#i remain frustrated on how hard it is to get information on the history of vietnam

[wrishwrosh]

the vaster wilds has the typical goodreads problem of all the negative reviews just being “this book was gross and sad and nothing happened :((“ “the prose was stylized and hard to understand”” but as a gross sad stylized prose enjoyer these critiques do not get to the MEAT of all the evils herein present

- the problem of the enlightened protagonist, where a character who has nominally lived in the real historical past until the book begins and yet somehow manages to individually develop a 21st century twitter-educated perspective on colonialism, god, and nature. classic groffism nothing new

- remember that tweet about how hiking is a bourgeois affectation and indigenous people never hiked before colonization. imagine if that was the premise of an entire novel. written by somebody who went to amherst

- another classic groffism is taking a real historical figure about whom almost nothing is known and constructing a history for them that can’t technically be ruled out as impossible given the dearth of records but IS ahistorical, implausible, and kind of stupid while also making sure that the one thing that is concretely known about this person is weirdly and smugly deemphasized in the narrative. in this case the historical figure is “jane” the anonymous teenage girl whose remains were found at jamestown exhibiting signs of butchering. the cannibalism is treated as a twist ending which is dumb as hell and made the pacing insanely frustrating as this was obvious from the beginning to any true jamestownheads in the audience. also the cannibalism of a young woman seems like an obvious place of exploration for a novel nominally about the exigencies of subsistence survival and how hard it was to be a girl in the dark ages before second wave feminism but what do i know. obviously you should just kind of shoehorn it in as a gotcha in the last 20 pages serving as the millionth indication that the bad guys in this narrative are bad and do bad things

- speaking of the bad guys every single character aside from the narrator is a one dimensional paper doll present to essentially speak one of groffs points directly into camera and then vanish in a way that literally made me laugh out loud several times. Some Women Are Vain, Which Is Bad. Some Men Hurt Women And Native People For Fun, Which Is Evil.

- there was a stylistic decision made to not capitalize proper nouns which sure. it makes sense with what the book is trying to do to not capitalize god or english or powhatan. but then it was so inconsistently applied like why is atlantic (ocean) not capitalized but James (river) is. why is god lowercase but Sunday is uppercase. why are all the names capitalized but titles that function as names arent. stop the madness

- a personal nitpick now but i have spent a lot of time kicking around in the area where the book is set and was hoping at least there would be some evocative descriptions of this place that i love. and yet in this book nominally about wilderness there was so little specificity in the depiction of it! this could have been any forest! the specific natural setting did not feel like a tidewater forest! feels like groff wrote it based on a google search of pamunkey traditional lifestyles and a glance at a topographic map

- cant even get into all the reductive and underresearched gender stuff but know it’s there. classic groffism

- finally and most minimally yet perhaps most egregiously groff has yet again failed to internalize a religious worldview in order to write a religious character. this narrator is a change from marie in matrix as we are sternly informed on page 4 that she believes what she has been told about christianity. like once every 20 pages groff remembers that and has her pray or something and then once she has been away from her culture for about 200 pages she realizes god is a lie and that’s the arc. cool!

- why bother! why bother with this setting, this character, this real place and real historical event and real belief system, if you arent going to USE any of it. this should have been a zine about climate change. it should have been like six tweets. if it needed to be fiction (and im not convinced it did) it should have been a contemporary novel and like three things could have been changed. why! bother!

in summary, i went so insane that i googled every single person mentioned in the acknowledgements to see how many were historians or archaeologists or librarians or ecologists or associates of the pamunkey tribe or anyone else who might be assumed to have expertise here and there was: one. illustrative i think!!!!

[tuulikki]

I have a problem with that list of things that make a person 'culturally christian' as the post couples it with the implication that one can cease being culturally christian while still doing some of the things on that list.

I'm probably misunderstanding shit but it bugs me. Several things on that list are unavoidable in daily life, and thus my Jewish friend (and the Jewish poster who made the list) fall into the culturally christian category because they use a christian calendar and buy chocolates on valentine's day. And yet the poster says 'those of us who are not culturally christian' which contradicts their own argument? No? I'm an atheist and I'm absolutely aware of other religions, but the world around me doesn't care, I have to say it's 2022. And it doesn't bother me, tbh. I don't say AD anymore, that's on purpose. But that post...I don't get why it assumed the OP didn't understand that these things come from christianity. The assumption that all victims of religious abuse are living in culturally christian environments, or that they don't know other religions are different from christianity...i really don't like that attitude. It sounds like implying that they haven't found the better religions yet and that's why they're atheist, but not even fully so because their culture remains influenced by christianity. It's condescending. (be gentle, i'm not looking for a fight, and it's ok to not respond if what I'm saying pisses you off because it misses the point.)

Hey, thanks for the ask! I hope I can explain things, and if there’s anything you find frustrating at the end of it, please send another ask and I’ll try to do better—it’ll likely be due to my not being coherent 🥲

The key misunderstanding here is how massive “culture” is.

Using a Christian dating system or observing aspects of Christian holidays doesn’t inherently make any person culturally Christian. Those are byproducts of dominant Christian religion in a culture. But the person who has never felt their own culture subordinated and othered by that culturally Christian default is the cultural Christian. Many culturally Christian people may be deeply alienated or flat-out hate religious Christianity, but the culture we inhabit is culturally Christian and it is our culture. It can be hard to spot how much you’re a product of your culture, but the fact of it remains.

It’s like being raised by a family: it defines what you think “family tradition” means but will also affect little things like what food you want to eat when you’re sick. It’s not that who you are is determined by your family. But you are shaped by the experience of being raised in that family. You can’t erase that history: what you choose to reject or continue from your family legacy is a conscious choice informed by what you’ve experienced. And you can’t assume that the way your family works has any universal applicability, or that that cutting your family out of your life makes you a blank slate, or that your way of rejecting your birth family is universal.

If you are from a culture that is historically Christian, you exist as a part of that culture. People who aren’t culturally Christian can of course be members of a culturally Christian society because participation (and belonging!) in the society is not defined by adherence to the religion. The culture is, however, shaped by centuries of that religion. And people who aren’t culturally Christian are forced to accommodate the majority culture in ways which people who are culturally Christian will not. (The classic example of cultural Christianity is the culturally Christian neopagans/witches who try to argue that the winter solstice is “inclusive” because it’s not Christian. As if “Christian” or “not Christian” are the only ways you could measure exclusivity and inclusivity!)

The OP of that post wrote the phrase “being an atheist is a valid belief system.” That’s some raw cultural Christianity. It presupposes the following:

religion must have a deity (how else atheist?)

atheism is primarily defined as an absence of belief in a deity (rather than omitting a particular act or social practice)

atheism and religion are both defined as being determined by personal belief. The belief in question is in a system of some kind.

adherence to a system of belief determines a specific identity label, which an individual will apply to themselves. This label marks them as a member of an identity group whose members are defined by such individual declarations of belief.

belief systems can be valid or invalid (and it’s worth arguing about)

None of these things are universally believed by all cultures. But a culturally Christian society absolutely assumes those things to be true.

So my point is that atheism in culturally Christian societies is overwhelmingly defined in dialogue with and in reaction to the core tenets of the various Christianities that have dominated those societies. That’s what we’re trying to say when try to tell culturally Christian atheists that they are culturally Christian. I don’t want to be condescending, but the fact that some culturally Christian atheists don’t seem to be aware that they are products of their culture and that they enjoy a baseline level of membership privilege in that culture is… very challenging to me? We’re not accusing them of being crypto-Christians, but since their definition of “religion” is still so Christian, that’s what they hear. They use a narrow, culturally-bound definition of religion when they say “l’m not religious”—and they assume their definition isn’t derived from that culturally Christian experience.

You can’t surgically separate the history of dominant religious traditions from the cultures that practice/d those religions: the culture shapes the religion, the religion shapes the culture. A culturally Christian atheist from England is a different kind of atheist than a culturally Buddhist atheist from Mongolia. You can’t exist in a vacuum.

Deprogramming yourself in this context means acknowledging the fact that you have privilege. This privilege is something you get by default whether you want it or not. It’s not merely knowing that other systems of belief exist or writing “C.E.” at the end of the year. It’s accepting that you are the product of a certain culture that is not universal, even though its dominance can make us feel like it’s a natural default.

Culturally Christian privilege doesn’t invalidate any person’s religious Christian trauma because culturally privileged people can be abused within the social structures they benefit from at the same time. There isn’t a moral binary here. No one is assigned a static moral category. Someone telling you you’re benefiting from cultural Christianity is not them saying “gotcha, you’re irredeemably problematic! #cancelled!!” It’s an invitation to ask yourself if you’re being held back by what you’re trying to reject. To put it in terms we all understand too well: “cultural Christianity” isn’t a sin, there is no shame attached to it, and there is no pressure to be pure and cleansed of it because that would be impossible as that’s not how people and cultures work. And the fact that some of the worst of it still lives in our heads does not mean that we are bad, because there’s no one judging our thoughts, only our actions. The fact that we have a term to describe what lives our heads—which allows us to be aware of it—is a gift, not an accusation.

[apricusapollo]

Hey! Saw your post about deciding what to do for uni. Obviously it's a choice you have to make for yourself in the end (i know how hard that is as im going to uni this year as well, and im having trouble figuring out what to do too!!). Just offering some of my thoughts here!!

Im from a smallish eastern european country and honestly, I've only recently really started to appreciate my culture and language. I've spent so much time on the internet, consuming and consuming and consuming english, and my mative language skills have suffered for it. Like i hate those moments when i need a word and the first one that pops into my mind is an english one.

English is in no danger. English lacks nothing. It has all the linguists and philology students it needs. Does Georgian have that? Idk how Georgian is doing, but i know that for my own native language the situation is quite bad. A lot of young people speak better english than the native language, they sometimes put in phrasss or have entire convos in english, and that really harms my language, because a language has to be used intensely and in every aspect of life for it to evolve and remain truly alive. So like if i had to choose between english and my language, i think I'd choose my language, just because it's in a more precarious situation.

Like people from all over the world study english yk. But do people from all over the world study Georgian? We have to take care of our culture when we know that others won't, because it *is* valuable, even if only to us.

In the end, i think the best advice is to do what interests you most. If that's english, then sure, go for it, but if it's Georgian, then go for that. Make sure that you don't give up on your passions just because of fear.

helloo<33

the thing is, like you've said, I've been obsessively consuming media in English since I was 11-12 years old and at this point my brain Works in English more than it does in Georgian, ykwim?? I completely understand what you mean when you say that when you need a certain word, English translation is the first one that pops up in your head and it's so frustrating, I completely get it.

I also started appreciating my culture / literature / songs / movies lately and I sometimes get so angry at myself for not being interested in it earlier because, truly, who cares about how much information you have about foreign movies and so on if you don't know anything about your own first, yk??

and people around me use English phrases instead of Georgian too and it makes me So Mad and what makes me even angrier is that I also do that?? like?? why. Georgian is the sort of language that does not lack words or phrases, considering that Georgian tribes have existed since 8 century B.C. so, the point is, we don't lack anything that English speakers have.

another thing (which I have talked about here multiple times since I started studying history properly) is that Georgia has always, always been under attacks throughout its entire existence and we were constantly on the verge of extinction but somehow we always survived and people always managed to find a way to pass our culture and everything sacred to us to future generations. when I look back at that I feel so bad about the possibility of choosing foreign language and literature which was NEVER under the same risk of disappearance while my ancestors had to fight tooth and nail to still speak Georgian as the Russian Empire pressured them into speaking Russian.

honestly tysm for this anon because yeah. as a fellow eastern european, yeah you Get it.

my national exams are in July so I still have time to think about all of this but unless the fear of our complicated grammar makes me change my mind, I have a tiny feeling that patriotism might win within me.

sorry I didn't intend this to turn into such a rant

[mirror-to-the-past]

Here's some spoilers and discussion about my initial thoughts on Kingdom Hearts 2 below.

Nearing the end of my KH2 journey... I'd say this has probably been my favorite game so far, out of KH1, CoM, and now this. Overall, I'd say I like the composition of the story of CoM a tad more, but goddamn if the intro and outro haven't gone especially hard on KH2 (also has just generally been littered with several moments that have made the characters very endearing). And the gameplay... woo, actually is super fun. I love the love put into the reaction commands, and every fight is like a movie.

I got past the Roxas fight after like... 40+ tries, and was regretting immensely I decided to play in Proud mode. Never got frustrated at my boy, though- was just filled with respect, and it's seriously the best fight in the franchise thus far for me for giving well designed attacks that I felt were effectively telegraphed. I'm not quite sure how/why Roxas led Sora into what I assume was an internal battle, since he already seemed reabsorbed within Sora's being, but I can only assume Axel's sacrifice (since that happened right before this fight) must've reawoken him, in a way ("Tell me why 'he' chose you!") Poor Roxas has been having his life stolen. The Nobody dehumanization is such shit, dude. Roxas banging on Sora's braced keyblade over and over with that level of ferocity is fueled by such obvious rage that it's undeniable. God, he's living in my head unapologetically.

Meanwhile Xigbar was also... a fight. Less filled with respect, more frustrated about that one, lol. (I thought the sniper mechanics were pretty sick, though. Felt like I was doing Orbonne Monastary in FFXIV again). Can't help but assume several of these Organization members may maintain relevance in future installments in some way, since several seemed to have implied information/backstory that remained unrevealed prior to their disappearance (looking at you, Xigbar [casually referencing that there's been other Keyblade wielders before dying with zero explanation] and Saïx). The next game, 358/2 Days, looks like it's dealing with the Organization in what I assume is a prequel, so maybe backstory will be there?

Kairi and Riku have made my heart warm, and the whole trio's love for each other is honestly so sweet. I keep thinking about their reunion scenes and it's just... aaa, I feel crazy about it. When Kairi lowered Riku's hood and saw the face of Xehanort's Heartless and Riku looked so ashamed (then it cut away?? how dare), when Riku shielded Kairi with his body from Saïx's attack, when Kairi hugged Sora and said "this is real" because 😭 girl your abandonment issues and unachievable desire for constancy are making me feel things, and she's been struggling with the phantom sensation of forgetting someone she cared about for an entire y e a r, so having that confirmation... man. *Staring out to the ocean*

Felt so bad for her that Sora was so awkward about the hug she deeply needed, and didn't even realize the absence of the music until Sora reunited with Riku. 😂 And... oh my god, haha, that part got me. Not surprised that the Sixth Sense kid can pack a gut punch, ofc, he's got a long history of films making me weep, but like... "I looked for you! I looked everywhere for you!" While Sora was crying on his k n e e s and grasping Riku's hand like a lifeline was such amazing emotional payoff. Like, I've been joking with friends about Sora's unwavering "Riku, Riku, Riku" throughout the entire game, but damn if that didn't do a good job of making me invested via Sora, goddamn. I'm so happy my kid gets to see his silver haired punk again. And wowie, they're such a power duo? Their limit break "Eternal Session" is legitimately one of my favorite limit breaks alongside Vincent Valentine's "Satan Slam," from FF7 now. The synchrony of the dance where they pass off the weapons to each other, smooth as butter? Them going "back to back" between the different phases of their LB? (Which is adding to my evaluation of the poems from CoM I've had in the back of my head the entire damn game, by the way...) The clash of their keyblades, and the duality red-blue color scheme? Be still, my artistic heart, they're too much. For this, and the honestly impressive expression and facial rigging for what is a PS2 game, I want to give the animators a smooch.

All I want now is to know where tf Riku pulled Kairi's Keyblade from, and how she's apparently a chosen wielder too. Like, okay??? But where? How?

Oh, also would like Riku to see someone about his hand, that doesn't look too comfortable. My guy can be a badass all he wants, but if he doesn't drink his milk, put an actual cast around his wrist, and bit of work leave off from world-saving shenanigans, he's gonna be a certified hero with post-traumatic arthritis 10~ years down his little road to dawn. Apparently working for Ansem the Wise doesn't provide great health coverage.

[youmeyaxleyfc]

A mini history lesson...

How did a blog and podcast on Yaxley FC end so suddenly before a bit of a comeback?

Also, why wasn't this writer still the Editor of the official club website rather than creating his own content? ...

Well... grab a drink and settle down !

I think its fair to say that in order to move forward there needs to be a big of navel gazing historically.

I (never tire of telling people that I) won an award for Yaxleyfc.com back in 2015/2016 with so much content, all self created and edited, really working hard to push the narrative to people of the village that there 100% was (and is) a team worth backing.

However I started missing matches at this time due to the tiny children I had at home. It was harder to generate the content needed to keep the level of success going and I grew more frustrated.

By 2018 we had moved across town to Deeping and I was relying on others to do match reports for me.

When one was published with some unintentionally incorrect information there was no need for a member of the committee to take great glee on social media in pointing it out.I just stopped updating the offical site it there and then.

Volunteers are the lifeblood of any football club and should be beyond criticism in my eyes.

My Dad, my Mums Cousin, a great Uncle were all still going to matches at Leading Drove but were not happy with the official website as it was missing fixtures, results and news as it was unmanned.

I created this site primarily to help them get the information on when the Cuckoos were playing and against whom.

The link got shared round quite a bit and for a while I was enjoying reporting on the matches I was at and not feeling pressure to create a word count on those I wasn't.

The club was really successful on the park at this time and I will always fondly remember the days in the Southern League. I had dreamt of watching Yaxley in that competition for decades.

The podcast came off the back of that and in Dan Cotton, Aaron Butcher, Dan Tortoise etc. we had guests who were all able to share their passion about the club.

Again though my content on the Cuckoos stopped overnight with the sacking of Seb Hayes last January.

So much has been said about this but its worth repeating that my loyalty is and was with Seb as a long term friend of the family.

Nothing will 100% put that right but water has passed under the bridge and I don't want to be boycotting the team I have watched since the late 1970s over this. I think after chatting to all involved in the whole matter I have moved on, but its certainly not forgotten.

It's most certainly not the fault of Simon Roberts or the current crop of players who are wearing the badge with a real sense of pride and passion. And I love that. I am backing to spending time lost in my thoughts wondering what it will take to unlock the potential of the club and get people down to watch.

Are there still lots of issues at Yaxley FC that need resolving for that to happen on a consistent basis?

For sure. But certainly where I can I am helping. And if you are in Yaxley and love football you should conside helping as well.

The ownership and management of Leading Drove remains something that needs a long term and clear resolution for YFC to grow and develop.

I think we can all agree that is a lengthy, bottom up process that will take time.

Trust can take a lifetime to build and a second to shatter, especially in the non-league football.

The club needs support now as much as ever as it approaches that 125th anniversary in just over a years time.

[asherlockstudy]

i dont think rhett likes link as a person that much. the way link has been joking about how "rhett doesnt have emotions" i think reveals more about the nature of their relationship at this point. link has been pushing a lot while rhett doesnt have much to give other than what he know he "supposed" to give. dont get me wrong i think there is affection of some kind between them and the history isnt something you can just set aside and the promise of a duo is still attractive but... imo one of the reasons why link is adamant at annoying/furstrating rhett is that its one of the only clear show of emotions he can make rhett feel for him at this point. its a little in link's head sure but i do believe rhett is slowly realizing some stuff and i dont think its those "gay" feelings that people like to talk about here. i realize im reading into a lot of things but i cant help but feel this push and pull and all these prying i love you's out of rhetts mouth lately speaks to an insecurity that is a little exagerated on links side but also not entirely unfounded. i think you can still have a certain amounth of love for a person in your hearth -whether the idea of them or the history of them or an affection that lingers etc. but slowly realize you dont like the way that they are/present themselves anymore.-its hard to find interests that you both actually enjoy/share that isnt also your job(lol), intelectually engaging conversations are sparse and inequal and sometimes more frustrating than informing etc. which is a very difficult thing to handle on both sides. doesnt have to mean its an end but its just would be a lot of difficult shifts that should be taken seriously and not for granted in the name of promises. idk. this is a little strech and i normaly i dont like to do this but i cant help but feel that. ''i think im supposed to like this'' https://pbs.twimg.com/media/F8TknG0WYAAUOur?format=jpg&name=medium from rhetts new ep could be about this in parts. maybe

I get what you are saying. It is a thought I used to have occasionally; that Rhett doesn’t seem to love Link as genuinely or that he is getting done with him. Most of the time, something happened that made me feel proven wrong.

The thing about them fighting was also significantly dramatised in the interview - not because it might not have been dramatic at the time it happened but because the interviewers clearly and humorously wanted to play it up. I personally felt uncomfortable with the mildly comedic reenactment of Rhett’s apology. I believe this should have stayed between them or that when it was between them it was definitely serious and so it didn't deserve to be a part of this youtube interview. I mean, you know it’s serious enough when Link is staring and not talking and Rhett is tearing up.

We should always keep in mind all the things that are unsaid because there was a lot unsaid in this case. Link had briefly mentioned this recently, the whole sending an email about needing their friendship to be more of an actual friendship thing. He said at both occasions that there was a warning of “I can’t keep doing this if we are not gonna be actual friends”. The thing is, what was his alternative really? To mess it all up and work solo? As a YouTuber? As an engineer? As a what? This was a huge risk. Link also said he sent this email with Christy’s blessings. Something doesn’t add up. Christy isn’t crazy about Mythical but that would be a huge and tough change if this email caused a breakdown in their friendship. I wonder whether Christy’s self interests were getting in the way of the advice she would be giving in that case. Because a sensible advice would be for Link to be less absolute about it and secure that their business remained undisturbed no matter what happened to their friendship. Unless, idk, things were THAT shitty that Link 'd rather end his whole super successful career. Besides, it is bad when a friend grows emotionally distant, however when this friend is still physically close and you see him all the time and you have based all your income on him, it is unwise and very dramatic to blow it up because you aren’t as attached to the hip friends as in middle school. Welcome to adulthood, I guess. Therefore this doesn’t add up perfectly in my opinion and I would expect Christy to be more like "grow up and do your job without obsessing over Rhett's friendship" than say "You go girl, blow it all up if you are not the best of the besties again", so I once again conclude there was more that made Link felt so invested in the genuineness of Rhett’s feelings, which caused him to feel heartbroken when their friendship was getting more impersonal. The way Link implored for a big talk, for months or even years I recall, for Rhett to open up about his feelings to him is not typical of 40 year old males being friends but, then again, you could argue much of them and their arrangement isn't typical anyway. I could add to my point that in the past years they have been clearer about the frankly quite strange ways they avoided each other outside work but this would lead the answer into paths you are not interested in.

However, Link did not imply Rhett did not have emotions or emotions towards him in specific. He said Rhett does not verbalize or externalize the actually existing feelings. That's what he usually says, though sometimes it seems he is unsure of the nature / genuineness of Rhett's emotions indeed.

Rhett has fought to improve on this aspect throughout the years. It does not always work but there is effort. Sometimes it affects him quite a bit that Link thinks that. It took him some time to realize it but apparently he gave Link a massive tearful apology in which he explained he thought all along that whatever they did was them living this friendship. I don't know if that's 100% sincere but it seems he cared enough to come clean about it, apologize, improve on himself and listen to Link etc So I still think he loves Link a lot. Besides, remember how crazed and needy Rhett was towards Link during quarantine? Also, aside from that interview, Rhett is more often than not the one to whine for not seeing each other many times in a month or Link not inviting him to this or that, or not caring enough for a shared hobby or not being provisional for him as much as Rhett is for Link's sake. Therefore I think we get this idea because Link is so much more open and dramatic about his needs that makes us inequally exposed to their viewpoints and as a result we feel for Link more. But I think Rhett cares about Link a lot. Sure, he is annoyed at him often because Link can cause that to people lol but I think the good emotions and all the past and all he has with him by far overcome some exasperation that might be there. They do have different love languages, too.

As for the song, thanks for the link, I was looking for the lyrics. Had my eyes nearly drop out of my eyesockets in order to read them XD Well, it's certainly an angry song and [MASSIVE EDIT BECAUSE I MISREAD ONE WORD] it’s almost certainly about people criticising them for abandoning the faith and how it still stings.

[gon-and-killuas-mother]

cishet white guy nursing student had a fascinating (and endearing) reaction to my experiences with hospitals

thinking about last week when i did the second queer-centered patient simulation for the new LGBTQ+ program at our university hospital. this is the same one i helped develop, and it's the first of its kind in our state (which is crazy!! i'm part of something groundbreaking!!)

at the end of it, the two other "patients" and i had to join the debrief, to share our impressions and advice with the students.

for the most part, as with any student, they were all nervous to interact with something new without any of the history or context, and all of them held a sizable fear of offending us. but each of them did wonderfully and treated us like any other patient: like humans.

one of the students was a guy in his thirties, and though he wasn't assigned to me he still listened to everything i had to say to all the students.

first i went "Congrats, y'all just met some queer folk!" as an ice breaker, bc i got the impression that most of them hadn't interacted with (openly) queer people before.

i also let them know that 1) they had the hard job when it came to pronouns; i don't refer to myself in the third person, as it's just me, myself, and i. and 2) don't worry about being accidentally offensive, bc if we got offended every time we got misgendered then every day would be exhausting.

and then, i ended with something a bit more personal but explained that many, many queer and trans people went through something similar.

i said, "Please understand, going to the hospital is a frightening experience for a lot of queer folk. Sometimes, the only way to ensure our safety and treatment, is to pretend I'm a girl. Until I know for sure I can trust you, I remain "undercover". It's not comfortable, but it's better than fighting for my identity every time I see a doctor."

the student mentioned before, the cishet white guy in his thirties, apparently got stuck on that. during the final round of comments, he spoke up and looked at me with a genuinely distressed expression.

"You mentioned you have to default to your assigned gender just to go to the doctor?" he said. he's a tall, broad man that had to twist and fold into the desk chair, and i guess he'd been working already from how frazzled and sweaty he was. nothing about him looked comfortable, but his expression, though pinched with concern, was open and listening.

"My current PCP still believes I'm a girl," I replied. "I've known him almost my whole life, but he's never given me any indication I can trust him. He's a kind old man, but there's always a fear that if I come out to him, then I won't receive the treatment I need. It's not a guarantee, but this has happened to many trans people before."

The concern in the student's face turned to genuine frustration. "I'd never considered that before, that's just," he tried. "That's just not right."

i'm reminded of the first time i read "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas" in high school. our English teacher wanted us to decide for ourselves, would we stay in the utopia that depends on the suffering of one person, or leave?

a surprising amount of my classmates said they'd stay, bc there was nothing to be done about the one in suffering. and yeah, most of the class were white middle/upper class cishet people

i was horrified. when it was my turn to answer, i said, "I would leave."

"Why?" my teacher asked.

"Because it isn't right," i insisted. i couldn't put words to the disgust i was feeling. how could i possibly remain somewhere i knew for a fact relied on suffering to exist?

the teacher tried to get me to think past "right and wrong", or at least to find words to explain why this scenario was so wrong to me. and even then, i knew he was in agreement with me. but it was a philosophical question designed to make the reader think, to examine their beliefs when faced with a choice that many claim impossible. and the teacher informed us that our society is already like this due to colonialism and capitalism.

but i was stuck, because this was the first time i saw just how many people were ok with Omelas, and i got sick to my stomach so couldn't get past "This is just wrong, it's wrong!"

my twin brother, who had the same class with me, had what i thought was the best and most practical answer (and i was so so relieved)

"I'd walk away," my brother said. "I'm not going to rely on someone else for my happiness, not if I can help it. My home and health will be my own responsibility."

that nursing student had his Omelas moment. he'd never had to consider if he could trust his doctor or not, he'd never had to fight for treatment just because of his gender or sexuality. but he finally saw the metaphorical unnamed human being suffering in silence as the rest of society went on with their blissful lives.

i don't think i've ever been so happy to see someone so frustrated. and i made sure to tell him how much i appreciated it, it's not something you can easily explain to cishet people but he caught on fast enough that i'm fully convinced he's going to be a kind, compassionate nurse one day.

[sylvanas-girlkisser]

I do feel that some of your criticisms surrounding gideon, while valid, are resolved better within the sequel. Especially when it comes to how death is viewed. Its also important to not that this whole series is tied up in mysteries that slowly get revealed, a lot of gideon the ninth doesnt make sense, such as character motivation, because we havent fully seen the bigger picture.

Gideon the ninth is only a small part of a wider series / world, and its limited scope is very intentional.

Hey nonnie, I get that you don't mean this to come off as patronizing, but you're like the third person today who has told me that I'm just not seeing the bigger picture with regards to the story/character motivations, and until you give me the spoilers for what specific examples you're referring to its hard for me to respond.

Also, this feels like its not really understanding my criticisms, like I don't know how to say this in a polite way, but this is not my first novel. I know that I'm supposed to read between the line, I know the narrator is unreliable and that I won't get a complete explanation of character motivations up front. These are by now pretty standard aspects of modern fantasy, and aspects I really enjoy, my problem is with the execution.

To bring back the moment that annoyed me most: We're told, from the get go, Harrow hates Gideon, because Harrow is an ass. Obviously anyone who has read anything more challenging than stucky ABO can tell "that is not the whole story", and to confirm that there are clues literred throughout the story to confirm this. The takeaway here however is that Gideon clearly thinks Harrow hates her because Harrow is an ass, we are told repeatedly that Gideon sees Harrow as a hateful little creature incapable of compassion.

But then we get to Gideon's meeting with the Eighth, and Gideon explains that, no actually, her and Harrow have always been at each other's throat, but there was a specific moment when they were kids were that seemed to have escalated. That is a significant reveal, it changes the entire nature of their dynamic, however the fact that its not brought up until then, makes it come out of left field. Yes on a second read through you can tell that Harrow's parents and all the other kids being dead tie into this reveal, but on a first read through you have no means of knowing that there is information Gideon has, which the reader is not privvy to.

And this could relatively easily be solved, either by:

Making it clearer that the narrator is not, to use a fancy lit term, focalized through Gideon, by making sure their language was more distinct from that used for Gideon, and by having them occassionally downright contradict Gideon.

Making cryptic alussions to there being shared history, by adding a line somewhere in the story along the lines of "This reminded Gideon of that time she preferred not to think about with Harrow, so she quickly distracted herself".

wrt. It becoming more thoughtful about death, I will look forward to that in HtN, but remain frustrated that it didn't have a chance to fit into GtN. I guess that's the thing about new authors.

[ultranos]

Would it be okay to ask about what your readings are for Asian history? A broad question I know, but I’m curious and always looking for good history recs (you don’t have to answer if this is overstepping or anything)

You’re not the first person to ask me. :) I can share the Bookshop list I use to store both the things I’ve read and my To Read list. I highly recommend trying to get these books from the local or university libraries if you can. I’d also check the Internet Archive library of ebooks.

The list is a mix of history books, but also translations of some classic literature and philosophy. I also add to it periodically, when I remember to stop just using my one Local Indie Bookstore’s website.

[septembercfawkes]

Debunking 6 Myths about Steadfast, Flat-arc Characters

Steadfast/flat-arc characters are characters who don't drastically change their worldviews over the course of the story. In contrast, a change character will do largely a 180 flip in worldview from the beginning of the story to the end of the story.

For example, in the fable of the Little Red Hen, the Little Red Hen never changes her worldview about hard work. But in A Christmas Carol, Scrooge completely changes his worldview from the beginning of the story to the end of the story.

In the writing community, there are a lot of misconceptions of the steadfast/flat-arc character (at least from my experience), which I'm going to talk about, debunk, and clarify today in this article. This information will still be useful to writers who have no interest in writing a steadfast protagonist--because nearly every successful story features a key character who is steadfast.

irst, though, we need to visit our familiar pit stop on writing terminology. The most common term for this character is the "flat-arc" character. But it is not the only term. This character has also been called the "steadfast" character, which is what Dramatica Theory calls it. While "flat-arc" is more common, I prefer "steadfast" for a few reasons:

- It conveys that the character must struggle to hold onto something (after all, one is only "steadfast" when there is opposition)

- "Flat-arc" sorta sounds like there isn't really any growth or movement, which isn't exactly accurate.

- For much of my experience in the writing world, protagonists who don't have much of an arc have been frowned upon or treated as "lesser." The term "flat-arc" reminds me of that.

This is completely preference. You may use whichever term you want. Today, I'll be switching between the two.

Now, you can have positive and negative steadfast characters. A positive one will hold onto a true worldview throughout the story, while a negative one will hold onto an inaccurate worldview. For the sake of this article, I will be focusing on the positive one, which is more common, and may do a future article that focuses more on the negative version.

Now, let's talk about some of the misunderstandings and myths about the positive steadfast character.

My (Helpful) Personal History with Steadfast, Flat-arc Characters

Despite wanting to work in the writing industry since I was seven, I entered the writing world like anyone else: naive.

I had an idea for a story I wanted to write, with a protagonist that drew inspiration from some of my all-time favorite protagonists.

What I didn't know, and what no one could explain to me, was that all these protagonists were steadfast/flat-arc characters. And that's what I wanted to write.

I took writing classes, went to conferences, read books, and tried to soak up any piece of advice anyone could give me. But for some reason, some of the information didn't seem to work into my story or apply to the favorite stories I was drawing inspiration from.

This led to a lot of questioning and challenging of "writing rules" on my part (though that was mostly internal). I was told over and over again (if not in these words) that I needed to have a change arc protagonist. It was implied, over and over again, that protagonists who didn't have change arcs were static, simple, lacking depth and dimension, and were just boring. Of course, there was always the occasional acknowledgment that 007 or Indiana Jones were successful. But I didn't want to write 007 or Indiana Jones. I still wanted to go deep into character.

Well, over the years, I unwittingly switched my protagonist from a steadfast protagonist to a change protagonist. I've only fully realized this recently when reviewing some of those favorite protagonists from years ago.

Not to be dramatic, but I feel a little cheated and let down by the writing world because of that. Even recently I went looking for resources on steadfast/flat-arc protagonists, and frankly, found very little. And of what I did find, 95% pulled from the same source material. I mean, it's great, but we are obviously lacking with this.

I tell this story, not for therapeutic reasons (okay, let's be honest, some of it is totally therapeutic!), but because I know there is someone out there who is struggling like I was. Someone who can't get their story to work because they are trying to apply change-arc advice to a flat-arc protagonist. This doesn't work. But you can't see that, because the people you are learning from (who have sincere intentions), don't fully understand or acknowledge steadfast protagonists.

For example, a writing book that has been making waves (that I looove and definitely recommend) is Story Genius by Lisa Cron. This book is amazing! And so helpful!

If you are writing a positive change protagonist.

It will not help you nail down your steadfast protagonist. Because its principles are founded on the protagonist changing.

So if you are trying to apply it to the wrong type of protagonist, you are going to get frustrated. . . . or switch your protagonist's type.

Unfortunately, I myself have been guilty of perpetuating some inaccurate advice, but only because (like most people), I didn't know better. This also tends to happen because by far the most common protagonist type is the positive change protagonist. There are lots of resources on it. There are lots of people writing it.

But this doesn't mean that the steadfast protagonist is wrong. It actually doesn't even mean that he is boring, static, or one-dimensional, nor that he doesn't grow, struggle, doubt, or change at all. He just doesn't do a direct flip in worldview. Instead, he proves his worldview true (the thematic statement).

Let's debunk some myths I've heard in the decade or so of being in the writing world.

Myth #1: Flat-arc Characters Don't Grow

The most common myth you are likely to run into, is that steadfast characters don't grow. This is inaccurate. The steadfast character doesn't drastically change her worldview. The positive steadfast protagonist has a worldview that will be proven true by the end of the story, which creates the theme. (In contrast, a negative steadfast protagonist has a worldview that will be proven untrue.)

This doesn't mean the character doesn't grow in some way.

For example, you may have a flat-arc character who becomes more competent. Maybe he learns to become a great marksman. Or maybe she learns how to navigate law school (Legally Blonde). A steadfast protagonist can gain any kind of skill, even some that are less obvious, such as learning the art of manipulation. In Moana, Moana must learn how to sail.

You may have a steadfast character who learns to become more proactive/assertive. It's not exactly unusual for a flat-arc character to not want to get involved in the main conflict in the beginning. He may be a reluctant hero. He may need to learn to not stand by but to stand up for what he believes in, by confronting the antagonist directly. In Disney's live-action Cinderella, Ella must become more assertive to fully thwart her wicked stepmother.

A steadfast character may grow in experience and wisdom. In Wonder Woman, Diana must experience and understand the real world in order to fully wield her truth against the antagonist.

A steadfast character can grow in pretty much any way that doesn't totally flip his or her worldview.

Certainly, there are flat-arc characters who don't grow at all, like 007, and that is fine, and you can write successful characters like that. But that doesn't mean that none of them grow whatsoever.

Myth #2: Steadfast Characters' Worldviews Remain Completely Static

Explained most simply, a positive steadfast character has an accurate worldview--understands the true thematic statement--from the beginning. This doesn't necessarily mean she has a perfect understanding of it.

The character's worldview may need some refining. It may not be whole or complete. Or, as mentioned, above, it may need more wisdom (discernment) behind it.

These things can only be realized with real-world experience--in other words, the tests and trials of the middle of the story.

While this concept may overlap with the prior, it's slightly different, as not every way a steadfast character grows will be linked to his or her worldview. They may be two completely separate things. But they can also go hand in hand.

For example, while Cinderella knows kindness will help her through trials (the thematic statement), her worldview needs some refining. She must realize one shouldn't let others take advantage of that kindness. She needs to stand up and be assertive with her stepmother.

In Arrival, Louise Banks knows that communication can help us understand another perspective, which enables us to avoid confrontation. However, through the story, she gains a greater, deeper, more complete understanding of that, as she learns the heptapods' language--which has the power to unit humanity and species across time.

In Wonder Woman, Diana knows from the beginning that we should fight for the world that we believe in. However, she gains more wisdom in that regard, after experiencing the gray moral complexities of humanity--does humankind deserve a better world? Only after she comes to terms with this, is she able to embrace the true thematic statement with eyes wide open.

Sure, some steadfast characters have completely static worldviews, but many of them don't.

This concept can become all the more complex when we consider secondary themes.

First, as a quick recap, the positive steadfast character has an accurate worldview--the "truth," as some like to call it--this is also the primary thematic statement. This is the truth the story is arguing. The positive steadfast character starts the story with this.

In contrast, a positive change character will start with an inaccurate worldview--the "lie," as some like to call it--this is basically the "anti-theme"--the opposing argument to the "truth." The positive change character will change to the "truth," the accurate worldview, the true thematic statement at the end.

However, many stories have more than one theme. Many stories have secondary themes.

Because of this, it's possible for the positive steadfast character to be steadfast in the primary theme, but be a change character in the secondary theme.

For example, Diana is steadfast in the primary theme, which is the argument that we should fight for the world we believe in (as opposed to the argument that we should allow humans to suffer the world they "deserve.")

However, in the secondary theme, she is a change character. The secondary theme is about whether humankind is innately black and white or whether they are innately gray. Diana begins the story believing they are innately black and white (innately good, if not for the antagonist), but learns the truth: humankind is innately gray. This is an arc of disillusionment. This feeds into the primary arc and primary theme.

I have an article on secondary themes in the works, but it's not complete yet. For now, know this:

Many stories have multiple themes. A steadfast protagonist may or may not be steadfast for every theme (or "worldview" if you prefer). But by definition, they must be steadfast for the primary theme (obviously).

Again, more on that in the future. However, this is why you may see writers argue over whether a particular character has a change or flat arc, and why the same character may get categorized differently--it depends entirely on what thematic thread the person is pulling. One may, in fact, argue Diana is a change character, because she arcs in disillusionment, while another may argue she has a flat arc, because she believes the primary thematic statement from beginning to end.

No worries if it sounds a little confusing. In short, a positive steadfast character's view may grow or shift in some way, but it never does a 180 flip in the primary arc and theme.

Myth #3: Flat-arc Characters Always Stand Firm

Just because the steadfast character has an accurate worldview and belief system (knows the "truth"), doesn't mean she never wavers or has doubts about it.

In most flat-arc protagonist stories, the character will have her beliefs tested through the conflicts of the middle. As the antagonistic force gets stronger, the character may experience doubts and powerful temptations (which may include conflicting wants). At some point, it may even seem that her worldview might be wrong. This, along with the cost of adhering to the truth, is almost always the meat of her internal journey. If you want your steadfast character to have a rich inner journey, this is where it's at.

For other steadfast protagonists, the internal journey isn't a major plotline (like 007). This means we won't see many (if any) moments of him having a worldview struggle.

Ultimately, at the end of the story, the steadfast protagonist will hold onto her accurate belief system. This is what makes her steadfast. But that doesn't necessarily mean she never second guesses it.

Myth #4: Steadfast Characters are Simple and One-dimensional

While a steadfast character is probably more likely to be simple, they aren't necessarily. Complexity isn't strictly tied to character arc.

What makes something complex is dichotomy. It's boundaries. It's layers of identity. I talk about this in my free booklet "Core Principles of Crafting Protagonists." But I'll review briefly.

Complex characters are most easily created when we smash together seeming contradictions.

- An outlaw who is law-abiding

- A soldier who refuses to hurt anyone

- A vampire who doesn’t like drinking blood

. . . for example.

Once you’ve smashed together contrasting features within the character, the gray area can be explored to find complexity. Why would an outlaw be law-abiding? How can someone be a vampire and not like blood? (These are more obvious examples, but they prove the point.)

Complexity can also be created by considering the character's personal boundaries--what it takes for him to consider doing something he wouldn't ordinarily do. We all have thresholds when it comes to our values. For example, I may have a character who proclaims that he never lies. But when the pressure gets high, I may show him lying to save the life of a loved one. This will reveal that he cares more about his loved one's life than about always being honest. In other words, he's not as simple as he first appeared.

While within the character arc, a steadfast protagonist will largely adhere to the accurate worldview, even when the pressure kicks up, this doesn't necessarily mean she can't find herself being pressured into unusual behaviors outside of it. For example, just because Job will stick to his faith in God regardless of what is inflicted upon him, doesn't mean he won't be pushed to complaining when the trials get intense. Difficulties reveal deeper character.

Finally, a character can be made complex by differentiating layers of identity. Identity gets down to how someone is defined, and no one is defined the same way from all angles. For example, who the character thinks he is, and who he actually is, will likely be different in some way. Who he believes he is and who society believes he is may be, in fact, opposite concepts.

While these elements can feed into character arcs--or rather, The Character Arc--they don't necessarily have to. There is no reason a steadfast character can't have some complexity.

Myth #5: Flat-arc Characters don't have Ghosts/Wounds

This isn't a myth I've heard very much, but I do feel like there are some misconceptions when it comes to the positive steadfast character and ghosts/wounds.

A "ghost" is a past, significant, often traumatic event that motivates the character to adopt an inaccurate worldview (the "anti-theme" or the "lie" or the "misbelief"--depending on your preferred terminology). In the industry, this is also sometimes called a "wound." You can learn all about ghosts/wounds in my article, "Giving Your Protagonist a Ghost."

But in a positive steadfast protagonist, this is often flipped just a bit. The ghost is often a past, significant, sometimes traumatic event that motivates the character to adopt the accurate worldview (the "theme" or the "truth" if you prefer).

For example, Cinderella's mother, while on her deathbed, tells Cinderella to always be kind. This motivates Cinderella to do just that.

Of course, not every character will have a ghost addressed in the story.

For the positive steadfast protagonist, the ghost may be largely resolved.

But not always. They may not have complete closure and peace. And it's possible they are still traumatized by the event.

Sometimes adhering to what is true can be nearly as haunting as having regrets. It's just that the haunting will come from either the cost of the truth, or, a lack of power--a lack of control--during the ghost. Generally speaking anyway.

In The X-Files, Fox Mulder, in the overall story and theme, is a positive steadfast character. The ongoing theme is an argument of belief vs. disbelief. (The motifs, "I want to believe" and "The truth is out there" speak to that.) However, Mulder has an unresolved, traumatizing ghost: his little sister was abducted by aliens.

This event cements him to the thematic truth of belief and motivates him to investigate anything unnatural. But this happened at the cost of his sister.

Sometimes the trauma comes from not being able to do anything, just as Mulder was powerless to stop the abduction.

Other times it may come from not being able to stop a loved one from choosing the inaccurate worldview--the "lie," "anti-theme," or "misbelief." The steadfast character may be haunted by the outcome of someone else choosing the lie.

So, just because you are writing a steadfast character, doesn't mean she can't have a traumatizing past.

Myth #6: Steadfast Characters are Boring

I have sometimes heard writing instructors discourage students from creating steadfast characters because they are "static and uninteresting." By now, you probably can see for yourself that this doesn't check out.

In reality, any kind of character becomes boring when poorly written. Sure, steadfast characters may need to be handled a little differently (they can easily become annoying when mishandled, for example), but this doesn't mean audiences aren't invested in them. A steadfast character can be just as exciting, meaningful, inspiring, and complex as most change characters.

I mean, I don't think most of us would call Diana, Fox Mulder, Moana, or Louise Banks boring.

In the future, I'll be breaking down this largely misunderstood character type some more. I mean . . . some of us have got to do more about the lack of resources out there, right? I don't want another person who wants to write a steadfast protagonist to be "tricked" into switching it to a change one. If you want to write a steadfast protagonist, this is me giving you permission.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 7

Summary: In order to win, she might have to lose.

Warnings: angst, swearing, bit of fluff, sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six  

=================================

Waking up to skies lit by the wintry sun is what Y/N expected. In the back of her mind, she remembers opening her eyes. Perhaps it’s her mind playing tricks on her, but she could swear she heard Aleksander’s voice softly speaking to her. 

Telling dreams from reality felt like an impossible task, but if it were a dream, would she really dream of him?

Death never crossed her mind. She was a soldier in an expendable army for most of her life, yet she never feared death. There was never a lingering sense of what if when they asked her if she believed in life after death, but she wondered now. Looking death in the eye had forced a realization upon her – she would die and achieve nothing. She married arguably the most powerful man in all of Ravka and she failed to utilize it. In the end, her name would be forgotten in history for her plans would all die with her.

Inhaling sharply, she wanted to open her eyes. A heaviness settles on her eyelids, making her groan. Her entire body felt dismantled, every nerve bare, inflicting pain.

“It’s alright”, a hand pressed to her forehead and Y/N frowns. Breathing heavily, she felt vulnerable, exposed.

Swallowing thickly, her eyes flutter open. With blurry vision, she looked up at the dark presence looming above her. Blinking fast, her lips part and before she can ask, cool liquid runs down her parched throat.

Taking a deep breath, her eyes closed again. She needed a moment to collect herself, to stop the world from spinning.

“It hurts”, she mumbles meekly.

“Shhh”, his voice reaches her. “I’m here”, she feels a gentle squeeze of his hand, “You’re safe.”

Resisting sleep, she opened her eyes once more. The sight of his tormented gaze leaves her nearly breathless. He’s still handsome, but it looks as if he’s aged ten years in just a few days.

“What happened?” Her voice is hoarse, still raspy from thirst and sleep.

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a week”, his forehead wrinkles, “We’ve just made it back.”

Despite the little voice in his head, the Darkling held onto his wife throughout the night. He kept her close to his chest, running his fingers through her hair. She was exhausted, injured so badly he could hear the strain her body was under with every breath she took.

Her eyes remained closed, her lips slightly parted and his pressed in a thin line. Absurd. It was absurd to think that someone like that – so delicate, so fragile, could have any power over him. It baffles him just how quickly he found himself attached to this woman who was unremarkable in every possible way – or so he told himself.

Truth be told, he couldn’t take his eyes off her since he first saw her. She radiates genuine beauty few possess, a confidence he’s never found in anyone in hundreds of years, and an air of mystery he couldn’t quite understand.

By the time morning light reached their tent, the Darkling just stared at her with care, studying every inch of her face as if it could be the last time he’ll ever be given a chance. He memorized the way she fit in his embrace, the rhythm of her beating heart in the dead of night and every labored breath as it threatened his sanity.

Anger was his best friend for so long, his shield against humanity, but his anger wasn’t all-consuming as it once was – it was directed to those who caused the swelling around her eyes and cuts across her cheekbones.

“General”, Ivan’s head peaked inside the tent only to swiftly disappear once he caught sight of a moment he was sure wasn’t meant for his eyes.

Rolling his eyes, the Darkling gently laid her head down. Caressing her cheek, he let a heavy sigh pass his lips. It’s been too long since he last felt so defenseless and helpless as he did now. He promised himself he’d never feel that way again and yet he found himself in the same cursed whirlwind of emotions as he was in when the fold came to be.

Biting his lower lip, he pushed it all down. If he’s distraught, his people would know. He cannot be emotional and still lead an army. He has to be strong – for Grisha and for Y/N.

“Ivan, we’ll have to find a healer soon”, Kirigan spoke in a hushed tone. Glancing at the tent, he felt a lump growing at the back of his throat. “I believe she’s developed a fever too.”

“Fedyor can try to cool her temperature”, Ivan offers, “He’ll slow her heart and keep her breathing. I’ll trade with him if necessary.”

Nodding, the general was satisfied with Ivan’s solution. For once, Ivan didn’t question why he wanted to protect her. This time, he was offered aid rather than words of discouragement.

“I’ll have to leave some of our own here”, Kirigan looks at the direction they came from. “The Fjerdans came too close and I need to know why. Why would they take my wife?”

Ivan lowers his voice, making sure he doesn’t wake up Y/N, “Perhaps it was a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences. Not when her safety is at stake.”

Nodding, Ivan glances at Fedyor. He’d be the same if anyone touched his beloved. Suppressing a smile, Ivan finally realized it – no matter how vehemently the general denies it, his heart is no longer his.

“What are the orders? I’ll make the necessary arrangements.”

“Take back what they took, place their heads on a stake and wait. More should come soon and when they do, I want to know why they came so close to Little Palace and who ordered them to take my wife.”

Squinting, not in anger but to see him better, Y/N frowns, “A week?”

“Winter made it hard for us to move faster and you were in no shape to ride back.”

Letting out a shaky breath of air, she raised an eyebrow, “So you carried me?”

“Ivan and Fedyor kept you alive too.”

Wetting her chapped lips, she hesitated. Her fingers burned, itching to touch him, to intertwine with his.

“A healer should be here any minute now”, Aleksander informed, pulling his hand out of hers as if he could sense her inner battles and decided to help her by removing himself from it entirely.

“No”, she decided.

Standing abruptly, his jaw clenched. Despite his stern expression, his eyes hold all the sadness in the world, pleading eyes that both threaten and adore.

“No?” He repeats with disdain, “What do you mean by no?”

Holding her breath, she endures a sharp pain in her ribcage as she propped herself up on her elbows. Breathing heavily, she directed her determined gaze on him. “I’m human, am I not?”

Squinting at her, his lips part, “And?”

Struggling to prevent herself from laughing at the way he looked at her now, Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Humans aren’t allowed aid of a healer. We go to the medics.”

“You’re my wife”, he remarks almost instantaneously, slightly wishing she remained unconscious for a while longer. If she slept, the healer would have done their job and there would be no argument. There was no doubt about it, their truce was over.

“But I’m still a human. The rest of my kind don’t have the privilege of being married to you.” Her voice is stern, low and frustratingly righteous.

“You need a healer or you might not survive”, Aleksander insisted.

“Then let me die.” She stared at him, no signs of crumbling and it made him feel like he’s drowning.

Rubbing his forehead, the Darkling shut his eyes in frustration. After all the sleepless nights, his head felt like it would implode. All he had on his mind was her safety and now when he brought her home, she refused help.

“What do you want?”

Knitting her eyebrows, she glanced at his jaw as it clenched. “What?”

Her voice is higher, almost confused but he knew better than that. “I’ve known you for almost two months.” Two months too long, he thought. “I know when you’re trying to extort me.”

Covering her mouth, Y/N suppressed a laugh. Truth be told, it’s exactly what she’s doing, she just didn’t expect him to cave so quickly.

“Healers for the First army”, her lips twitch. Pursing her lips, she bites the soft flesh on the inside of her mouth to stop herself from smiling at all costs.

“No”, he spoke through gritted teeth.

Shrugging, she laid back down. “Alright then. I only regret I won’t be here to hear you explain my death to the Tsar and my father.”

Growling under his breath, he swipes his hand down his face. “One healer.”

“Two”, she argued, sitting up with a pained expression on her face.

“We can’t spare two”, the Darkling crosses his arms, his eyes darker than ever before.

Lifting her chin in defiance, she narrowed her eyes at her husband. “Two healers or no deal.”

Releasing a long, heavy breath in frustration, the Darkling felt his insides turn. “Two healers but only for those who can’t get better with a week long rest on their own.”

“Two healers for those who can’t get better in a few days of rest AND the same amount of food and water for the First army.”

Running a hand through his hair, the general’s nostrils flare. Cracking his neck to the left, to the right, he turned his death glare back on his wife. “Food and water are limited for Grisha as well.”

“I saw them eat grapes”, Y/N deadpans. “You have enough, so share. If the First army dies out, who will protect your precious Grisha?”

Folding her hands in her lap, she maintained eye contact with the general who refused to blink. He stared back at her, aghast. The woman was impossible! She made every word that passed her lips a contest of wills.

His jaw set, he moved closer to stand before her. He looked formidable with the relentless, firm pools of black ink for eyes devouring her with intensity, too hard in comparison to what she had seen in the tent. He looked like he could kill her without even putting a hand on her…something she still expected him to do.

What was stopping him? She was far behind enemy lines, no reinforcements and she saw what he can do – he could kill everyone who stood in his way.

“Fine”, he huffs. “Under one condition.”

Rolling her eyes, she nods, “What is it?”

“I want a kiss.”

Her eyes flashed to his. Ringed with golden bruises, she was still alluring – like a wildfire or a storm. No…she is wildfire, a storm. She is deadly and uncontrollable and slightly out of her wits and he’s asking her to be his ruination. It isn’t love, he tells himself, it’s obsession.

Raising her eyebrows, Y/N didn’t bother hiding her surprise. A kiss? Of all the things he could have asked, the big bad general who can summon shadows is asking for a kiss?

A part of her trusted Aleksander and that trust demanded intimacy. She wanted his hands on her – in her hair, his lips on her neck. She longed to be vulnerable and that’s what worried her. Trusting him, needing him, it’s bound to breed love and self-inflicted madness. If it were anything else, she would outright refuse him, but she has so many lives dependent on her answer.

“Tonight”, she decided. If her own sanity is the price to pay, she will do what she has to do.

Nodding, the Darkling retreated. Leaving the room, he opened the door for the healer to enter. Sparing her a quick look, he swallowed thickly as the thought of her willingly kissing him made his heart slam into the rib cage. Even his heart wanted to escape him as it too longed for her hands’ touch.

He didn’t make more than two steps outside the room when a Grisha joined him - one of his many spies.

“What do you have for me?”

The spy beckons him to the side, looking around wildly. “This could change everything.”

“What is it?” The Darkling speaks through gritted teeth, demanding an answer.

“There is talk”, the spy pauses, “Of a Sun Summoner.”

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

Healed, bathed and properly fed, Y/N had paced their room in anticipation of his arrival. She had seen the look in his eyes earlier that day – something between them has changed.

As the door opens, her breath halts inside her throat.

“I thought you were lost”, Genya admitted. “When they found your mare, I lost hope.”

Smiling, Y/N cupped her cheek. “I did too”, she sniffled.

The Darkling felt, more than saw, her presence as he entered the room. He turned slowly, his breath held. Her hair looked darker in the candlelight, its rich color gleaming against the green velvet of fresh sheets on the bed she leaned against. He could hardly speak. The nearness of her, the quiet room, the candlelight made him question the reality of what he was looking at.

“You look better”, Aleksander managed a curt smile, looking at Y/N and her attire. The sheer nightdress she wore was back, perfectly outlining her figure.

“Why did they take you?” Genya asked, unshead tears weighing heavily on her eyes. “Did they know?”

“No”, Y/N shakes her head, “But they found out.”

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter. Kirigan killed them all.” Y/N glanced at the door where she expected her husband to appear later on.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Y/N felt her heart flip. “It helped me realize something.”

Frowning, Genya waited for Y/N to explain.

“Your General does have a heart”, she states. His request for a kiss lingered in every thought her mind could concoct.

She stared at him then slowly untied the belt of her robe and it glided languidly over her smooth skin, falling to her feet.

His gaze roamed over her as if he is unable to fully comprehend her beauty. Only when he looked back at her eyes did he see she was troubled. 

“Of course he does”, Genya chuckles, “He was most worried when you were taken. He promised he’d kill them all and bathe in their blood.”

“I think I can use that.”

Knitting her eyebrows, Genya’s frown deepened. “How?”

Pressing her lips, Y/N sighed. “In order for me to win”, she paused, “He needs to believe he did.”

“Husband”, she spoke clearly. She feigned confidence, but inside she quivered.

She had barely finished the syllable when she was in his arms, being carried to their bed, his lips already fastened to hers. She felt his lips hit hers like a tornado, his admission of burning the world in her name spinning in her head. It could have been a fever dream, but she would bet her life it wasn’t.

Holding her chin in place, he rested his forehead on hers, heaving from the kiss. She couldn’t open her eyes, clinging to him for dear life, but even with eyes closed, Y/N could hear the emotions thick in his voice.

“I don’t want to do anything you’re not willing.” He whispered against his lips, all too prepared for his hands to roam her body now.

Y/N was afraid of herself as well as of him. He could sense it as he kissed her. He’d waited a long time for her to come to him and now it seems she was more than ready to give herself to him without his talk of her marital duty.

He expected anything but to find her with her arms wide open.  But even now, as he held her, he felt no great sense of triumph.

Pulling the sheet over her, he stood. “I can wait.”

The sheet accented her shoulders and the full swelling of her breasts. The candlelight deepened the shadow above the sheet. Her bare throat pulsed with life. Her face was set in a firm, serious expression that caused her eyes to darken. Her lips were hard, as if carved of marble and he ached to part them into a smile.

Turning away, he began undressing himself for bed, wondering how he could survive a night beside her if she remains as she is now.

She averts her gaze, whispering under her breath in confusion, “Wait?”

He laid beside her, barely dressed at all. She found herself achingly aware of his presence. The only light in the room was from the flames of candles she placed across the room. The light danced on her hair, played with the shadows of her delicate collarbones. At this moment, he remembered nothing of the arrangement their marriage was meant to be. He knew only that he was in bed with a desirable woman, one he never expected to claim. She seemed too headstrong to ever give into his charm, yet she bared herself before him and he couldn’t take advantage of her.

“Why don’t you want me?” She sat up, glaring at him. She let the sheet fall as his eyes met hers, bravely fixing him with her fiery gaze.

Rolling his eyes, he looks away. How can she torment him like this with no shame?

If anything, he felt like she’s attacking him. “I don’t want to hear about how a demon took you by force for the rest of my life.”

“It’s not force if I’m giving myself willingly, is it?” She raised an eyebrow, deciding on a tactic finally. Aleksander is a general, a conqueror at heart and she saw the desire in his eyes. If there was any hope of her plan to work, she had to harness his desire to convince him he won.

Licking his lips as he cracked a smile, Aleksander nodded in surprise, unable to keep his eyes from wandering lower to her breasts. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” He wanted to possess her, to claim this difficult, headstrong woman for himself. His mouth came down brutally hard on hers, claiming them, nearly bruising them.

Y/N fumbled with the sheet that wrapped around her, making Aleksander chuckle into the kiss.

“Let me help you,” Aleksander purred and tore the sheet away, pulling it from under the mattress.

Wrapping his hand around Y/N’s neck, his grip was oddly weak, gentle even. She laid nude before him, his gaze fixed on her. He stared at her in wonder; her full breasts, curvy waist, round hips. Then he looked back at her face, her eyes blazing. Her lips were reddened from his kiss, and suddenly there was no power on earth that could stop him from taking her.

“You make me feel”, he pauses in anguish, “You make me feel”, he said quietly, fiercely, “And I don’t like it. I want it to stop. Now.”

He pushed her into the mattress and Y/N saw the ruthless general in his eyes and for a moment she feared it. A general isn’t gentle at all, not like Aleksander could be. She feared the pain he’d cause and the tears that would follow. She feared what he’d do to her, but then the fear she felt dissipated as he spoke against her lips.

“I’ll go slowly.” Aleksander stopped himself, remembering she’s never had a man in her bed before and once he saw the fear in her eyes extinguish the flame he already adored, he reeled himself in.

“Your hands are bloody from murder”, she paused, “But I trust them completely.” Her voice had never been smaller, her hands never as desperate as she clung to him. She wanted to trust the sudden, overwhelming warmth in his unrelentingly tender gaze, but she still awaited the pain that was yet to come. He moved on top of her, his lips attaching to her neck gently as he pressed a kiss above her pulsating carotid, knowing she’s nervous as he felt the pace of her pulse.

With one thigh, Aleksander parted hers. He kissed her again, passionate and slow, distracting her as his hand moves lower, down to the intimate parts she never allowed another only man to see, to feel. Slipping his finger between her folds, he found if applied enough pressure a desperate moan escapes her without a fail. He feels her breathing change as he begins to rub circles, her thighs trying to push against his in a need of more friction. And that’s when control escapes her and she closes her eyes completely, letting the pleasure take over.

Unable to wait any longer, Aleksander pushed the head of his hardened length between the folds, feeling her wetness pooling over as nature’s lubricant. Feeling the membrane, he stops for a moment. Looking at her carefully for any signs of distress, he wonders if she even realizes what is about to happen.

“Do you want this?” He asks again, fearing she may change her mind.

Gripping his arm, she nods. “Yes”, she replies, breathless.

Pressing himself inside, he bows his head in the crook of her neck, growling lowly in pleasure. It’s not the first virgin he had, but it’s the first one that made him want to come on the first thrust.

“Go on.” She encourages him, surprising them both. Swallowing thickly, she sinks her nails into his back, anticipating the next thrust. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t in pain, but she knew it would get easier as he moves again and she would feel the pleasure again – and she wanted the pleasure more than the pain.

Nodding, Aleksander starts moving in and out slowly, refusing to risk her pain for a little more pleasure he’d find in speed and his untimely release. Instead, he’s using deep, slow strokes with a relentless care for the nerve bundle between her folds. Every passing second draws louder moans from her until he feels her clench around him, his own mind blackening as he feels himself nearing the edge. She’s holding him so tightly to her body, so desperately as she unravels beneath him. Picking up pace, he finally loses control, jerking his hips to meet hers in a deep thrust only to finish deep inside her, allowing them both to breathe.

Rolling off her, Aleksander decided to stay quiet, allowing her to have control of the moment. If she wants his embrace, he’d do it for her and if she wants to talk, he’d talk to her, otherwise, he’d just sleep. It’s been so long since he truly slept – since the day they went for that ride.

He placed an arm around her for comfort alone, not pressing himself closer than necessary, closing his eyes once he realizes she’s not interested in him at all after she came down from her high.

Waiting for a few minutes, Y/N pretended to sleep. After the hurricane of emotions he’d given her, Y/N didn’t know how to feel. She wanted to relax, to sleep in bliss, but a part of her ached. She ached for who she used to be. Would her father hate her for what she just did? Would her people denounce her for sleeping with the enemy?

Her eyes opened wide, finding his are still closed. Lips quivering, she felt herself crumble as tears fled her eyes. She watched his sleeping figure and sighed deeply, telling herself to stop crying. She was supposed to be in control of him, to make him want her and crave her, yet she found it was the opposite. She didn’t love him, but she did feel a connection…perhaps it’s the kindness he showed her when he rescued her or the pleasure he had given her, but something inside her changed and the heart she hardened on purpose found a soft spot for the general.

=============================

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Part 8

[my-writings-and-musings]

I got another request for the hostage prompt! The previous posts will be linked below, but here's the newest of the lineup!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: You're Here!

Perceptor

·You knew better than most how to keep a lid on impulsive actions, a trait that has both served you well and made your relationship with the stoic microscope develop quite quickly. However, like your partner, you absolutely have limits. As you enter what feels like the millionth hour of your captivity, you can feel yourself reaching them. There's plenty of stressors to account for the growing rage in your body, but you know the biggest is the bot keeping you prisoner as a part of their foolish scheme to get quick cash for the Lost Light's "beloved mascot". Particularly, their endless taunting of your partner is proving too much to endure, and you can feel your boiling point coming in fast. One final quip about Perceptor's "useless" alt mode proves to be your ignition point.

·Though you're hardly an intimidating figure dangling from your chains, your voice erupts with enough fury to draw your captor's attention without hesitation, and you use that undivided attention to let them know exactly how you feel. Firstly on your list of grievances is their juvenile and ear grating attempts to be clever while insulting your beloved scientist. "Do you know anything about warping reality? Time traveling? Rearranging molecules?! No?! Then what makes you think you're fit to look down on someone who can?!" There's no reply beyond shocked gaping, giving you the freedom to continue and let out everything you've been building up for the past few hours, particularly in regards to comments made on your own relationship. "Let's not forget; mocking him for dating a human? Big talk coming from some isolated loser in a cave!"

·You're not at all intimidated when the bad bot abandons their communication console to try threatening you into silence, even as they raise their hand with the supposed intent to strike. You only laugh at the exhausting absurdity of it all. Will they really risk losing their one shield against the entire Lost Light? Newsflash; you're the only thing standing between them and some of the toughest (and thanks to them; angriest) bots in the galaxy! Oh, and the one leading that charge, your paramour and soon to be rescuer? If bending physics to his will isn't sufficient, he can always go for the next best option, sniping. "Did you know he's the best sniper the Autobots have ever seen? He can probably hit the tiny, almost nonexistent processor of yours that came up with this plan! He works miracles with that gun!"

·Unable to silence you, the bad bot is looking torn between fear and anger at your defiant but very true words. Finding shouting to be a breath of fresh air, you decide to keep going, having more fun than you've had in ages talking up your beloved and underappreciated partner. "Heck, Percy doesn't even need to stage a rescue! He's stabilized and destabilized entire timelines, maybe he's rewriting history as we speak! Maybe he'll make it so you prevent your own forging; I can't wait to find out!" At the somewhat exaggerated but not at all impossible threat, your captor makes some excuse and starts up their security measures, looking beyond paranoid at the prospect of being erased. You go off on another tangent, this time regarding Perceptor's precision in finding "other" important targets in less innocent ways, but are stopped by an unexpected power outage plunging everything into darkness.

·There's a great deal of noise immediately following, but what stands out is a series of powerful gunshots, all of which ring out just before security turrets burst into pieces in the darkened cave. Amidst the chaos you hear your captor cry out and fall, but when the lights flicker on a moment later you see they've been immobilized but left otherwise unharmed by a perfectly placed shot. Crewmembers swarm the area in seconds, and before you can blink in the awe inspiring calculation of the plan that's just unfolded before you, there's a beautiful blue visor at your eye level. Perceptor is actually smiling, albeit softly, as he holsters his rifle and cuts you free. Plopping into his cupped hands, you swear the stoic scientist looks happier than you've ever seen him the entire walk back to the ship, his smile never leaving his face in the hours that come after your rescue.

·Percy is, by his standards, effusive in his love and affection going forward. There's no way to predict when he'll lift you for a loving nuzzle or a gentle kiss, so you grow to expect them always, as it's hardly a burden to be so loved. In a rare moment of isolation afterwards, a bot quietly informs you of something that happened while you were held hostage. Perceptor had actually shed tears when he heard you speak, albeit only a few, but his raw emotion at your defense has been obvious to everyone. No one had ever done such a thing for him, and it seemed the reality of your affection had overwhelmed him. Clearly he's still not used to being loved. Touched by the thought, you make an effort to be equally loving in the future, and he absolutely deserves it. You love this bot, alt mode and all. It's hard not to dare anyone to try and deny your obvious love for a bot so deserving of it.

Rung

·Like your quiet partner, you're a very even tempered individual, and thus yelling tends to be an absolute last resort. Some find it almost impossible to get a rise out of you. But today? Chained up against your will and listening to some bully taunt your friends and partner for hours on end? No one could blame you for lashing out after enduring a few minutes, let alone hours. Yet, for the sake of keeping the situation under control, you'd actually managed to keep a lid on your rage and frustration for some time. It wasn't until your captor had begun reverting to taunting Rung by purposefully getting his name wrong that you'd snapped, red filling your vision as the bully gleefully mocked your partner with what agonized him the most. All bets were now officially off.

·Had you been able to free yourself, you'd have probably attempted to turn your chains on your captor, but as it was you released your fury purely by shouting. First, you called them out for being such a juvenile and pathetic individual they'd felt the need to gloat despite having secured you already. Clearly they've got some serious self confidence issues if they need to hide behind a hostage to boast! Barely pausing for breath, you glare right into their shocked expression as you lay into them for mocking your partner, spelling and enunciating his name since they seem to be having so much trouble with a four letter word. The bad bot is still so surprised they haven't quite gathered themself from the initial shock until they're across the cave and in your face.

·When they refer to Rung as a "weakling" however, they unleash a fresh wave of rage. Do they actually know who they're talking about?! Rung?! The bot who walks away from crashes with only cuts and bruises? Not to mention; he's quite capable with a spear, does this bot even know what he's in for?! "I understand pronouncing his name right may be a bit beyond you, but did you even bother to look into him at all? He's been analyzing bots longer than you've been alive! He knows your next move before you do! He's saved our entire reality by talking!!" Admittedly the passion for your partner provides ample fuel for you to keep talking, as the poor bot is dealt bad hands far too often to have to put up with jerks like this.

·At threats to be silent you're only emboldened, as it's clear you're making quite a dent in your captor's confidence. Knowing they can't risk hurting you, and being too fed up to care if they try, you continue on your valiant crusade. "Rung has been a therapist for the toughest bots in the galaxy during their biggest emotional crises! Forget letting fear stop him, you could be ten times the villain you are and he wouldn't flinch!" Though your partner may not be one to inspire fear, particularly as his best traits are his endless ability to forgive and boundless compassion, you go off on those features regardless. There's nothing you don't want to go on about to flaunt what an incredible bot you're dating. On a roll, you start to get into what unexpected prowess he has in "late night sessions" when the door built into the cave suddenly implodes just as your captor is attempting to flee.

·In the rush of bots that destroy the security systems and pounce on the captor to get a punch in for making fun of their friend, you're suddenly lifted by tender and loving hands to look into a brilliant pair of bespectacled optics, and you realize that Rung has never before looked so wonderfully happy. There's a depth of emotion new to him as he uses a laser scalpel to carefully cut you free, and you're compelled to hug him tightly as he holds you close, his spark almost singing into your ear as you cuddle him. Gentle reasurances that you're fine now, that he loves you, and that you don't need to worry about being taken ever again are whispered the entire walk back to the ship. You'd swear he has a tone that borders on reverence. Frankly you're just happy to be free and back with him, though you're amused by how boundless his love for you is in the following days. Rung barely lets you walk anywhere and showers you with kisses every chance he gets.

·In a rare moment of solitude, a bot takes advantage of the opportunity to let you know something very important, saying that you deserve to hear what happened while you were kidnapped. Though he remained as in control as ever, it had been obvious to the entire ship he'd been wracked with guilt and worry from the start, and that hearing your captor taunt him had only made the torment worse. Your outburst had actually driven him to jump up and put his glasses back on, his stoic exterior shattering as his jaw dropped in shock and awe. He's so accustomed to being forgotten, that to be defended so aggressively doesn't initially compute. Witnesses swear he lit up in a blush that rivaled the Matrix at full power. He'd worried immensely for you of course, but hearing the intensity of your love for him... Some would swear afterwards he'd shed tears.

Skids

·Your partner does not take anything lying down, but unfortunately enough for you, you're dangling from chains and in a rather precarious situation to boot. Though you'd like to lay into the bot keeping you prisoner, logic is winning for now. It doesn't take a genius to know you're in no place to get mouthy. Not that said strategy is at all easy; your captor is a gigantic jerk! They've been bragging to your poor friends for hours, with a special taunting emphasis on Skids and his "inability" to protect his small human significant other. Rage begins to boil just below the surface before long, yet a commitment to keeping a lid on the feeling works surprisingly well for a while. However, you blow your top the second your captor makes a jab about Skids having to resort to human companionship in the wake of his "amnesia leaving him no friends to speak of".

·Having spent plenty of time getting tipsy with your lover, you've picked up his brilliant talent for cursing and allow it to run free. The wave of profanity alone is enough to make your captor freeze, to say nothing of your incredible volume and the unyielding rage in your voice. "Are you KIDDING me you cheap knock off of a forgetable movie villain?! You're picking on his amnesia?! Skids doesn't need many memories to know how to kick your scrawny aft!" There's so much anger you're actually surprised by the depths of your own rage, but letting it out just feels too good for you to care, so you let the love for your partner fuel the tirade on his behalf.

·Far too angry to even register fear, you don't tone it down in the slightest when commanded to shut up. If anything, it only incenses you further. What, can they not handle a target capable of talking back? Did their brilliant plan not account for people not falling for their tough guy act? Because if so, they're really screwed once Skids gets here. He knows how to move covertly on their own ship, what makes this jerk think they'll see him coming? And these useless defense systems won't save them, your partner has torn through way more and come out intact! "He's squared up against whole squadrons and not flinched, what makes you think you stand a chance?! He knows I can handle myself long enough to take care of you!"

·Wishing you had a drink to help the words flow a little smoother, you nevertheless find great satisfaction in the pause you're giving your captor. Clearly they hadn't looked into Skids deeply enough before kidnapping his beloved little partner. Still, you're far from done with getting even. This loser insulted the greatest and most confounding mystery of the bot you love, and you have no intention of letting that go. As they go off to recalibrate their insufficient security systems, you start to go on about how Skids acts on instinct in combat, to the point he's like nothing most bots have ever seen. You're so fired up you almost start to gush over his natural prowess and instinctive drive in the bedroom when a most peculiar sound silences you along with everything else.

·From a climate control vent carved straight into the rock overhead, there's a loud rumble before the cover simply falls off, crashing to the ground before a blue blur tumbles out to start swinging a sword. You'd swear that a single blink is all it takes before Lost Light crewmembers start pouring in as backup. There's just enough time for you to see your captor captured in a most indignifying way before a thick accent is laughing with delight upon seeing you. The flash of a blade follows and you're caught in cupped servos that bring you in for a powerful hug, leaving you laughing helplessly in turn as your beloved begins gushing over you in the accent you so adore. Skids is positively beaming the entire trip back to the ship, his smile absolutely radiant as he goes back and forth between declaring his love and praising everything about you.

·While he's always been affectionate, the lovable bot amps it up to new levels over the course of the next few days. Cuddles happen almost every minute he's with you, and frequent trips to Swerve's see him treating you with every drink you want and becoming a flustered mess that stares at you in lovestruck awe. When he goes to fetch another round one night, a happy bystander let's you know he was shattered by your kidnapping, only to turn around at your show of utter bravery and devotion. Anger had turned to awe at how his tiny partner had stood up for him, bringing a kind of peace to him that went beyond reasurance you were okay. Having heard you defend him, despite him being a bot with no past, had made him truly see that he could indeed be worth something just for being what he was. Someone as wonderful as you wouldn't want him otherwise.

[kevindayscrown]

The one where Kevin Day falls in love with an ice hockey player.

Part 4 The Fall

(TW: Panic attacks, mentions of violence, mentions of homophobia, mentions of Riko because he deserves his own trigger warning)

Anything included in this head canon takes place the semester after the Foxes won the championship against the Ravens.

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about varsity teams in the United States so excuse any false information. Read first the Introduction, Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3.

Weeks passed, the chilling breezes of October giving way to the bitter cold of mid-November. The season had started off to a satisfying foot for the Foxes of the Exy team, the new recruits slowly adjusting. Everything was falling into place.

The calm before the storm.

Kevin reserved three nights a week for sneaking with Eric to the Foxhole Rink and practice his skating skills.

It was a slower process than he would have wanted, but Kevin knew about slow processes. It had taken him half a year before he could use a racquet with his left hand again.

However, Kevin was also a firm believer of proper equipment being part of an athlete’s success. His borrowed skates just wouldn’t do, especially now that the two of them had moved on from simple skating to actual ice hockey.

Eric agreed to take him to buy his own pair. Kevin had to skip class just so he wouldn’t have to find another excuse. He still wasn’t sure if Andrew genuinely believed him every time he came up with a reason to skip night practice and then disappear for hours.

They were looking at the designs the store had in stock when it happened.

Kevin felt his cellphone vibrate in his pocket. He could guess that it was probably Nicky, wanting to annoy him with something.

When it didn’t stop, he sighed in frustration and picked it up.

“What?”

“I’m so sorry Kevin.” It was Dan.

“Sorry about what?”

Dan had a knack for taking photos of the foxes throughout the year so she could put them on the wall back at the court. She carried a camera everywhere with her.

She’d carried one when they’d gone at the rink after the Exy team lost the bet.

Kevin rushed forward and asked the cashier if he could use one of the computers in the store.

It was everywhere in local and nationwide websites. Mostly on gossip tabloids. The ice hockey players had apparently gotten their hands on the photo and in their attempts to harmlessly tease their captain, they ended up spreading the photo around on the internet.

‘Kevin Day’s newest conquest? Staring Striker swings a different way than you’d expect.’

‘All for the Wrong Game? Exy-Prodigy Kevin Day on Thin Ice.’

On the articles, pictures of Eric having his arm wrapped around him when he almost fell on the rink and of them entering the Foxhole Rink in the late hours, were attached. He couldn’t even tell when those had been taken and by whom.

“Shit.”

Crude commentary, speculations, jokes, slurs, people suddenly claiming they always knew. It was all over the news. The headlines alone were bad enough.

‘Perhaps Kevin and Riko’s relationship was of a different nature.’

Kevin was going to be sick.

“What the hell happened Day? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Eric demanded but Kevin could barely hear him.

He was having a hard time breathing. The last time he had panicked like that was when he told the press he had never been skiing before and instantly thought Riko would kill him for it. Now, it was another Moriyama who could take his life for such a stupid mistake.

Before his thoughts could keep going downhill, Eric grabbed his wrist on his right arm and dragged him down one of the alleys that was the least crowded. Kevin then felt hands cradling his face. Eric stared down at him with a harsh look, though one also of concern.

“These rumors go around all the time about every celebrity, Kevin,” He said, trying to comfort him.

“No, no, he-,” he stopped and tried to breathe in again. “Fuck. Fuck!” He pulled away and ran his fingers through his hair. Kevin hadn’t circled the news like that ever since it was announced that he had transferred to Palmetto State University.

“He? Who? Kevin, talk to me.”

Simple rumors have ruined careers, Kevin knew that. It was the rumor of him being better than Riko that had gotten him to break Kevin’s hand and almost ending his own career. It was by luck that he could recover and play again.

Pro teams weren’t tolerant to gossiping rumors that could ruin their image. And they sure as hell weren’t progressive enough to accept homosexual players – even only rumored ones - in their lineup. Kevin had already signed, but would they break his contact over this?

If they did, if he didn’t make it to pros, he would be useless to Ichirou. He would get rid of Kevin overnight.

“Kevin.” Eric’s stern voice snapped him back to reality.

“Ichirou Moriyama,” he finally said and stared down at his hands. The white scar across his left palm was somehow more prominent at that moment.

Eric was confused, as it was expected. Kevin gathered the remainings of his sanity to explain as best as he could. He didn’t know why or how, maybe it was his panic, his need to talk to someone, Eric’s concerned expression, but he was suddenly sharing everything. The Moriyamas owning Kevin ever since his mother died, Riko breaking his hand, everything going on in the background last year that people didn’t know about, and of course, the deal Neil had made with Ichirou.

By the time he was done, he was shaking and Eric remained completely silent.

“Fuck it,” the goaltender suddenly said. “Any pro team would be stupid to not take Kevin Day into their lineup because of this. You are the best striker in the history of Exy. You are passionate, you are determined. You have an insufferable ego, yes, but you are Exy. It’s your legacy. They won’t take it away from you.”

Kevin wasn’t sure how to react to this, but he felt a twitch in his chest.

Usually, when he had a panic attack, the Foxes or Wymack would hand him a bottle of vodka and call it a day. They didn’t know how to handle him.

Somehow, Eric however, knew exactly what to say.

“I- Thank you,” he said and clenched his hands into fists.

His phone rings again and Andrew’s name appeared on the screen.

Whatever composure he had regained, vanished into thin air.

Before he could reach for it, Eric grabbed the phone and picked it up. Kevin wasn’t sure what had been shared, and he wondered which of his knives Andrew would use to skin them both alive.

It didn’t take long for the blond to show up. Kevin was immediately at his feet, but wasn’t quick enough. Andrew already had a skate on his hand, apparently deciding to get creative and test how sharp the blade of it was.

He was going for Eric before Kevin could stop him.

[fckwritersblock]

Act 1: While We’re Young

Chapter 6

Erik Stevens x Black OC

( Unedited.)

I woke up with a killer headache and the sound of my alarm clock going off. I hit it repeatedly trying to get it to shut off to no avail. Frustrated I picked it up launching it across the room. Next was the alarm on my cell and I released a defeated groan. Sitting up, I took in my surrounding trying to remember how I got to my room last night. My makeup was removed, and I was in a large T-shirt with my hair in a bonnet. The only thing I forgot to do was remove my contacts. Slowly getting up, I left my bedroom and went straight to the bathroom. I raised an eyebrow when I saw a glass and aspirin set right next to my glasses.

There was no way I was THAT alert last night.

Frowning I took the packet and washed it down before starting the shower, I had to wash away last nights shame and hangover. 15 minutes later I stepped out wrapping a towel around my body. I didn't even feel slightly Recovered. Removing my contacts and  placing the frames over my eyes, I need coffee.

"Good Mornin'," a raspy baritone greeted me when I got to the kitchen.

"Morning," I mumbled putting on the pot.

"Lemme get a cup,"

I stopped turning around in horror, registering who it was.

"Erik?!"

"Yeah?" He sounded like 'duh'.

"Get out get out get out!" I squealed, holding my towel to me looking for something to throw.

"What about the coffee?"

Erik sounded confused, like he was suppose to be here or something."

"Negro what are you even doing here?!" I exclaimed. "Grab your shit and get out!"

"Damn girl that's how you show gratitude?" I could tell he wasn't getting upset now. "Yo ass don't even know what happened last night."

I froze. Oh fuckkkkk no.

"Tell me we didn't?"

"Naw girl, ion get down like that." He looked disgusted by the thought and I couldn't help but scoff.

"Oh yeah right, I bet. You're such a stand up guy right?" Sarcasm laced in every word as I held the door open for him.

Soon as he crossed the threshold I slammed the door,

"Really Lona that's how we gettin' down now." The anger in his voice was evident and I couldn't help but wonder if he still got that wrinkle in between his eyes like he use to.

"We taken advantage of drunk bitches now Erik.

He was silently for a minute but I knew he was still there.

"You know me better than that." He spoke from the other end. Did I really though?

There was a slight pain in my chest after he said that.

"I use to." I replied loud enough for him to hear before walking back into my room.

"How you feelin' sunshine?"

"I feel like death." I answered.

I laid my head down on the table in the cafeteria Tatiana and Jay were chillin at. I swear to god when you have a hangover it be the longest day ever.

"You don't look far from it either- ouch," Jay rubbed his arm where I hit him.

"I woke up with a massive headache, feelin' like I got by a truck-" I began my list of complaints.

"Probably happened when dude dropped you." Jay mentioned casually.

"-Erik was in my living room just chillin on my couch." I stopped and blinked, looking directly at Jay. "I'm sorry. What? Who dropped me, Erik?"

"Naw, not Erik. Ole dude in the bathroom."

Wait what?" I frowned looking at Tati. "What's he talking about. I was with you wasn't I? Where were you?"

"Ok boo, breathe aite," she placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "No anxiety attacks today. Let me start from the beginning. Dumbass here don't know how to be gentle."

As she explained, i remember arriving, I remember chilling, playing beer pong, taking a few shots. I remember dancing, curving a couple of frat boys, and having a good time. Everything after that was fuzzy.

"So you was tore up girl, but hiding it well. You just said you wanted to throw up s you'd feel better. I'm the one who walked you to the bathroom, again, you didn't look that tore up but I guess when it all started to come up you got worse? I only left because Ashley came to get me since Donise was bout to fight and I needed to stop her. I swear I was only gon for like 7 minutes. When I reminded Doni she was on her last strike here and told her we had to get you home we both came right back to find Erik literally trying punch his way thru ole' dudes skull."

"What?" My eyes widened.

"Yeah, apparently Erik caught bruh tryna carry you out the house on the low." Jay informed me filling in from where Tati left off. "When he confronted him and told him to hand you over he dropped you to the floor. E was quick to check on you and asked if I had and before I blinked he was after bruh."

"Erik?"

"Yes girl! And he beat the fuck outta him too." Tati hit her hand with her first. "When I came up, Jay left you with me and Jay and Moses had to get him to stop. Once he 'calmed down' enough he stormed over to you and damn near shoved me out the way. He wouldn't let anyone touch you after that."

"I'm sayin', he turned into the bodyguard." Jay laughed clearly amused.

But I sure as hell wasnt.

Remaining quiet, I tired to process everything. I was almost snatched up and taken God knows where, so some weirdo could do God knows what to me, and Erik came in and stopped everything. For me. Protected me. Made sure I got home safely and stayed with me all night. While I still don't remember anything I do know he was wearing what I saw him in last night this morning......and right about now I'm feeling like the biggest asshole.

"Yeah shit was sexy and scary at the same time. He looked crazy."

"For real son! Crazy as fuck," Jay agreed. "I know bruj said y'all had history, but damn. Y'all was together or somethin'?"

Or something, I thought but instead just shook my head.

"No, but it's complicated," was the only explanation I was giving right now. Everyone didn't need to know my dirty laundry, and while I could careless about what people thought about me, I'm sure they've got enough to run it about last night. Meanwhile I needed to find Erik. No matter how I feel about him, he still looked out for me last night. Not only do I owe him a thank you but an apology too.

It was a nice day outside so I figured he might be in the quad since I saw him out there a lot. There or at the gym. Thankfully he at was the former and I didn't have to look too hard as I headed toward him. As soon as he spotted me he snatched his bag up, saluted the guys and began to walk off. I did my best to catch up without making it obvious that I was after him to everybody else around. Catching up slightly I called out his name and he stopped. He shoulders slumped as if he were sighing as he turned around. He looked at me like he couldn't stand me. I took a deep breath feeling nervous and embarrassed.

"Erik can we talk?" I asked, feeling small.

"Is it about the project?" His voice lacked every bit of emotion.

"No." I answered knowing where this was going.

"Then, naw, we can't."

Without another look he turned, headphones on, and left me where I stood.

————————-

So...someone's upset.

And rightfully so. These two have a lot of issues to work out. Too much anger.

I'm just gonna...let that sit there...

Guess what guys!!

I've got the next 30 chapters planned! The good the bad and the ugly. I'm sooo excited!'

Tag list: @kitesatforestp @xsweetdellzx @justgetitoverwith0 @letsshamelessqueen-m @cmkcolove @readingaddict1290

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Soon // S.B.

Request: Ahhhh!!!!! Congratulations on such an AMAZING milestone🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉!!!!!! You deserve all this and sososo much more girly. I’m glad ur being recognized for ur amazing talents 😩💓 Now for the celebration. Could I suggest: Sirius, Hogwarts, Soulmate au, fluff #13, and Misc #5 - @leahstypewriter

Fluff 13: “Compared to you: stars pale, and the moon dulls.”

Misc 5: “Are you quoting a film at me?”

A/N: Thank you so much, lovely! Here’s your request! I hope you like! I love writing soulmate AUs and I had to go searching for one that I hadn’t done before so here we are! As always, I hope you like!

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: I continue to wax lyrical about the history of soulmates, hopeless romantic (reader and writer lol).

Word count: 2.3k

The magic of soulmates was first discovered centuries ago; too long ago for the story to be remembered correctly, but through the years, the general gist remains the same amongst families of witches and wizards.

From birth, a witch and wizard are paired with another witch or wizard. It would take time to find their match; it would take patience of the strongest sort, but they will meet their soulmate should good fortune befall them.

How do they know they have a soulmate?

Anything written on skin; be it a word, a quote, a doodle – it all appears on their soulmates skin. Anything other than their name. Centuries of debate and arguments over the exact reason for this decree fell over the world. In the end, the ministries and the scholars across the world threw their hands up in exasperation, declaring that the decree relating to the naming of soulmates would have to stay and the reasoning being that those making the decree were too awkward and stubborn to think of making life easier for an entire society that had to go into hiding.

For years, witches and wizards, once old enough, are able to communicate with their destined other half. The itch of a sentence being written becomes familiar; almost tolerable. Over time, they get to know their penmanship and their inner most secrets only dared scrawled onto their skin that could be hurriedly washed away if needed.

By the time the young witches and wizards in the United Kingdom have reached the age to start Hogwarts, their soulmate is already a part of them.

Now it was just trying to whittle down the student population of the school to discover who exactly was your appointed other half from birth.

---------

Most soulmate matches at Hogwarts are made in the months April to July – it’s when the weather starts to warm up; becoming bearable enough for the short sleeved blouses and shirts to be dug out from the very bottom of trunks.

Arms are on display for most of the day. It means that matches are made in the corridor, in the classrooms, in the Great Hall. Everywhere across the castle matches are made.

It’s wonderful, it is. But it also makes you more impatient.

You’re in the library when another match is made. Madame Pince tries her hardest to hush the new match into some level of quiet, but it does no good and thankfully, she evicts them from the library and the hush soon falls back over the great room with the same sense of a comforting blanket.

Rolling the sleeve of your cardigan up, you delicately write, “I’ve just seen the third match made of the day and it’s not even noon.”

It doesn’t take long for your soulmate to reply, “I’ve seen two so far. Where was your third?”

“The library.”

“I bet Pince was thrilled.”

You snort at their reply; amused at how well they know the school’s librarian.

“When is it going to be our turn?” You ask somewhat hesitantly.

The reply takes a few minutes, but it comes all the same in the elegant script you’ve come to know, “Soon.”

You rag your sleeve back down in frustration, repressing the building groan. You didn’t know your soulmate’s name, but you had given him the nickname of ‘aloof’. He had gone to great personal care to not reveal too much about himself other than the fact that he was male, he went to Hogwarts and he was your age.

That was something at least, but your countless attempts to find out more had been rebuffed. When you asked why, he simply answered that he wanted to leave as much as he could a surprise. You understood that, but the curiosity got to you.

You sigh heavily returning to the homework laid in front of you, but your mind continues to play the realisation that had happened only moments ago. The happiness on their faces; their utter elation tied in with the adoration they already felt for the other.

It was hard, you realise, to be in love with someone you’ve only spoken to through words and doodles on your arm.

-----

The week doesn’t get any easier; the weather only turns warmer, so the outer robes are ditched completely. You leave the Great Hall the morning Lily Evans realised she had been talking to James Potter since she was a child. You couldn’t watch it and still feel the same empty feeling that had settled within you so long ago.

Your friend June and her boyfriend follow you from the Great Hall. They find you facing one of the many tapestries that depict the meeting of soulmates; they’re found all over the castle and each one feels like a dagger to the stomach.

“It’ll happen soon,” June comforts, placing a soft hand on your shoulder.

“Soon! Soon! That’s all he says,” You explode. Then you repeat in a quieter voice, “That’s all he says. He’s here and he’s close and all he says is soon. What if he doesn’t want to meet me, June?”

June tuts, “Then he’s a damn fool. However, he does want to meet you. He replies doesn’t he?”

You nod your head, but her words do nothing to comfort the growing sense of dread within you.

It was rare, but the soulmate bond could be rejected. There were those in the wizarding world who were born without a soulmate, but there were also those who simply didn’t want one, so they never replied to their partner’s pleading. Instead, they chose to ignore every word, every plea, every beg. For the bond to be accepted, the first reply is important. If words are never painted on your skin, the bond is rejected.

For not the first time that day, you sigh, “I know we have forever to know each other, but is it so wrong of me to want that to start now?”

June squeezes your shoulder, “It’s not wrong at all.”

You continue to stare at the tapestry a little while longer after June and her boyfriend depart; the depiction of soulmates shown in the quill being held by both parties.

Running a hand through your hair, you turn your back on the portrayal of true love, your mind focused on how long it would be until you experience something of the same magnitude.

-----

The day after James and Lily have their realisations, you find Sirius Black’s eyes on you at breakfast. When you meet eyes, he smiles at you, raising his hand in wave. You smile back politely, waving back awkwardly before shaking your head and returning to your breakfast and the latest letter from your brother and his new wife.

They had settled well into their new house; they loved their wedding present, thank you; and yes, you were to have a niece or nephew by the end of the year.

Wonderful.

Shoving the letter from your brother into your bag with more force than what is needed, you feel someone standing next to you. Looking up you meet the grey eyes of Sirius Black; he smiles down at you, “Are you okay?”

You fix him with a puzzled look, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugs, “You were frowning so big I noticed it from down the table. I thought I would come see if you’re okay.”

“Well, I’m fine. Thanks for checking on me though.”

He nods, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. He doesn’t say anything else and you don’t offer to fill the void, so the silence sits between you as heavy as a rock.

You stand from the bench; throwing your bag onto your shoulder, “Thanks again, Sirius. I’ll see you later.”

Sirius shifts out of your way, clearing the path for you, “My pleasure. I’ll see you later.”

You shake your head as you walk away; the encounter being an odd one given that your social circle didn’t tend to include any of the Marauders. But there was something about his final words; something about the way he uttered them that made them sound as if they were a promise to you.

You rush the thought from your mind; refusing to let yourself being occupied by someone who wasn’t your soulmate.

---

Sirius begins to take more notice in you; he starts to strike up small conversations whenever he can as well as numerous attempts to catch your eye at any meal time.

He starts to take up a lot of your time; sitting with you in the library on the rare occasion, but also joining you in class when the other Marauders are occupied with other pursuits.

It’s odd.

Muggle Studies remains one of the few lessons that hasn’t been interrupted with the growing number of soulmate matches in your year. Arguably, this school year could be the one with the most matches – the final year of Hogwarts; that final rush to find the love of your life before being sent out into the whole wizarding world without that safety net of the school to fall back onto.

The longer the professor drones on, the harder you find it to focus your concentration. The professor paces the front of the classroom, explaining their brief overview of what they hope the next few lessons will shape up to be like, but your attention is shot. It flickers between the marauder who has, for some reason, taken an interest in you and your soulmate, who still won’t reveal any more information about themselves or when you’ll be meeting.

A headache is close to blooming behind your eyes at the stress of it all.

Shrugging off your cardigan, you dip your quill into the pot of black ink sat in its holder. With the practiced precision of someone used to drawing on themselves, you begin to doodle.

Stars, planets, and moons appear on your left arm – decorating the inner forearm with an entire galaxy. They’re pretty rudimentary drawings, but it’s enough to keep you occupied from the droll being spewed by the professor who definitely hasn’t noticed they’ve lost the attention of most of the class.

The bell rings; finally signally the start of your only free period of the day. With a grateful sigh, you drop your books into your bag and make your way to the library.

You never make it to the library. On your way there, a hand grabs the back of your robes, pulling you into an empty corridor. With an angry shout, you face your kidnapper, “Sirius!”

He lets out an amused laugh at your affronted expression, “I’m sorry, I just needed to talk to you in private.”

You exhale, adjusting the heavy bag on your shoulder, “Sirius, I have to know. Why are you paying me so much attention? Surely you have a soulmate to think of.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk about.”

“Really?”

Sirius nods. He takes a deep breath before saying, “Compared to you: stars pale, and the moon dulls.”

“Are you quoting a film at me?” You ask; an eyebrow raised.

Sirius shakes his head, repressing a laugh. He rolls up the sleeve of his jumper, revealing his left arm to you where decorating his inner forearm are the very same stars, planets and moons that you had doodled instead of focusing on the classwork.

Instead of saying anything, you roll your own sleeve up, lining your arm up beside Sirius’ where the patterns match perfectly.

It seemed that his attempts at conversation and his watching you from a distance was for a purpose.

Sirius Black is your soulmate.

“Oh…” You whisper.

“I told you we would meet soon,” Sirius whispers; a sight teasing lilt to his voice.

You shake your head, “I kept thinking you didn’t want to meet me; that you didn’t want a soulmate.”

Sirius grips both of your hands, “The complete opposite. I just needed to work up the nerve to find you.”

“When did you know?”

“Not that long ago. When James and Lily got together.”

You nod your head; remembering the day well.

“I overheard you talking to your friend when I was on my way to a lesson and you kept talking about how your soulmate kept promising you soon. And I realised that that was all I was saying to mine. Soon.”

You look down at your joined hands, “I never even had an inkling it was you.”

Sirius chuckles, “I suppose that should be flattering. I must be that good at concealing information, I should be a spy.”

You roll your eyes, “It almost drove me mad is what you mean.”

“Well we have a long time to get to know each other now,” He murmurs; voice soft and filled with promise for the future.

You smile shyly at the long-haired teenager, “We do?”

He nods, “Yeah, we do.”

Tentatively, you take a step closer to the long-haired Marauder. A small smile graces Sirius’ face as he takes in your movement. With a tug of his hands, you fall into him – an arm clasping itself around your waist, pressing you to him.

Sirius’ hand caresses your cheek; you lean into the touch, wondering if this is how every match felt when they found their soulmate or whether this was entirely Sirius’ effect on you. Either way, it was addicting… and he hadn’t even kissed you yet.

Finally though, after what feels like a lifetime of staring into each other’s eyes, Sirius dips his head to kiss you. You meet him halfway; the desire you feel for him controlling your every move. His grip on your waist tightens and your arms wind their way around his neck, holding him to you. This kiss is what breaks the dam; from the lightest pressure of his lips, long buried emotions bubble up to the surface and it’s all you can do to keep yourself in control.

Sirius breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t retreat far. He beams down at you; eyes bright with elation. It’s a smile that you return and more; happy to have found your soulmate, happy to know who he is and that he loves you just as much as you love him.

Happy to know that soon is now.

*******

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @msmimimerton @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @nerdyatheletic

Sirius Black taglist: @approved-by-dentists @fific7 @susceptible-but-siriusexual​

[masterwords]

Hotter Than That

Chapter One: All Through The Night

Summary: The BAU are called in by the DEA to help catch a serial killer who is stepping on their toes at a riverboat casino in New Orleans. Derek and Spencer are undercover on the boat while Aaron provides local surveillance and maybe loses his mind a little in the process. There is a lot going on here and we're just setting the stage.

Warnings: gambling, murder, canon-typical violence/imagery, sexual innuendo

Pairings: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 3.8k

“So you're going to be living with Hotch?” Spencer asked, flipping through pages of a book about New Orleans with his legs stretched out along the length of seats lining the hull of the jet. Some tourist type book full of maps and firsthand accounts by “locals”, legends, history, sports trivia. He doubted the sincerity of much of what these supposed locals said, but figured he could separate the fact from fiction with a little help from Will if necessary. He was cramming as much useless information about the city as he could into his skull, an outsider pretending to be an insider from the outside. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, they'd never selected him for an undercover job before and this was his first attempt at a back story. The DEA had provided him with the bare bones and it was up to him to flesh it out. Derek had, more than once, called him out as he tried to create some mythos around his character, knew exactly which books he was pulling his personality and background from. Don't try so hard, kid, he'd said and Spencer had huffed...easy for him to say, he'd done this before.

“Yeah,” Derek replied with a shrug. “Should be interesting.” In effect, what he meant might have been terrible, exasperating, frustrating if Spencer was reading him correctly. But in truth, the layer of irritation carefully hid the fragile reality of the situation – they more or less already did live together, just without the team's knowledge. The week they'd spent apart, Aaron already in New Orleans helping get things set up, was the longest the two of them had spent in separate homes in as long as he could remember. No, they didn't exactly live together, and they didn't exactly spend their nights alone either. Derek had never considered himself to be a clingy person but he couldn't wait to get his hands on Aaron anyway, a week without any contact at all was trying his resolve.

“Is he mad that the DEA asked him to work behind the scenes? I know it's always you two that get these jobs...does Hotch get jealous?”

“If he is, he hasn't said a word to me,” Derek replied, flipping through blueprints of the casino on his PDA. “Probably wouldn't say anything if he was.”

“What do you think?” Spencer seemed too concerned about it, more than he should have been and Derek stopped what he was doing and looked up at him with more than a little irritation marring his otherwise calm features. He hated letting Spencer get under his skin, showing the other man he was frustrated, but the closer they got to their destination the more on edge he felt. It wasn't Spencer's fault but he certainly wasn't helping.

“I think he'll be fine,” he replied coolly. “I think he's probably more concerned with catching our guy and all of us coming back in one piece than he is with what his role is in the job.”

“But he likes the action...”

“Kid,” Derek pleaded, sighing. “Don't worry about it. If he's pissed, so what? It wasn't our call.”

He didn't want to consider how mad Aaron might be, how slighted he felt at having to remain behind the scenes. Agent Mueller with the DEA had been very specific, Aaron was too high profile, his face was recognizable – he was the face of the BAU just as much as JJ was, it was too risky to put him out there. They'd have to do some real digging to get at Derek and Spencer, but Aaron was easy to find. Understanding and agreeing were separate things so far as Aaron was concerned, and he was more than a little bothered by being relegated to an ear bud and a computer screen but at least he got to be present, he got to be in New Orleans adjacent to the action, ready to jump when needed. It had required some doing, a lot of climbing the chains of command, talking his way through miles of red tape, some favors called in to allow him to do it when, they argued, he should be running the BAU and not holed up in some apartment waiting for something that may not happen. As it were, his time was finite – if there were no moves made to resolve things in a month's time, or if the team got another case, he would have to be extracted and replaced, sent back to Quantico. They would only spare him for a detail like this for so long. Derek knew all of that, and he was glad for what Aaron had wrangled his way into, at least on a selfish level.

“You think the unsub is going to want you or me, huh pretty boy?” Derek asked, changing the subject abruptly. “You're more his speed.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Spencer grumbled with a smirk, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “You'd better have my back.”

“What, so I can be the one floatin' in the lake missing limbs? No thanks. That's all you.”

“You know, Lake Pontchartrain is not actually a lake, it's an estuary connected to rivers, bayous and the Gulf of Mexico. And did you see that there's a toxic blue-green algae bloom spreading? They're warning people not to swim or have their pets in the water near the bloom, the cyanobacteria can cause a number of concerning health problems including diarrhea, pneumonia, numbness, headaches and respiratory paralysis. So if the unsub doesn't get us, maybe the algae will.”

“Great. You always know exactly what to say to calm my nerves...”

The first thing that struck him about his apartment building was that it was an awful lot more like a posh hotel than any building he'd encountered. High enough to have a view of the city skyline, a peek at the lake beyond that, the building was modern and brightly lit. He stepped into the lobby, slick polished shoes clicking against the black and white striped marble floor while a door man hurried behind him with his bags on a cart. They passed a well lit lounge with more bright colors and art deco vibes than he was comfortable with, and as they waited at the elevator bank he studied the map of the building carefully – rooftop pool, state of the art gym, dog park right out on the street. He didn't care for the modern vibes and the bright colors and he knew Aaron was more than likely ready to claw his eyes out over all of the lime green and navy blue and crisp white. Just a little too bright, a little too trendy for either of them, but this wasn't for them.

The apartment was huge, they could essentially live separate lives inside with very little overlap except the one crucial detail – Aaron was a ghost. He had to shower when Derek showered or not at all, cook when Derek cooked or not at all. They had to assume that Derek would be under surveillance by the DEA, by the rival casino, possibly by the unsub the moment he became an official employee of the casino, which meant Aaron couldn't make a sound. No television, no music, no lights unless Derek was home. Aaron's room had been sealed tight, insulated for sound, he could move freely without fear of being seen and speak in a hushed tone inside. There was an escape hatch that would lead to the roof built into the ceiling of his closet. The closet itself was set up as a surveillance lab with video monitors, an encrypted laptop for him to communicate with Garcia only, and his weapons should he need them. It would, by most standards, have been a little scary, but his room was their safe room, it was dark and it was quiet, a serene escape from the mess of modern decorations that made Aaron feel distinctly out of place and itchy. The rest of the apartment was for Derek – plush furniture, huge television, state of the art stereo, all of the furnishings befitting a man of his stature. A closet full of posh suits tailored to fit him so exactly that it was like he was born in them, shoes that would make you think twice before taking a step outside, a watch that cost more than Derek's motorcycle.

Derek Morgan didn't live there. Abraham Bernard did, and Abe had expensive taste. On the other side of town, Spencer had a cozy one bedroom apartment that was less than lavish but still nice, probably above the budget of someone who tended bar at a riverboat casino but they had to live within the unsub's comfort zone and this was what they wound up with. He would just shrug it off, mutter something about how he was a trust fund baby and call it good.

“Hey,” Derek said, entering the apartment after slipping a hefty tip into the hand of the door man, assuring him he would take care of loading his bags into the apartment on his own. He only had three, he could easily have carried them but he assumed Abe would make use of the amenities offered to him and he had to settle into the persona of a man with tastes that far exceeded Derek's own. Aaron looked up from where he was sitting cross-legged on the couch, reading a book while enough daylight still filtered through the windows to do so. Another half hour and he would have been out of luck. He nodded his head in reply, already settled into his role. Slowly he stood, arching his back and padded toward the kitchen where Derek was already rifling through the cupboards and refrigerator just to see what kind of goods he was stocked with. Aaron had already set aside what they would cook for dinner, and as Derek wondered aloud about the choices (These look way too healthy, I want a big fat steak...) Aaron slipped his arms around Derek's waist, leaned against the muscular curve of his back and smiled. It was going to be miserable sharing an apartment with Aaron, he was certain of it. Truly awful, Spencer was right.

“Gonna give me the tour or jump me right here in the kitchen?” Derek asked, voice hardly above a whisper as he twisted to face the giant koala of a man who was already suffering from lonely silence after a week on his own. It wasn't really the silence, or the time alone that actually bothered him, it was being idle – had nothing to do, nowhere he could go, just wandering aimlessly through the apartment snacking on baby carrots and hummus, cold cereal, anything quick and easy and quiet. He hummed, deep in his throat and laced his fingers with Derek's before leading him around the apartment, no words, just scowls as he pointed out bad furniture and terrible pieces of art. Finally, after they'd seen everything else, he pulled Derek into his room and shut the door.

“This room is sound proof...” His smile was almost wicked, feral as he wrapped himself around Derek and let his hands do the real talking. Derek couldn't help but follow suit, at least for a few minutes, before the growling in his stomach refused to settle into the background.

“Let's put a pause on this and make dinner,” he said, breaking free of Aaron's desperate grasp. “We'll meet back in here for dessert.”

That was enough to change Aaron's mind, to ruin everything and Derek knew it. He did it on purpose, he wanted dinner and he wanted it now.

They ate in Aaron's room so they could talk, so Aaron could go over the case files with him and help him work out the details of his job. The two of them sat, side by side, cross-legged on the floor with plates in their laps while they poured over blueprints and photos, police reports and topographic maps of the lake.

“Estuary,” Derek muttered when Aaron called it a lake and Aaron chuckled knowingly. Spencer had driven him to the point of madness on the jet, just unfiltered talk for hours on end.

“Sir?” came Garcia's voice in his earbud and he held his finger up to Derek for a moment, the sound of his knees popping echoing through the quiet room as he stood and moved toward his laptop. Her face appeared on the screen moments later and she forced out a quick smile at the two of them, faces she missed terribly already and was more than a little worried about. She noted their half finished plates of food sourly. “Sir, I hate to bother you two during dinner but...there's been an explosion right outside of the casino. Looks like it was a small privately owned boat, and there's...well, I'll put you through to the live coverage. I wouldn't eat anything else just yet.” She flipped her screen over to the news coverage, horrifying footage of body parts and blood and debris floating among the viscous blue-green algae around the nose of the well lit riverboat. “They want Derek down there right away. The police think there are...parts...from at least three different people in the mess.”

Derek was already up, straightening his tie and sorting through his introduction – something he'd already rehearsed enough times that he could do it in his sleep but somehow go time always gave him last minute jitters. This was where Aaron always came in handy, the theater kid by his side ready with line prompts and blocking when he stumbled. He was going to miss that comfort, the ease with which they settled into these jobs. He would have Aaron in his ear, watching through a pin camera and he had to hope that was enough.

Aaron listened to Derek talk with the police, introduce himself to the Detective as Abraham Bernard the new Head of Security for Big Daddy's Casino, paced the carpet thin as he wandered back and forth listening and watching. Itching to be out there, outside of the apartment, right in the mix. Being on the sidelines tried every ounce of patience and restraint he had – he didn't join the FBI to sit at a desk, to hide in a surveillance lab.

The casino was empty, all patrons and staff evacuated after the explosion. Derek wandered through the door, down the covered walkway that extended over the water and out to the casino entrance. The game tables were empty, cards scattered and chips in stacks neatly waiting for their owners to return. The video machines played a cacophony of music, voices calling out into the void for attention, the simulated sounds of coins hitting metal as if any casinos really used coins anymore. It thrived on nostalgia for a time long since past, Americana and jazz and some longing for a time that was, in Derek's mind, not something to be romanticized. At the end of the stretch of ornate red and green carpet was a mahogany bar stacked with glittering glasses and expensive bottles of whiskey and vodka and gin, he imagined Spencer back there, long limbs and graceful hands impressing the patrons. Things would be easier when he could look out and see Spencer's face.

“Abraham Bernard?” came a deep voice from behind him. Derek stopped and turned around, eyeing the man standing just a little too close for his taste. The man who had all but appeared out of nowhere, silently creeping up behind him. He nodded, extending his hand.

“You must be Mr. Trudeau,” he said, having done his homework. The man shook Derek's hand and directed him to follow without saying a word, just nodded his head and turned on his heel, heading toward an elevator bank. They made their way down to the belly of the boat in silence, walking through darkened back corridors toward where Derek's office was nestled, hidden. Off the beaten path, behind a busy kitchen lined with impenetrable walls and security checks that got more and more intricate as you moved inward. The only thing beyond Derek's office was the safe.

Inside, his office was sparse and dark. One lamp on his desk and a bank of monitors almost as tall as he was that he could use to watch every single movement in the entire place in high resolution. Garcia would be impressed. He figured this was the DEA's involvement.

“So...you any good?” Mr. Trudeau asked, eyeing Derek as he examined the office, scrutinizing every detail.

“Nah, see,” Derek said, turning away from the monitors and shrugging. “Let's not mince words, you don't care if I'm good. What you really wanna know is if I'm gonna keep your ass alive.” Aaron cringed as he listened, watched the way the other man's face contorted with a sort of sadistic amusement. He knew Derek was making the right move but it didn't make it any easier to listen and not be there. He'd done his homework, Lance Trudeau was just as likely to shoot you on the spot as he was to give you your paycheck at the end of the week if the DEA files were to be trusted. They kept him around for the image, gave him a certain amount of immunity in return for his cooperation. Still, he operated under his own dubious moral code.

“Okay, tough guy, are you gonna keep my ass alive?”

“If you're worth keeping alive, you don't need to worry. You worth it?”

Mr. Trudeau let out a sardonic chuckle, shaking his head. “I like you. Not kissin' my ass the minute you walk through the door. You got a week...I don't wind up gator food in the bayou by Friday with my fuckin' right eyeball shoved up my ass or whatever that freak is doing to my guys and you can stay.”

Without another word, he left Derek to settle in, to acquaint himself with his office. There wasn't much to do, it was a simple place void of personality but maybe he'd get a plant or something to liven it up. For the time being, he studied the monitors, watched the jazz band pick up their instruments and begin playing again to the patrons as they filed back in. The casino slowly filled back up after the evacuation was cleared, the police tape no longer keeping them from their spoils. Derek settled in, made sure Aaron could see the screens, knowing that he'd be right there with him all night. The casino was closed to patrons between the hours of 4am and 8am, just enough time for the staff to make changes, refresh the cash stores, do some cleaning. It ran like a well oiled machine, and Derek was, at least for the time being, expected to be there during most of the operating hours. His yawns got bigger, deeper, the kind that cracked your jaw and rattled through you as the night wore on, as they crept closer to quitting time. The hours between 2 and 4 were particularly rough, and he began talking to Aaron outloud - telling him about people he was seeing, giving them silly names and funny back stories and singing their theme songs. It kept his eyes open, kept him from hallucinating.

By the time he made it through the apartment door he knew he had about three hours to sleep before he needed to be up and at it again, and starving as he was, all he could do was rip his suit off and fall heavily into bed with Aaron hot on his tail. He could eat breakfast at the casino, he told himself, he wouldn't waste precious time on food now. For a few minutes at least, it was just the two of them, warm bodies tangled together, Aaron's arm draped over Derek's side, legs twisted beneath the sheets. Aaron buried his nose in Derek's neck and breathed him in deep, glad to have him close, even if it would only last a short time.

Woken by a phone call hardly two hours into his anticipated three hours of sleep, there was another body found – no cooling off for this guy.

“Fuck,” Derek muttered, slipping out of bed and pulling on a new suit, a fresh one with sleep still slogging through his muscles. “I gotta go. They want me to check the footage.”

“Which one is she?” Aaron asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He'd gotten a little too attached to the handful of overnight patrons, he knew it, they both did. It had been a mistake. Derek shrugged, he had no idea what her real name was, there were only a handful of women in the casino that late. He rushed out the door and to the crime scene in what he was certain must have been record time, running on pure adrenaline. He was electric, buzzing, dragged from his sleep for a horrific crime scene. Nothing quite woke you up like the sight of blood. It was gruesome, quick, the man who did it was angry and it was a message meant for him, that much he was sure of. Aaron could hardly look at what was left of her and he recognized her immediately.

“Red Light Special,” Derek muttered, staring at her face, what was left of it anyway. Aaron looked away from the screen for a moment, closed his tired eyes and sighed. He'd never met her and yet he felt a deep sense of loss, he'd watched her for hours, got excited when she won and sad when she'd lost. In his exhaustion it had felt more like watching a silent film than anything in real life, these were just actors on a stage...until they weren't. He'd listened to Derek sing a jumbled mess of TLC songs after seeing her, the outfit she wore inspiring something inside of him. To think, she'd been at the machines, and as he watched the footage just prior to her death, a shadow passed over her, vaguely human shaped but a little too lumpy, like it came from above and the lights played tricks with it, like water twisted and contorted its shape and then she was walking away, almost seeming to follow the shadow thing through the lobby. She was on three more cameras before reaching the front door, each time tailing this shadow but he couldn't seem to find the person the shadow had come from on any of his cameras. It was just after he'd gone home, he watched his own form walk out and moment later the shadow came and she followed. She'd been right behind him and he hadn't even noticed, all he could think about was wrapping himself around Aaron and sleeping. “Fuck.”

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