, Iris had found something she hadn’t realized she was even worthy of.

Eris Vanserra had appeared in her life and what she had assumed would be a walk to the gallows, a nightmare like the one he had just returned from, was anything but. He was anything but.

He was her beginning, her middle, and would be her forever. 

They had both been lost only to be found within one another, the red string of fate guiding their path. 

“This is real.” she finally said and Eris nodded, his gaze never leaving hers.

“This is fucken real.” he said hoarsely. “This is very fucken real.”

Every glance. Every touch. Every moment that had angered her and made her laugh. Every moment that had made her feel. It had all been leading her here. 

It had been leading her home. 

Iris took a sharp breath and finally whispered the words, “You’re — you’re my mate.”

[rizaposting]

Rating: T Words: 3,049 Relationship: Royai, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang Tags: Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist 2003, Songfic, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Falling in love, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Non-explicit mentions of sex, Depictions of mental illness

Summary: "The first time she sets to changing the bandages on his face, Roy stops her with a hand on her wrist. His hair had hung over his face as he turned away from her and warned her that it was ugly. The raw flesh and the clipped bone. Riza doesn't know how to express to him that she doesn’t care about the physical damage, that she is just so happy that he is alive that it makes her hands tremble. In the end, she brushes his hair to the side and meets his gaze without flinching as the gauze falls away."

After the coup against Bradley, something blooms between them during Roy's recovery. But there is only so much that love can heal.

(Inspired by the song "Antebellum" by Vienna Teng)

[im-not-corrupted]

A sequel to this Dreamling fic here, though this can be read as a standalone. Written for @merry-moody-missy, who requested I write more and get the two of them together. Also, thanks to @samsalami66​, who gave me a prompt (that felt more like a fic outline, but that’s great too XD) for this fic.

Edit: Part one and two are now on Ao3!

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Dream came to him more often, after that.

Once a month became once a fortnight. He wasn’t half as reserved these days as he typically was; if anything, he seemed to be even more comfortable in Hob’s presence, now. It was rather wonderful to witness for Hob, who, for the longest time, knew Dream only as his distant Stranger. A far star, unreachable. A sun for him to orbit, but a sun who would only bless him with light once a century.

Every two weeks, Dream appeared beside him at some point in the day. It didn’t matter where; he’d often appear at the back of Hob’s classes while he was working, entirely unnoticed by his students. Or he would materialise next to him and fall into step as Hob walked home, content to follow in silence, or to listen as Hob recounted his day.

The first time he did that, stepping up next to Hob when the space beside him had been previously empty—well, the first time scared him half to death, naturally. That simply wasn’t the kind of thing one grew to expect, even after living for nearly seven centuries.

(He didn’t care. In fact, Hob looked upon that day with fondness, a grin upon his face, because that was the first time he’d heard Dream laugh.

He didn’t have a particular lovely laugh. It wasn’t melodic, or sweet. It wasn’t the kind of thing you expected to be a sound of joy at all, really—if Hob tried his best, he’d only be able to describe it as an awful, croaking thing, terrifying and perhaps the least lovely thing he’d heard before—but Hob didn’t care at all, because Dream laughed.

Loudly, and without abandon. Rosebud lips had spread wide in a smile that stole Hob’s heart entirely, and the joy in his eyes was unmatched. There, stood in the middle of a London street with laughter in his face and sunlight catching his stray hairs—well, he was beautiful, and Hob found himself falling.)

(No. No, that wasn’t true. He found himself falling for Dream a long time ago. He was already so far gone for him; hearing him laugh had merely made him fall further, and he hadn’t known such a thing was possible.)

Today, Dream appeared in his apartment—only, this time, he did so before Hob was about to sleep.

Which…wasn’t a problem. Not at all. Sleep didn’t matter, not when Dream was there. He would gladly drop anything and everything, if Dream wanted him to. If his friend wanted his time and his energy. All of it was his anyway; he needed only to ask.

(And he did ask, these days. Indirectly, naturally—Matthew somehow gained the job of messenger raven, and would often fly to the Waking world for the sole purpose of seeing Hob and delivering a message.

The message was usually short. A quick, Boss asks if you’re free today?, and Hob would reply, Let him know I am before quickly cancelling his plans.

Dream still didn’t ask for what he needed. But he still asked, in a round-about Dream kind of way, and Hob? Hob was proud of him. He remembered all too easily the pain on his face when he thought he burdened Hob with his affections; he could only imagine what it took for his friend to be able to ask whether he was busy or not, after that.)

“Dream,” he said, blinking at the being who materialised at the foot of his bed. To his credit, his heart didn’t so much as stutter, proof that he was used to Dream simply appearing out of nowhere. Proof that they truly were friends, now, after so many centuries of him wanting exactly that.

(They were friends. He couldn’t quite believe it, sometimes. They were friends, and Dream didn’t shy away from that title when Hob gave it to him. If anything, he seemed proud of it, like the title of ‘friend’ was an honour.)

(It certainly was for Hob, at least, so he understood that.)

Dream stared at him for a moment, blinking slowly, cat-like. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see Hob underneath his duvet, which—seemed fair. He still didn’t have much of a clue what Dream was, for it didn’t matter, but he knew now that it had to do with a place called the Dreaming—his realm, which certainly gave Hob a bit of an existential crisis the first time he heard that—and sleep. Perhaps he had a second sense for when people were about to sleep. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing Hob had seen him do.

”Hob,” he said, then frowned. Some of that old hesitance kept him from saying much else for a moment, but he eventually asked, “I did not think…Is this a bad time?”

Progress, Hob thought, and shot a grin in his friend’s direction. Dream was making progress, small and still so, so important, and he was simply glad to be a part of it. “Not at all,” he promised, because this was Dream. Dream, who owned his heart entirely by this point, who Hob would gladly dedicate every waking moment of his days to if he could. If his friend would appreciate that, if he would even want that.

That hesitance held him in place for a second longer, but that was all. His floor-length, high-collared coat disappeared, shadow replacing the impossibly soft material of it before vanishing entirely, leaving Dream in a long-sleeved top (black, of course) that felt so casual on him.

(He’d seen Dream without his coat many times before, now. Another testament to the fact that Dream felt comfortable—safe, even—with him. It still startled him, though, and it never failed to make warmth bloom behind his ribs. This—this vulnerability, his desire to abandon armour when with Hob—was another display of trust, and Hob wouldn’t get over that any time soon.

Dream trusted him. It was a fragile thing, that trust, not at all suited for Hob’s bloodied and calloused hands. He’d had many years to practise gentleness, though, and he used it with this; with Dream’s trust, a gift offered so painstakingly.)

And then Dream was moving, climbing onto the bed and tucking himself into Hob’s side. One half of his body ended up entirely on top of Hob’s, his face buried into the crook of his neck, and let out a soft, contented sigh.

It tickled the skin of his neck a little, but Hob hardly cared. How could he, when he turned his head to the side and found himself face to face with Dream’s feather-soft hair, when Dream’s arm came to wrap around his waist?

He chuckled softly. His heart felt so full, all of a sudden, his fondness for this strange and lovely creature lay on top of him almost overwhelming. There wasn’t enough room behind his rib cage for it all, for the adoration pouring from his heart in waves. He brushed his fingers through Dream’s feather-soft hair, the smile on his face growing wider as his friend burrowed further into him, and, without thinking, he said gently, “Yeah, dove, I love you too. And I missed you dearly.”

Missed you dearly wasn’t quite enough. It didn’t explain the way he missed Dream like an ache, in those two weeks he was off doing whatever the ruler of an entire realm did. But it was true enough, so he let the words hang in the air. Dream deserved to know he was missed when he wasn’t around; deserved to know Hob thought about him, even in the louder moments where his head was so busy. Missed you dearly didn’t quite fit, but it said enough.

It was only when Dream’s head snapped up in a movement faster than anything Hob had seen from him before, ocean eyes almost comically wide and lips parted slightly, that Hob realised what he said.

I love you too. It wasn’t a lie. He didn’t think he was capable of that, even subconsciously, when it came to Dream. Always, his heart has been laid bare before him, every little thing it contained inside free for his viewing. Hob made little attempt to keep it hidden. His fondness, his adoration, always slipped into his voice unbidden. Experience told him every attempt to mask it would fall short; there was simply too much to keep it trapped behind his ribs. It was always his friend’s choice whether or not he took it at face value or not.

He did love Dream. Loved him like he loved life; endlessly, with more depth than he thought himself capable of putting into words. Though he wasn’t much of a poet, he would try, if Dream asked that of him. He would do much for his dearest friend, his Stranger, if only he asked.

”Love me,” Dream murmured softly. He sounded almost disbelieving, as though he hadn’t thought of himself as something able to be loved. That thought rang too true for Hob’s comfort; he had to stop himself from holding Dream closer, unwilling to make him uncomfortable in an attempt to offer comfort. “You have. Said this before.”

Not in quite so many words, Hob thought, but yes. He had. Never apologise for wanting to be loved, he told Dream, and that was another admittance in and of itself, wasn’t it? It was an I love you, and I’m happy to do so, and a request; Let me love you, I want, it was always yours anyway.

Fear coiled in his stomach, a poison almost potent enough to stop him from answering entirely. But he met Dream’s gaze and saw the impression of new stars within them; he met his eyes and saw a fragile kind of hope. Fear or not, his dearest friend deserved to know he was loved.

“Yes,” he answered gently. Perhaps he’d run, now, leave Hob as he had in 1889. That, Hob thought, would be alright. It’d hurt, but it’d be alright. Dream would come back to him, just as he had once every month before, and now every fortnight. That knowledge was just enough to make the worst of that fear melt away, and to loosen his tongue. “I love you dearly. With everything I am. Doesn’t have to change anything if you don’t want it to—I don’t want anything from you that you aren’t willing to give, I promise you that.”

A furrow appeared between his friend’s brow. That hope didn’t leave his eyes, even despite the confusion that joined it. “Why would you tell me this, then, if you did not want reciprocation from me?”

Hob ached, suddenly, at the confusion in Dream’s voice. Had nobody loved him without expectation before? Had nobody loved him simply for the sake of loving him, because they couldn’t do anything else? “Let me rephrase,” he said gently, and he sat up. Dream frowned further at being disturbed, though said frown disappeared fast enough when Hob cupped his face. “I would kill to have you feel the same for me. It would be so many centuries of pining resolved in a mere moment; I would love for nothing more than you to love me back. But I don’t expect you to. I didn’t tell you I love you expecting you to say the same. I told you I love you simply because you deserve to hear it; nothing more, nothing less.”

Silence hung heavy between them for a moment, in which Dream simply stared at him without moving a muscle at all and Hob grew increasingly conscious about the fact that he was still very much holding Dream’s face in his hands.

He was about ready to let go, no doubt followed by an awkward apology, but Dream said slowly, “You are. A strange creature, Hob Gadling. I continuously find myself baffled by you.”

Quietly, Hob laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment then, love.” His hands fell from Dream’s face, only for his friend to catch them by his wrists.

”And,” Dream continued, slow and stilted, and Hob froze. Dream’s skin against his, not quite a normal body temperature, was different when initiated by Dream himself. It meant more, somehow. “And. You are not alone. In your feelings.”

Hob was fairly sure his heart stopped in his chest at that. Just for a moment. In his defence, this moment did feel particularly heart stopping. Important enough to fling his own world off its axis.

When he found himself capable of thought again, he asked, barely able to contain the joy pouring from his heart in waves, “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Dream?”

”I am saying,” he said heavily, severely, like this moment was as important to him as it was to Hob, “that I adore you, Hob Gadling. That you are a comfort I did not expect to find. That your arms are a place of safety, that I find comfort in your presence, that you are a fresh breath of air after so long spent underwater. I am saying that your continued friendship is an honour, one I am eternally grateful for; I am saying that you baffle me entirely, your joy for life and your willingness to love me, and that love is too small a term to label the depths of my feelings towards you, but it is enough for now.”

Hob stared at him, wide-eyed. His heart spilled over, everything it contained too much, and all of it Dream’s. All of it, shared by Dream, too. “Christ, love,” he said, his voice light with elation. A sob caught in his chest as his hand, still held by the wrist in Dream’s grasp, came up to play with the raven hair at the nape of his friend’s neck, as he pulled Dream into a kiss.

It was gentle. Barely a hint of pressure at all, for fear he’d perhaps misunderstood. But Dream made a noise against his lips, surprised yet pleased, and kisses back eagerly, an answer to a question Hob didn’t realise he’d asked.

Eventually, though everything in him screamed against it, too lost in the sensation of Dream’s mouth against his own and Dream’s hands clutching at the thin top he wore for bed, he pulled back for breath. Dream gazed at him, eyes so dark they were almost black. Hob could see the stars so clearly, now, and found himself breathless for another reason entirely.

Awed, he said, ”You’re beautiful.” His thumb stroked the skin underneath Dream’s eye, reverent and worshipful, and Dream practically preened.

At some point, he lay back down, taking his friend—Dream, his Stranger, who he had loved for centuries and who loved him in return—with him. He tucked himself against Hob’s side, knee wedges between Hob’s legs and an arm thrown over his waist. The duvet was pulled over up to both their shoulders, and Hob let himself kiss the crown of his head.

He needed to sleep. He was tired, his head a little foggy. But elation kept his chest light, and there was enough joy in his veins to last a lifetime. They’d have to talk tomorrow, Hob knew that, but they’d figure that out.

For now, this—this was enough. More than enough.

”I love you,” he said again. His eyes slipped shut. 

Sleep would come difficult, with the way his heart felt so full, but that was alright. A small price to pay for the way Dream shifted against him before pressing feather-soft lips against his cheek, whispering, “And I you, beloved,” before settling back in place again.

Hob slept eventually. And when he did, he dreamt of Dream.

[alchemistdetective]

Fifty Shades of Grey Eri

Rirune (OG Eri/twinfoxtails)

Three-tailed kitsune who's more of a wanderer with insecurity A+

Pretty much a child in an adult's body but then again, aren't most of us are

Not a fighter. He can defend himself and repel things somewhat, but throw him in a death battle and he wouldn't last

Pretty much got over his shapeshifting depenedncy and focuses more on other things, like taking care of his tavern and working on his other kitsune abilities

Even more of a dad than when he's young, and has let up on being more easier on people who have trouble cooking

Basically has LOTS of time to mature

Not so formal anymore, learned how to be more laid back

Has two illusion ''servants'', Hakune and Mayune, and they still treat him like a child, even if they are his own illusions

Still has very little idea about technology

---

Eri Philomele (Modern Version)

Even if they're the same person, Rirune and Modern Eri are VERY different, even if they have the same beats (Love for impersonation and acting)

Super overworked VTuber boy, to the point where he's eating too much instant noodles, his chat is begging him to stop

He's seriously supposed to be a Modern AU but something went wrong somewhere and now he's exposed to supernatural stuff along the way

Has shapeshifting-lite, and while similar to OG Eri when he was young, he doesn't have as bad of an insecurity as OG Eri is

Ironically more of a kitsune than the original version

Flandre (Eri Version) - Discord AU

Ended up waking up as the Sister of the Scarlet Devil Mansion, immediately discovered by Sakuya and is waiting it out until Patchy finds a cure to send him home

Mostly hiding out of sight, hiding either inside the SDM or Nyalter's little cabin

Has vampiric urges, is somewhat horny thanks to Flan's body, but thank god Nyalter and Sakuya are there (Through... yes, it's what you think it is)

Wishes he got someone to teach how to use Flan's full skillset, but alas, what can you do

Wished he got to become a kitsune but became a vampire instead, and in hindsight, him being Flan is MUCH better than RAN YAKUMO, YUKARI'S SHINIGAMI

Kind of a semi-excuse for Amber to play Flan ssh

---

Cecilia (Pokemon AU aka Erika)

Surprise surprise, she's actually trans in this one

Pretty much an idol just like Modern AU is, expect with gender dysphoria, and Erika helped her through it

Pretty much one of Erika's closest trainers

Not very active due to mostly existing around Ellen's Erika

[ciircex]

What if she played with a knife and gently guided your muse's face to hers with said knife... what then?

[elliemarchetti]

The Snake and the Wolf

Chapter 3 - Hounds

The plot took over this story, as did the POV changes. I hope @erisweek2023 readers are ready for a complete detachement from the canonical events of the book, because the moment of Nesta's escape has arrived.

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Words: 1.281

Nesta didn’t know how she got to the stony coast of the Night Court. One moment she was walking down the steps of the House of Wind and the next she was running away from Velaris, crushed by guilt and fear of what Rhysand might do to her. She gave away his secret, she gave back to Feyre what had been taken from her, and now she no longer had a home. Her mind raced to Gwyn and Emerie, to what might happen to them, since Cassian and Azriel knew they were her closest friends. She had to find a way to make them escape, to warn them to get to safety, because Nesta knew that the High Lord would try to enter their minds to see if they had any idea of her whereabouts. She hadn’t told Feyre that her first pregnancy would also be her last just because she had a good heart, but deep down they all knew she deserved to go to her death with her pride intact, like she already did to free them all. Furthermore, there was probably a solution to the problem. Considering how they took the fact that Feyre possessed a drop of everyone’s powers, Nesta doubted that the High Lords would’ve ever agreed to bring her back to life again, but maybe another Death-God resided somewhere, trapped in a mountain or a tree, and Rhysand could’ve sold his black soul to save his Mate. Nesta wondered if she would’ve done it in his place, given the chance, but didn’t like the answer she found within her, so she resumed her walk, going further and further south, with the sand under her bare feet and the now cold water lapping at her ankles with the rhythmic motion of the waves. She’d never been to the seaside before. If the situation had been different, she would’ve tried swimming, and then she would’ve found a house and wrote to Elain how beautiful it was, and how she had nothing to fear, unlike when she was thrown into the Cauldron, but the situation was no different and there were no villages in sight, so Nesta’s only hope was to reach a Court willing to help her before Rhysand tracked her down. In the library, she had read countless books that explained how to defend herself from the powers of a daemati, but since she hadn’t met any other beside her sister’s husband, she didn’t know if she was using those techniques well or if even a child could’ve destroyed her mind with just a snap of the fingers. Another incentive to keep up the pace, until her knees gave in and her vision went blurry from exhaustion. Before the Valkyries, before she rediscovered the joy of having purpose and friends, she would’ve gladly accepted the oblivion, better than the one provided by alcohol, but now she realized she had reasons to live, places to explore and lessons to learn. Allowing herself the luxury of dreaming, Nesta would’ve liked to visit the Autumn Court first, that enchanted and colourful place described in the novels she had shared with the House. She was sorry she had to leave it behind, even if it was depressing to say that her first, true friend in the Night Court hadn’t been a person but the darkness inside a building. Maybe, in honour of that bond, she would’ve indulged its desire to delve deeper into her powers, now that she didn't have to endure the pressures of the Inner Circle, or maybe she would’ve not, her life as Fae full of possibilities, if only she managed to survive and crawl out of the niche in the rocks where she had taken refuge for the night.

She though she would’ve woke up because of the humidity, or the pangs of hunger and thirst, but she discovered to her amazement that it was something wet touching her hand that shook her from her torpor. Even opening her eyes, caked by the salty air, cost her immense effort, but the cries of the creature managed to completely steal her from her dreamless sleep. The dog, clearly a hound of some sort, had a long and slender body, his ribs almost protruding from how thin it was, but it was its muzzle that struck her, so elongated and elegant, and at the same time almost grotesque, with those big eyes and short ears hanging down at the sides of its small head. It was the strangest beast she’d ever seen, yet something in her desired to reach out to pet it, to seek some comfort in its short gray fur. It must’ve been an excellent hunter, judging by its long sharp teeth, but it was also very playful, seeing how happily it wiggled its tail while she scratched its belly. Nesta had always wanted a pet, not necessarily a dog, perhaps a cat or a bunny would’ve sufficed, but her mother always forbade it, and her father never bothered to get her one, despite the huge numbers of requests. It wasn’t noble enough to take care of something else beside themselves, and when they fell from grace, it was too much, yet Nesta knew she had it in her to be a trainer, perhaps a little soft-hearted if all puppies had the same expression as the creature she was snuggling at the moment, but always attentive to her pet’s needs.

“Where is your owner? Are you lost?” she asked as if it could answer, her voice hoarse after more than a whole day of not using it. It had been a meaningless question, to which she certainly hadn’t expected to receive a reply, but the dog stood up on his long legs and ran out of the niche, into the sunlight flooding the dark beach. Nesta followed with great difficulty, but the beast didn’t move any more, as if it was waiting for her to catch up. They went on like this for hours,  the dog advancing and Nesta dragging herself through the sand to reach him, until the sun almost completed its descent arc and another dog barked in the distance. Nesta knew they couldn’t have moved too far, not with her in those conditions, but all those animals could mean only that she’d reached a town, and the larger the settlement, the more the possibilities of someone offering asylum to a dying young female, at least for a few hours. Her bones ached even more at the thought of a soft bed, and her stomach growled as she pictured every kind of food known to both men and Fae, but although she was almost certain the sun had burned the exposed skin on her arms, the worst torture had been the dryness in her mouth, which made it difficult to even swallow the little saliva she had left. At some point, when imagination and reality began to merge, she heard someone call her name, and a male figure appeared at the horizon, the burning red of the sun the same shade as his hair. The glorious hallucination approached her at a brisk pace, one dog at its heels and the other trotting alongside, satisfied with its distressed discovery. A pair of muscular arms, thinner than Cassian’s but no less strong, caught her before she could fall to the ground again, and Nesta could’ve sworn the smell of burnt wood, fresh apples and sweet cinnamon engulfed her as it used to do when her maids cooked her favourite treats.

“I found you,” murmured a familiar voice, full of concern and apprehension, its owner’s face buried in her matted hair. “I’m here, and we’re going home.”

[jessicas-pi]

makes me giggle when someone says that i must have put a lot of thought into the plot of time heals. like on the one hand yes i do spend at least 1 hour per day thinking about it. on the other hand. babygirl you have no idea how many of the plotlines have shown up out of absolutely nowhere.