#none of this is a judgment or a statement on what should be expected from transition or what should be done about it

[sleepsucks]

[archivalofsins]

I realized one thing about me I'm pretty straight-forward. Especially when it comes to things I like and this can come off as complaining incessantly, being too critical, being too anal, talking people down or being uncompromising.

I don't miss the humor and irony in fans of a series about biases and opinions feeling that others are too opinionated or bias when it comes to the material. I mean that's the name of the game basically.

At this point that should be the expectation on entry.

Yet, I do find it interesting that people can see this with others but to an extent not their selves. Not even just with Milgram this mindset can be applied to most social interactions.

Honestly, I get it. Everyone enjoys believing that they're reasonable and that their beliefs are sound. I like thinking I'm the smartest person in the room sometimes as well. I'm not above it. I don't want to be either.

There's a good reason that people take personal offence to their interpretations of media being questioned or dismissed. A good deal of people's beliefs, how they interpret media, and the world around them is rooted in emotionality. Regardless of how objective a person believes they're being.

For example when I talk about any of the characters my interpretation of their narratives will always be intrinsically tied with my blackness and the sort of judgment I've faced in my life due to that.

This shows itself with characters like Mu. A lot of people may not have the same experience of deviating from the normative appearance associated with their ethnicity. Many who relate to Mu or consider themselves her diehard supporters may not understand what it's like to be something but due to how you look be told that you don't count actually.

People that are biracial or double as Mu puts it in her first voice drama would. Along with people who aren't biracial and would not be considered such by any societal standard being treated the same way for being light skin.

Mu was opinionated enough to tell Es-

When they did the equivalent of calling her a halfie or half-caste by the way. Just more of that casual racism undertone Milgram has going on.

Even to the point that the translation provided even mentions the term Es used can come of as discriminatory.

Gee I wonder... I wonder why it might feel discriminatory. I can't really pinpoint a reason. Nope none coming to mind. Funnily enough this adds more depth to Mikoto's second song title being Double along with his statement trial one that made it sound like he believed he was being profiled.

Though he states it was because of his gender and clothing not due to race.

Alright, then. For an innocent person like you to end up here alongside them... Why do you think that is? Uhm... They got the wrong person. Oh? I can't imagine they'd know the details of what we look like. They mistook me for someone else in terms of gender or clothing... something along those lines. So, Milgram made a mistake, is what you're suggesting? Yeah, exactly. It's the only thing I can think of.

Please tell me it’s a mistake, that’s it’s a lie. That I’m right, I’ll forgive you If you tell me now.

Yet, I can understand why someone in his situation would want to give as little information about themselves as possible. Imagine being falsely arrested and then going you can't do this I'm a minori-wait, fuck, that might make them treat me worse actually um I'm not the guy- You got the wrong guy.

My point is Mu told Es how she actually wanted her biracial experience to be referred to. Not in a um actually way she just forcefully went yes I am this used a different word and probably side-eyed Es super hard internally. Like any person would.

Then there's Yuno.

Someone that everyone seems to love but love ignoring way more. Yuno is the definition of opinionated. She has no issue telling someone how things really are,

20/07/08 Yuno: Hey, Mikoto-san. Don’t you get tired being so conscious of others all the time? I mean, you’re free to do what you want though. Mikoto: Eh…… Aha, what are you talking about? I’m not being conscious or anything. It’s normal to make sure to get along with everyone, right? I mean, when you put it like that, aren’t you the same, Yun-chan? You’re always smiling and getting on with everyone too. Yuno: I don’t smile unless I actually want to. But with you, when you’re talking with other people it’s more like you only smile deliberately. So I kept thinking, don’t your cheeks get tired? Ah, is this just what happens when you become a working adult? ……you see people like that sometimes. Mikoto: Haha, you don’t mince your words do you. …….that was never my intention, but now that you mention it, yeah, I guess I do. This might’ve been since I started my job too…… But like, if I was rude to everyone I met, all my efforts would come to nothing, right?

Q.06 Are there any prisoners you don’t get along with?

Kazui: To be honest, probably also Kashiki-chan. It feels like she sees through all the things I don’t want anyone to notice.

20/08/02 Mahiru: Yeah, I’m asking for what you like in the opposite sex! I mean, with a lifestyle like this we have a lot of free time, right? So earlier when I was talking with all the other girls we got onto the topic! It’s not often you get a chance like this to live with a mix of men and women together, so I thought it might be nice to use the chance to talk about stuff like this in preparation for when we leave. Kazui: Ah…… Haha, I understand. I can see that’d be the sort of thing girls your age would be interested in, huh. How peaceful. What I like in the opposite sex… I don’t know if what I say will really be a good reference for you…… Ah, you know, since I’m at this age. I like a girl who can just smile free of worries. Seeing that’d make my old, tired heart feel young again. Yuno: Uh-huh, I see, I see. ……that’s a total lie, right? Kazui: Haha…… Give me a break here. You sure don’t make things easy for people, Kashiki-chan.

She has no problem directly contradicting others in public and questioning them further if their statements sound untrue.

22/09/02 (Yuno’s Birthday) Kazui: You're helping Shidou-kun, aren't you? Well, to put it this way, it's a bit surprising. You seemed uninterested in others. Yuno: Hmm? Why all of a sudden? Yeah, I'm not really interested. But if someone is about to die in front of me, I'd help out. That's just normal, isn't it? Aren't you the same, Kazui-san? You're not interested, fundamentally. Kazui: ...Maybe. I'm not as quick-witted as Kashiki-chan. You know, I've come up in a world that's all about physical strength. I've never even thought about things like that. Yuno: Haha, we both lie, don't we? The difference is the reason for lying. Kazui-san, you lie to protect yourself, because you're important to yourself. For me, no one is particularly important. That includes myself as well.

Or turning the conversation back on the person who approached her. She's assured in her actions and that makes her the type ready to question others if she feels comfortable enough to.

She's opinionated to the point of being able to draw firm boundaries between the people she likes and dislikes. Stating bluntly,

Q.21 Do you have someone you like?

Yuno: Other than the people I specifically dislike, I like everyone.

Voice Drama 2

Really? If you ask me, Kotoko-san is someone I would never want to make my friend, though. She's the type who picks a conclusion from the very beginning and won't actually talk to you.

Hm?

Well, I guess it's arbitrary who one gets along with.

She also has no problem telling people when to shut up as we've all seen,

"Just shut it, will you? You know it all."

Yet her coarse way of speaking tends to be sanded down in favor of infantilizing her. In what I can only believe is an attempt to make her character more palatable at this point. People implying or downright stating that she's too naive to know better.

Even in the face of that she remains forward and earnest about her feelings,

"“Poor naive little girl”? So off the mark, what’s it to you? It’s just absurd."

Yet all of these statements do little to deter this interpretation of her character. Because when faced with opposition to one's preconceived beliefs it's easier to continue to believe the person disagreeing or criticizing the belief simply doesn't know what they're talking about instead of take their input at face value. It's easier to try to find subjective reasons the other party may be disagreeing with one's own well founded and rooted in reason beliefs than to even humor the idea of ourselves being wrong some times.

Even when it's someone discussing their own life.

Sometimes even more so when it's a person discussing their own life. Because then one can easily justify their belief by saying the person was too in the moment to be an objective party or and just doesn't realize why this was bad yet or that they were being used. This is something brought up in both the cases of Yuno and Amane.

Regardless of how belittling or dismissive of the person's perception of reality implying such a thing is. It's basically an attempt to make someone view the life they've lived and experienced under the other parties framing whether they've actually had those experiences or not. It can't be referred to anything other than what it is invalidating. A person has to go through something terrible and traumatic then when they try to tell others about it they get told they're internalizing it wrong, taking it too personally, misreading the situation, or being to positive.

In that sort of situation the only thing a persons words can be taken as is self-serving and hurtful. Which I personally can't fault Yuno for viewing as,

"So nauseating...so creepy..."

It's easy to say believe others when they tell you their experiences and feelings on them until one actively has to do that. Then suddenly another person's lived experience and words on them can be debated actually. Especially if one feels like they interpreted it wrong or is the one being blamed for causing that hurt. If one's concern and kindness is only extended to the people they haven't hurt. If it's only easy to say I'm sorry and that shouldn't have happened when the pain being discussed wasn't caused by us then does it really mean anything?

It's easy to get caught up in the idea of not being wrong. Even easier to lash out and get defensive when someone else tells you that you hurt them. Yet looking past your ego means facing the fact that every can be wrong and hurt others even ourselves. Yes even if we didn't mean to do it, just couldn't get the words right, or were having such a hard time. To me it's realizing yeah my feelings are valid but that doesn't mean the hurt I caused while feeling that way is.

Yes I think x, y, and z about this situation but that doesn't change how you interpreted it. That's just my interpretation.

To think that being wrong is worst than just taking a situation as it is does cause more harm than good.

It took me a pretty long time to get comfortable with the fact that I will be wrong and regardless of how well thought out I find my points to be people will view me as wrong. This is just in general not when it comes to theories or anything. I didn't really get comfortable with being wrong until I was taking a speech class in college. At that point I was faced with a dilemma is it better to wait until you can say something exactly the right way or to say it wrong but still say it.

In a graded situation the latter is much better than the former. I mean you can't really go to a speech class and not speak without failing. So I realized then that sure I hate being wrong but it honestly makes when I am right far more enjoyable. That I'm not as afraid of being wrong as I am of being so scared of being wrong that I ultimately fail to do anything right or anything at all.

There's no perfect explanation that will make people believe what you're saying is true. Even when it's about your own experiences. People will still measure others by their own metrics of success and failure or right and wrong. A lot of people will tell others it's how they said it even if they know full and well they didn't want to hear it to begin with.

In those situation you can contort your words to be as safe or light as possible that won't change their unwillingness to hear you though. A person may even get harsher, colder, show outward signs of depression. Even attempt to remove themselves from the conversation entirely.

None of it will matter to those intent on seeing someone only one way.

[dragonologist-writings]

Title: Venomous Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Rating: M Status: One-Shot Characters: Lilth (F!Tav), Kagha Ships: Lilith/Kagha Additional Notes: Canon Divergence, I Can Make Her Worse Word Count: 4.2k Summary: Lilith investigates Kagha with the intent of finding knowledge to use against her. Yet the more she learns, the more intrigued she becomes, until she settles upon her own method of dealing with the druid.

read below or here on ao3

The first meeting between Lilith and Kagha is contentious, to say the least.

“You think me a monster,” Kagha states grimly as the tiefling child runs crying from the sanctuary, and Lilith can see how one might reach that conclusion. Her new companions certainly agree with the statement, though a sharp look from Lilith silences their mutterings. More than that, the druid is clearly willing enough to play the part; she cuts what can only be described as a sinister figure, with her pet snake coiled around her shoulders and her pointed chin tilted defiantly upward.

But ‘monster’, Lilith thinks, is only ever a reductive term.

The other druids aren’t like their leader. Some clearly disapprove of Kagha’s orders; others revel in them. Yet whatever they think, none speak out against her. They cower or they grovel or they glare with the ineffectual petulance of children, and in the end they all bend to her will. Lilith had entered the druid’s sanctuary expecting to find more of the common cowardice she’d encountered outside the stone doors. Instead, it seems she’s finally managed to find someone with a bit of iron in her spine.

It’s an intriguing discovery…or it would be, if Lilith didn’t have vastly more important matters on her mind.

Still. Lilith allows herself a moment to study Kagha before she finally replies, sharp and steady as a dagger. “No. I think you cruel.”

Kagha’s mouth thins and her eyes narrow as she readies herself for the condemnation she is so clearly expecting. It occurs to Lilith to be offended by such an assumption, but she scarcely bothers; such assumptions of high-footed judgment are common enough, given the clear aasimar features which shine through her golden veins and copper-burnt hair. As if some vague inner radiance should compel her to spare a thought towards the morality of others.

“It is not an insult,” Lilith clarifies. “Cruelty is often required of a leader. There are certainly far worse qualities which one could be accused of.”

“Such as?”

“Weakness, for one.” Lilith’s tone turns dry. “What use, after all, is a snake which refuses to bite?”

Green eyes flash as Kagha ponders this response. Those eyes stay fixed on Lilith, taking the woman’s measure just as surely as Lilith is measuring her.

Just what are you up to here? Lilith wonders idly, and she allows her mind to skim lightly over Kagha’s, not venturing deeply enough to be detected, but enough to outline the shape of her thoughts. There is a hunger to this druid, she quickly realizes, and not an unfamiliar one. She thinks of power; she thinks of protection. Paranoia, too, colors her inner musings, and already she is anticipating some sort of trick from the outsider before her.

But for all her prying, Lilith has nothing to hide. Not from Kagha, at least. She meets the elf’s gaze without hesitation, and eventually Kagha eases just enough to give a sharp nod.

“You speak truth. I admit, I am surprised. But you understand what it means, to protect what is important no matter the cost.”

“I suppose I do.”

“Then you understand why I cannot allow any outsiders to remain.” Kagha's words are razor-edged, and the snake at her neck hisses in emphasis. “I have no more aid to offer you than I do to the encroaching devils. Leave before the rite is complete, or be expelled by force. There is nothing more to say on the matter.”

Lilith’s spirit rebels against the blunt dismissal, but she has little to barter with here. She leaves the sanctuary with nothing to show for her efforts, save for menial errands and half-hearted leads. A simmering heat builds in her blood as the irritation seeps in, and the air around her begins to crackle, but Lilith bites back her temper and forces herself to focus on the problem at hand.

The problem: these druid healers are useless, the tieflings are not worth her time, and something dangerous and alien is living inside her head. Half of her companions are likely to stab her in the back at a moment’s convenience. The others are even worse, bleeding-heart do-gooders who want to waste time playing at heroics. Her only plan is a thin one, and she is reluctant to pin her hopes of survival upon this mysterious Halsin.

There is not much to be done about any of it. Halsin is the only one who might know anything about these strange tadpoles, and he is the only one who might sway the grove into providing aid to outsiders.

Yet Lilith’s mind continues to return to Kagha, that sharp, vicious snake of a woman who so obviously has secrets of her own.

An idea slowly forms, and with steel in her step Lilith strides across the grove’s clearing to the small gathering of tieflings. Simpering parents attempt to grab at her, but she pushes past them and places herself in front of the child she’d plucked from the viper’s jaws.

The little girl’s eyes widen as she stammers out some sort of thanks, but Lilith has no patience for that. She did not intervene for the sake of receiving thanks; the judgment of this infant was merely beneath her, and she’d been impatient to put an end to the matter and prevent further time-wasting chaos. Now, she wonders if she might be able to reap some benefit from her actions.

“Tell me,” she says to the girl, “when you were sneaking around the sanctuary in search of this idol, did you manage to find anything else?”

-

Their second meeting is far more revealing.

Lilith admits- Arabella is a clever little girl. The notes she’d found in the sanctuary’s hidden rooms pointed Lilith in quite the unexpected direction. One trek through a cursed swamp later, Lilith returns to the grove with just the kind of knowledge she’d been hoping for.

She requests a lone audience with Kagha, and fully expects to be denied. But perhaps the druid senses that something has changed, for she acquiesces with only token reluctance. Lilith’s mystified companions are left behind as Kagha leads Lilith to her study, her fingers grazing a rune to seal the stone door behind them.

With guarded but undeniably curious eyes, Kagha finally gives Lilith her full attention. “Speak, then.”

The contempt behind the command causes Lilith to bristle. “If you remember, I did request that we speak alone.”

“We are.”

“Are we?” Lilith casts a pointed look to the corners of the cavernous room, where rats scurry unimpeded through the cracks in the wall. It’s impressive, really, that she could not sense the magic before. Now that she knows what to look for, however, Lilith can pinpoint the faint imprint of magic which typically clings to shapeshifters. Returning her gaze to Kagha, Lilith channels her powers to whisper her message directly to the druid’s head.

I assume Olodan is listening in?

The effect of the name is instantaneous; Kagha flinches and glances to the rats, all but confirming the truth of Lilith’s suspicions.

What follows is a long moment in which Lilith is genuinely uncertain as to what course of action Kagha will take. The push and pull of different choices flicker rapidly through their shared thoughts- will Kagha turn on Lilith, raise the alarm for her new superior, reveal that their carefully hidden secrets have been uncovered?

She does not. Instead, she turns back to Lilith with venom in her eyes, and through clenched teeth hisses, “Stay out of my head, sorceress.”

Lilith sighs. Fine.

She lifts a hand and weaves a Silence spell through the air, bending it around herself and Kagha so that they may speak in partial privacy. If the rats demand later to know what they discuss- well, that is Kagha’s problem. Lilith is content enough to temporarily stave off their interference.

“If I may inquire, what exactly is a shadow druid?” she asks by way of bypassing further indignant delays. “I cannot say I have encountered many before.”

Her question is met with sullen silence as Kagha peers around her, feeling out the silent barrier with her own magic. A reluctant hint of admiration breaks through her hostile exterior, but only for a moment; when she turns back to Lilith, her mask of superiority is firmly back in place.

“It is hardly a wonder you know so little of us. Druids do not often venture into the Hells.” Kagha’s biting words do no injury to Lilith; rather, she is somewhat impressed.

“You recognize the source of my power, then.”

“Do not look so pleased, warlock. You’re not half as clever as you believe. Holy magic may run through your veins, but you stink of devils all the same.”

Lilith gives her a razor-thin smile. “Do not be so close-minded. Even aasimar know how to make a deal. And, obviously, so do you.”

“I do not act for my own sake,” Kagha insists. Lilith raises a skeptical eyebrow, and the druid sneers. “Believe me or not, it matters little. But my desires extend beyond a simplistic ambition for control. This is about protecting my home.”

The force of Kagha’s emotion catches Lilith by surprise as the druid takes a step forward, her arm outstretched to gesture toward the doorway and the sanctuary beyond. “You have seen the destruction outside our grove for yourself. Armies march, illithid feast with abandon, the roads are littered with the goblins’ victims. Were it not for the shelter of the mountains, the shadow curse of Moonrise would have swallowed us up already. Isolation is our only hope, and I will do whatever it takes to make this a place of safety for my people. They come first, before anything and anyone else.”

“Halsin never understood that in the ways I did. But Olodan and the shadow druids- they know that survival requires an unshakeable resolve and a willingness to make sacrifices.” Kagha’s gaze hardens, and her voice turns bitter. “I know the others do not all agree with me. I see their looks of resentment. But there are just as many who do understand. I have their gratitude, and their loyalty. If you mean to expose us, know that I will not be fighting alone.”

Kagha’s passionate words turn themselves over in Lilith’s head as she regards the druid before her. She can no longer rifle through the woman’s thoughts, not while she is maintaining her carefully crafted Silence barrier. Yet even without this advantage, it is clear that Kahga believes fully in every word she says.

Good. Now that there are no lies between them, perhaps they can get somewhere.

“I understand,” Lilith says simply, and when Kagha scoffs, Lilith inclines her head in a gesture of allowance. “Very well- I do not understand the priorities of your druids, nor your drive to protect these people who would condemn you for fighting on their behalf. What I do understand is sacrifice…though I tend to refer to it as payment.”

“You presume to compare my actions to your dealings with devils?” Kagha challenges, and Lilith grants her another brittle smile, pleased to see that she has caught on so quickly.

“I do. So let’s make a deal, you and I.”

Kagha’s acidic eyes narrow carefully. “Speak plainly.”

“Very well. I know Halsin was studying illithid tadpoles. What I want is his research. All of it. Every note, every attempted cure-”

The vessels, an insistent voice purrs in her head, and Lilith grits her teeth at the interruption but carries on anyway. “Every specimen. Additionally, I want to know everything he knew about Moonrise Tower and the curse that surrounds it.”

It’s a gamble, this negotiation. But all negotiations are, in some way or other, and Lilith is well-practiced at turning tables in her favor. Her tadpole fuels her in this effort, coating her words with persuasive honey, sharpening her insight as she watches Kagha’s reaction.

With every specimen Lilith has consumed, this power has only grown. And as the days pass and Lilith remains un-transformed, her thirst to know why intensifies. She cannot even say with certainty that she is still searching for a cure; what she wants is to unravel the mystery of what has happened to her, and to hunt for additional morsels of power. This deal, if done correctly, can serve both these needs.

But her reasons matter little to Kagha. To Kagha, only one question is important. “You want all this, in exchange for…what?”

A fair question, and one which Lilith has a more than fair answer. “I ensure Halsin never returns.”

For the first time, Kagha appears truly struck by her words. Her shoulders hunch, her brow furrows; her voice is strained as she asks, “He still lives, then?”

“He does,” Lilith says carefully. Whatever reaction she had expected, this was not it. Perhaps even now, and even through all their differences, Kagha does still care for her absent mentor. Perhaps Lilith has miscalculated.

Unlikely as that is, there is only one way to find out for certain. “People are searching for him, you know- your healer, for one, but she is not alone. With that many eyes, he won’t be difficult to find. Maybe the goblins will kill him themselves before that happens…but maybe they won’t. How long will your reign here last, if he returns? What do you think he will make of what has happened in his absence? Perhaps your shadow friends could help you fend him off, and perhaps some of the grove would even stay loyal to you when the matter is done…but that is no sure thing, is it?”

Kagha shivers at the question, and for a long moment goes silent. When at last she answers Lilith, her voice is solid as stone. “Halsin was weak. He would never be able to do what must be done- what I have done. So yes, you are correct. Were he to return, he would undo everything I have worked towards. He would leave us vulnerable, open to attack, and for what? To assuage his own conscience. To chase after his own peace of mind.”

She chuckles, dark and angry, and her fingers curl bone-white around the wooden staff in her hands. Lilith can practically read the battle playing out behind her eyes as Kagha argues with herself, until finally the druid takes a deep, shaking breath.

All negotiations are gambles, and this is a particularly one difficult one to make. It is, incidentally, impossible for Lilith to deny the rise of respect she has for this woman when she senses her reach a decision.

“He is a good man, Halsin,” Kagha says quietly, speaking to herself more than to Lilith. “But good men are only useful in times of safety. When danger is at the door, a strong leader is needed to fend it off. I will not see our home fall. Not to goblins, not to mindflayers- and not to the weakness of our own leaders.”

Lilith steps forward, hand outstretched. “Do we have a deal, then?”

Kagha’s fingers are lean and calloused, and they squeeze tightly into Lilith’s wrist as the druid takes her offered hand. Lilith is once again reminded of the snake- its grip and its poison, its willingness to strike should the opportunity present itself.

As she looks Kagha in the eyes, she does not bother to hide her admiration. There is, after all, very little a warlock values more than opportunity.

-

The third time Lilith returns to the grove, a celebration is held in her honor.

It is not all accolades and cheering, however. While the tieflings give Lilith thanks, the druids begin arrangements for a funeral to honor their fallen leader- the elf Halsin, who died so tragically at the hands of the goblins. Nettie and the others weep when Lilith brings the news, but they thank her all the same; better that they know the truth, they say, rather than continue to wonder over his fate. Now they can rest easy, knowing that their leader was avenged and the goblin fortress burnt to the ground.

And they can see the wisdom, they finally admit, to what Kagha was saying all along. Had Halsin listened to her from the start, he would never have died so needlessly.

Kagha approaches Lilith at the end of this meeting, with a countenance of grim satisfaction. “The tieflings have agreed that come morning, they shall finally leave us,” she says. “Once the last outsider is gone, the rite of Thorns will be performed. Until then, anything you desire in the archdruid’s chambers is open to you.”

“They are your chambers now, are they not?” Lilith asks, and Kagha’s mouth presses into a thin line.

“For now,” she concedes, “but not for long. I suspect they will be Olodan’s once the Rite is complete and our alliance is revealed.”

Lilith gives her a curious look. Loyalty, she knows, can be a strange thing. Amongst devils and demons, it is a simple matter of serving whichever master grants the most power- and ultimately, in all things, serving oneself. She does not see this type of logic in what Kagha is saying now.

“You needn’t turn the grove over to Olodan,” she points out, and Kagha gives her a sharp look. It’s almost enough to make Lilith smile as she continues on, unperturbed. “You have the idol of Sylvanus. You have the Rite of Thorns. You even have the full support of your people, now that you are their only authority. You hold the power here- were I you, I would not hand it over so easily.”

“I did not do this for the sake of becoming archdruid,” Kagha snaps.

“No,” Lilith agrees. “You did not. Yet the option is open to you. Ambition is no sin, Kagha.”

“I fear your time with devils has dulled your sense of what is and is not sin, Lilith,” Kagha replies, her voice dry and brittle as kindling. But beneath that offense, perhaps, lies that spark of something hungry which Lilith recognized upon their first encounter.

Kagha turns away before Lilith has a chance to inquire further, gracing the warlock with one last nod and a swift, curt statement. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

And work she does. Lilith leaves her companions to the tiefling’s celebration; they would only slow her down, and she herself has no desire for song or festivities. Her interests lie in the hoard of notes and books, in the well-documented observations made of infected bodies and cursed shadows and everything in between. Some of it goes back decades, centuries, and it is exactly what Lilith had hoped for. There are still no easy answers or quick solutions, but over the course of the night she manages to assemble quite the collection of knowledge.

Then, of course, there are the tadpoles, extracted carefully from the hosts collected in the druid’s infirmary. Lilith stows them carefully in small glass bottles and tucks them in the pockets of her bag, savoring the power she senses within.

Consume them, the voice in her head urges, but she restrains herself. These creatures hold power which Lilith has no qualms over using, but they pose a questionable danger as well. Lilith is no stranger to risk, but she is not so eager to endanger her own mind.

So Lilith removes only one of the creatures from its containment, letting it weave between her fingers before encasing it with both hands. It takes but a thought for the power to leach past her skin, through her blood, into her mind. The creature’s power surges through her, and she feels her brain alight with new ability.

“An interesting practice.”

Lilith turns to see Kagha standing in the doorway of the study, her piercing eyes narrowed in judgment. “I should not be surprised to see such unnatural things from a warlock,” she continues. “Anything for power. Isn’t that right?”

Her tone might be considered accusatory, were she not correct. Lilith gives the woman a nod of acknowledgment, letting her now-empty hand fall to her side. “Yes. I admit, I’m surprised to hear a shadow druid object to such things. Your own magic is hardly a thing of pure divinity.”

“I did not say I objected,” Kagha says, lifting her chin, and Lilith is more certain than ever that this air of disapproval is merely the druid’s default state. Indeed, her prickliness fades somewhat as her gaze sweeps over the materials Lilith has gathered. “Are you satisfied, then?”

“Rarely,” Lilith says, sweeping her hair over one shoulder. “But I found what I came here for. It was a pleasure dealing with you Kagha- and I do mean that.”

She does. Kagha has proven herself both poisonous and vindictive, yet for all her thorns she is easily the most appealing company Lilith has found thus far. There’s something oddly reassuring in her sharp-tongued barbs, and even her pointed glares have gradually eased from hostility to something almost appreciative in their measurement.

That look, somewhere between contemplative and admiring, surfaces now as Kagha takes a step closer. Her gaze traces over Lilith’s features- measuring, judging, deciding- and a resolution settles within her eyes. It’s reminiscent of the look which fell upon her when she first threw her lot in with Lilith, and it sparks a curious heat in Lilith’s chest.

This is, Lilith realizes, is the first time the two of them have been properly alone.

“A shame,” Lilith continues in a softer voice, “that I must leave so soon. Alas, that was the deal.”

“The deal was that you leave before the Rite is completed,” Kagha says. “We have some time left yet.” And it is she who closes the distance between them, catching Lilith’s lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

Lilith returns the kiss without hesitation, opening her lips to Kagha and spurring on the druid’s passion. Kagha guides her backwards until her legs hit the desk- and then further still, pushing herself forward until Lilith reaches behind her and sweeps her pile of books to the floor. Not once does she break the motion of her mouth against Kagha’s as she seats herself on the wooden surface, as her legs part to wrap around Kagha’s waist. She simply pulls the druid’s body ever closer, and Kagha complies eagerly.

“I did say my chambers would be open to you until morning,” she whispers into Lilith’s ear, her voice low and breathy.

An anticipatory shiver runs through Lilith, but even now she cannot resist. “Your chambers? So you’ve given thought to my words, then?”

“I have. And I think I like your ideas, warlock.” Her hands play at Lilith’s robes, undoing buckles until she can push the skirts up around Lilith’s waist, her nimble fingers tracing patterns up her thighs. “And I’ve come up with a few ideas of my own.”

Lilith releases a soft moan and lowers her lips to Kagha’s neck, trailing kisses along her collarbone, down her shoulder, her hands rising to loosen the straps of the leather armor which threatens to impede her progress.

The promise of Kagha’s bedchambers is soon forgotten as the druid presses Lilith further onto the desk. Kagha’s chest is now freed completely of her armor, and Lilith presses ever more kisses to her bared flesh, her body shuddering as skilled fingers slide between her legs.

No, they will certainly not be making it back to the bedchambers tonight. The rough wooden surface against Lilith’s back is hardly what she could call comfortable- but then, comfort is not quite what either of them are looking for.

-

Kagha rises with the dawn, and Lilith not long after. Few words are exchanged as they prepare themselves quickly for the day; they both know the Rite is coming, and that Lilith will need to gather her companions before the final sealing of the grove.

Lilith brushes and smooths her hair as best she can, and she fetches her robes from where they lay discarded on the floor. She can feel Kagha’s gaze upon her as she moves, and she meets the druid’s eyes without shame.

“Thank you,” she says evenly, “for your aid and for your time. It genuinely was a pleasure doing business with you.”

Kagha scoffs and shakes her head. “Warlocks are insufferable,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “But I suppose I should thank you in return.”

She walks past Lilith to rummage through one of the shelves at the far end of the room. After a few moments of searching, she returns with a small wooden item which she places in Lilith’s palm, and Lilith must admit to slight confusion as she finds herself in possession of a carved token.

“This will allow you passage through the grove’s sealed borders,” Kagha says simply. “In case you have need of my knowledge again. Or…in case I need another deal.”

Her fingers trace lightly along the back of Lilith’s hand- and then she is gone, departing the study without another word. Lilith watches her go, the token heavy in her hand before she finally slips it into her pocket.

It is unlikely that she will ever need to use it; her business with the grove is finished and done. Yet in spite of herself, she does hope her path crosses with Kagha’s once more.

[theangryjikooker]

If all of this turns out to be true, do you think they should just be open about dating?

Maybe it's because I'm from the west and I'm so used to celebs dating, but I just find it so odd that korean celebs wait until they're going to get married or have a baby to announce anything. I understand wanting to have a private life, but if you're both equally famous, I just don't fully see why it would be an issue with confirming and moving on. If they confirm, they can freely roam with their partner which seems much less stressful to me. When hyuna announced she was dating Dwan everyone pretty much accepted and moved on. same with jisoo and her actor bf. You basically give less power to the jobless stalkers

One thing that started to bother me today is the idea that JK has been deliberately queerbaiting to sell this fantasy to fans. Even thinking that makes me upset since I'm queer. Or maybe shippers just twist everything to fit their narratives because on today's SH based on the translations I felt like he debunked all ships. But then I get on here and twt and I see so many people taking him saying he's busy on jimins bday or the drawing thing to be romantic lol.. maybe I just need to get out of shipping spaces altogether

I'm pretty sure im going through the stages of grief step by step LOL so sorry for long ask ig I'm on the 'bargaining' stage and just need to talk 😭

I do, or at least I think it would set a precedent for the members to feel comfortable enough to date openly and put certain fans in their place when they continue to pass judgment for the boys acting like every other human being. Technically, I’d say Taehyung has “paved the way” for them all in how to approach it. Considering how Taehyung and Jennie are prominent members of their respective groups, it’s actually impressive that they were able to continue in their successes, even going so far as to take the very public Paris stroll. There’s always going to be some initial fallout, but as long as they insist on their boundaries and navigate that landscape with a good head on their shoulders, people will have no choice but to deal with it. I think the members are aware that, at some point, it’s no love lost if “ARMYs” abandon them because they decided to live their lives.

I didn’t follow the Hyuna-Dawn relationship that closely, so I’m not too confident to comment on it. I think there were a few things that worked in their favor that doesn’t translate exactly the same for the BTS members.

This idea of intentional queerbaiting by the members has always grated my nerves. I’ve only ever seen antis talk about this, and irate shippers when a member isn’t acting like they should according to their narratives. I think the BTS members are good men, and I don’t believe any of them would do that.

I didn’t listen to SH in its entirety, but if he did debunk ships, that’s not abnormal. It would be absolutely valid if none of the members wanted to be shipped with one another and are now putting their foot down. Good for him if that’s the case, I don’t know what he said.

The bit with Jimin’s birthday are people who are either naturally speculating or shippers who have come to expect Jikook doing something for each other on their birthdays. Which is fair as I think they’ve been consistent and have thus set expectations for people who keep tabs on it, but the whale cloud and it being romantic—shipper nonsense, in my opinion. Any romantic undertones during that get-together remains to be seen and is only projected by shippers.

Shipping spaces have devolved over the years. Tango with it for fun, but I do recommend keeping one’s distance—unless that’s your jam, then have at it.

The only person I trust is myself and my judgment, as long as I know when to take accountability or retract statements when it calls for it. Everything else that I consume in these spaces are more like helpful guides that influence how I choose to interpret things.

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for September 19

Morning

“Let your loins be girded about.”

Luke 12:35-48

Luke 12:35

Eastern garments require to be girded up when a man begins to work. The Saviour tells us to be prepared for service towards God, and for testimony before men. We are to get ready, and to keep ready.

Luke 12:36

We are to live in expectation, waiting to hear the knock of our Master at the door. Are we so living? Do we look for the coming of the Lord?

Luke 12:37

This is not according to the manner of men, for what master will wait upon his servants? Yet the condescending love of Jesus promises to us this high honour. Who would not cheerfully obey such a Lord?

Luke 12:38-40

Watch and wait: at any moment Jesus may be here. What manner of persons ought we to be, who live in such an expectation?

Luke 12:41

It had a bearing upon all, but the Lord, in answer to Peters question, proceeded to show its special bearing upon ministers of the gospel.

Luke 12:42

It was anciently the steward’s duty to allot to every member of the family his regular portion, and so are the stewards of Christ to instruct all classes of persons, giving to each the teaching most appropriate.

Luke 12:43-46

The most terrible punishments will be richly deserved by those who, being placed in the responsible position of caring for the souls of others, shall dare to neglect them, and shall even use their power and influence to tyrannise over them and oppress them. May the Lord send us faithful ministers, and keep them faithful.

Luke 12:47 , Luke 12:48

God’s judgments will be exactly according to right, and none shall have cause to complain. The highest degree of punishment will fall to the lot of some of us if we neglect the gospel, for we have much light and knowledge; and therefore, our sin will be the greater.

Ye servants of the Lord,

Each in his office wait,

Observant of his heavenly word,

And watchful at his gate.

Let all your lamps be bright,

And trim the golden flame:

Gird up your loins as in his sight,

For awful is his name.

Watch! ‘tis your Lord’s command;

And while we speak he’s near;

Mark the first signal of his hand,

And ready all appear.

Evening

“Thou art loosed from thine infirmity.”

Luke 13:11-17

We are now about to consider one of our Lord’s miracles, wrought upon a woman who had long been in sorrow. May it comfort any who are spiritually in a like condition.

Luke 13:11

Poor creature, to be so long deformed, so long made to suffer at every step she took! Her condition was very grievous, but she did not stay away from public worship. If she had done so, she would not have been found by Jesus in the synagogue.

Luke 13:12 , Luke 13:13

When souls which have long been bowed down are graciously made upright, they never fail to give praise to God.

Isaiah 49:13-16

There are many persons to be found who are bowed down with despondency of spirit, and cannot lift up themselves to enjoy a comfortable hope. Let such take heart from the case before us; and let them also remember that the Lord does not now forget the sorrowful and broken-hearted. We see this expressly stated in Isaiah 49:13-16.

Hebrews 2:14-18

That he might be able to sympathise with downcast souls, and bear with their infirmities, Jesus himself became a man like ourselves. Troubled hearts should think of this, and be of good cheer. The Holy Spirit speaks of him most sweetly in Hebrews 2:14-18.

Darkness and doubts had veil’d my mind,

And drown’d my eyes in tears,

Till, like the sun, my Saviour’s face,

Dispell’d my gloomy fears.

Oh, what immortal joys I felt,

And raptures all divine,

When Jesus told me I was his,

And my beloved mine!

In vain the tempter frights my soul,

And breaks my peace in vain;

One glimpse, dear Saviour, of thy face

Revives my joys again.

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[gatheringbones]

["CHOOSING STANDARDS

To refuse to play judge does not mean a group cannot have standards or expectations. The Judge, by casting everything in terms of good/bad, valuable/valueless, actually prevents us from making sound judgments. The Judge's own real interest is not in improving quality but in establishing superiority. Possessed by the Judge, we act in subtle ways to keep others inferior. The presence of the Judge's standards is a sure guarantee that people will not do their best work, solve problems effectively, or allow their creativity to flourish.

When we accept that each person has an inherent value, then we can choose what standards or expectations make sense for a group's purpose. A family may expect children to wash dishes or clean their bedrooms. A support group for incest survivors may expect members to respect confidentiality and to attend meetings every week. A computer software marketing collective can expect members to carry out projects responsibly.

We are so accustomed to systems of punishment that we find it hard to imagine how to impose standards or protect our concerns without sanctions, threats, or moralizing. The Judge's language is the first that leaps to our tongues when we need to offer criticisms or complaints. But when we speak with the Judge's voice, we actually complicate situations and subvert our chances of resolving difficulties. For whatever the Judge seems to be saying, the underlying message is always, "I am superior to you."

Consider the difference in the following two statements: "The bathroom floor is dirty again! You're just not a responsible person— I don't see how you can consider yourself an adult when you ignore filth."

"The bathroom floor is driving me crazy— it just makes me sick when I walk in there. I hate living like this!"

The first speaker uses the condition of the bathroom floor to justify the underlying message, "My value is more than yours." The second speaker, who might be equally as loud, is vulnerable rather than self-righteous, and conveys a different message: "This is a problem that is causing me great distress."

We rightfully feel resentful when told, however subtly, that we are of lesser value than someone else. We tend to fall into our usual patterns, either complying resentfully (and often reverting quickly back to our usual sloppy habits), rebelling, manipulating, or withdrawing. None of these tactics will get the floor cleaned consistently: they will, however, consistently confirm the first speaker's sense of superiority. And so the game goes on.

In contrast, we mostly do not enjoy causing other people distress— and we feel good when we can solve problems. The second speaker admits her or his inability to control us, and by so doing empowers us to empathize and commit ourselves to solving the problem. Our incentive to clean the floor is increased when we can do so without feeling that we are knuckling under to someone else's control.

I am not suggesting that we merely change how we phrase complaints. What needs to change is not just our words but our emotional need to prove ourselves superior. But of course, we can only let go of the need to be above others in context in which all of us as equals have inherent value. As we strive to create that context, our usual postures and moralizing will begin to sound incongruent, out of place. We will begin to hear the Judge's voice, instead of not even noticing its presence because its tones are so familiar.

In families, adults do have power over children: we control their resources; we are bigger, usually stronger, and if not smarter generally more knowledgeable about the world. We also need to impose responsible limitations that children may not understand. We know why a two-year-old should not experiment with cocaine. They may not, and letting them learn by experience may leave us with only a corpse to value.

Authoritarian patterns have been our models for child rearing. When child rearing is conducted on authoritarian principles, the Judge takes possession early, often before we learn speech. Because judgement is imposed by those who presumably love us, and whom we must love if we are to survive, it is much harder to resist than direct, visible oppression from outside. If someone hates us and judges us as being of lesser value, we can hate back and reject their value system. If someone is kind to us, gives to us so that we become dependent, and judges us negatively, we are very vulnerable to that judgement.

Psychoanalysist Alice Miller, in For Your Own Good, examines the authoritarian underpinnings of child rearing and their destructive effects. "Since training in many cultures begins in infancy… this early conditioning makes it virtually impossible for the child to discover what is actually happening to him."

Miller quotes a succession of "experts" on the best means for training children to respond to the voice of the Judge: "It is quite natural for the child's soul to want to have a will of its own, and things that are not done correctly in the first two years will be difficult to rectify thereafter. One of the advantages of these early years is that then force and compulsion can be used… If their wills can be broken at this time, they will never remember afterwards that they had a will, and for this very reason the severity that is required will not have any serious consequences."

The horror of this "poisonous pedagogy" she describes is that those who administer it are not exceptionally sadistic, abnormal parents. On the contrary, it has been considered not only the norm but the ideal, the standard of aspiration, in child rearing. And the pattern of domination we first experience as children are repeated, confirmed, and mirrored by the shape of every institution of society we find around us.

A different principle upon which we might base both interactions with children and adults is the realization that actions have consequences. What we do or fail to do affects how others feel and how they respond to us. If we don't wash our dishes, the people around us become angry and distressed— and when the people around us are unhappy they make our lives unpleasant.

We do children a favor by teaching them this lesson early. For part of our personal power is our power to affect others. Unless we realize that what we do has an impact on others, we cannot truly be free, for freedom is never the complete absence of restriction but rather the ability to make choices that will best serve our interests. Any choice is also a limitation, for it eliminates other possibilities.

We can empower children— and adults— by giving them choices whenever possible and by being clear and direct about how their actions affect us and what the real limitations of choice are. There is no moral or safety reason why seven-year-old Jimmy should not constantly quack like a duck, but if he is, in reality, driving me crazy, I can clearly offer him a choice: "Make your duck sounds somewhere else or stay with me and make conversations." If all feelings are valid, so is my irritation. I am not suppressing his creativity by asking him to be quiet; I am teaching him that he is a powerful person, that the way he uses and directs his energy affects others, that some ways of using energy will draw people to him and others will drive them away, and that he can make choices about what he wants.

We also empower children by treating them with the respect and consideration we want in return. We don't call them names, or make fun of them, or denigrate their abilities. We don't tell them they are awkward, ugly, clumsy, stupid, or otherwise attack their self-esteem. Nor do we harp on our own superiority to them. Children notice that we are larger, more skilled, sophisticated, and generally more solvent than they are, and these facts are already a source of great frustration to them. We don't have to rub it in.

When the Judge is internalized, we may hear all feedback about our impact on others as attacks on our worth. "We are so used to perceiving everything we hear in terms of moralizing rules and regulations that sometimes even pure information may be interpreted as a reproach and thus cannot be absorbed at all."]

starhawk, from truth or dare: encounters with power, authority, and mystery, 1987

[theculturedmarxist]

So, saw this yesterday:

“Biden said he’s seeking to shield Americans from higher energy costs by exempting energy payments from sanctions…The sanctions didn’t appear targeted at Russian energy, aluminum, and wheat industries…”

… Former Bush official McNally called it: “I expect stringent sanctions, but nothing on energy — bankers, ships, and oligarchs. They don’t want to add upward pressure on oil prices — they are absolutely terrified.”

Putin will win the war. He will leave Ukraine, except in the newly recognized republics. Whatever regime is in control of the rest of the Ukraine will now understand the consequences of even thinking of joining NATO. The West egged Ukraine on and then did nothing while Russia invaded it.

The sanctions which are about to hit Russia are serious, but if they don’t include wheat, aluminum, energy, or maritime shipping or hit oligarchs by kicking them out of London and other European capitals, they aren’t really going to matter.

Putin has made fools of the Western elite class again. Yes, the intelligence was right, but it didn’t matter. He’s figured exactly out what the West will and won’t do. He calculated right, they calculated wrong.

Because people are all worked up, I will state, again: This is not a moral judgment. Putin, like every recent US President, is a war criminal who should be hung. But he’s competent, and Western elites are fools.

Putin calculated correctly because, indeed, if Russian oil is cut off from the West, the economic consequences will be huge. He can withstand the loss of customers better than the customers can withstand the loss of oil and natural gas.

I don’t really get it. (I mean, I do; they’re idiots.) If they weren’t going to actually hit Russia with real sanctions & they believed Russia would invade, they should have actually negotiated to avoid the invasion. What here is better than saying “Okay, Ukraine won’t join NATO”?

However, I think there’s still a slight chance Putin has miscalculated. Congress may pass a ban — even if Biden doesn’t want it. But, it looks to me like Putin is fine with his BATNA; he thinks an oil cutoff will hurt the West more than it hurts Russia.

(A BATNA is your best alternative to a negotiated agreement. Putin wanted things from the West, they wouldn’t give those things to him, and his BATNA was “Okay, I’ll invade, you’ll hit me with sanctions, and I can live with those sanctions.)

At the end of the day, neglecting to negotiate over whether Ukraine will ever join NATO or is a neutral country will result in Ukraine never joining NATO and a lot of people dying. (I know some people think he would have invaded anyway, but we’ll never know. We didn’t negotiate.)

Negotiation is not based on the notion that “None of the things you want are a starter. We will talk, but nothing you want will happen.” That was the Western stance. Well then, Putin had a BATNA he was willing to use. What was the West’s?

No matter how much I take the sheer incompetence of Western elites into account, I can never keep up. They are always more stupid, more foolish, and more greedy than I can imagine.

Anyway, Putin will win his war. He will probably win his peace; the sanctions are not going to be so large he can’t handle them. Indeed, the way that the West has ratcheted up sanctions over the years has been a favor to him. Do remember that Russia has said that if they are cut out out from SWIFT, they will consider it an act of war, and then ask yourself, “Is Putin bluffing?” Then ask yourself how the assumption that Putin is bluffing and calling his bluffs has worked out for people over the years.

Putin will not let the West choke him out like they did Iran and Venezuela. And it doesn’t look like the West is even going to try.

Meanwhile, China has been crystal clear that they are not going to cut Russia off. China’s foreign ministry statement:

When the US drove five waves of NATO expansion eastward all the way to Russia’s doorstep and deployed advanced offensive strategicweapons in breach of its assurances to Russia, did it ever think about the consequences of pushing a big country to the wall?… Did the US respect the sovereignty and territorial integrity of the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia when US-led NATO bombed Belgrade?

Did the US respect the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Iraq when it launched military strikes on Baghdad on unwarranted charges? Did the US respect the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Afghanistan when US drones wantonly killed innocent people in Kabul and other places? Did the US respect the sovereignty and territorial integrity of other countries when it instigated color revolutions and meddled in their internal affairs all around the world?

It is hoped that the US takes these questions seriously and abandons double standards.

Yeah.

Let’s be clear, China will never let the West choke out Russia because China knows that the US (and increasingly the EU) considers China the real enemy — once Russia is taken out, China’s next. If Russia goes down, China no longer has a secure back, or a secure source of oil, minerals, or food. With Russia, China has a good chance of winning the oncoming Cold War. Without it, China loses that war.

The West appears unwilling to put in real sanctions because they would hurt the West more than they would hurt Russia. (Note that England’s economy would collapse if they really froze out oligarchs, starting with the London real-estate market. I bet half the richest people in Britain would be bankrupt in six months. Even the central bank might not be able to save them by printing money because, without Russians propping up the City, the pound would collapse.)

We’ll see how this plays out. But I think Putin comes out of this with a win. That’s not a moral judgment, it’s a pragmatic one.

The US was never serious about helping Ukraine or preventing the current crisis, nor are they interested in bringing an end to it. They want to continue profiting from Russia while attempting to embroil them into an Afghanistan style insurgency. I'm beginning to think this has been their goal since 2014--get Russia embroiled in an insurgency proxy war, bleed them dry, then swoop in to give them the coup de grace at their leisure.

[salamoonder]

Alright, so here’s the thing. At this point, I actually don’t care what Artagan has or hasn’t done and, morally, what that means. It’s irrelevant. Interesting, but irrelevant. What I want to talk about is what the Nein, excluding Jester, know about him, and what they do with this information, and how they cast judgment.

Here are things that the nein have actually seen: fleeting glimpses of a figure in a green cloak. one conversation with a giant archfey who has recruited jester’s help in planning a convention. further, fleeting glimpses. very very brief phrases.

Here are things that the nein have heard about him from jester: he’s pretty cool, you guys :) . he’s got a chaotic streak, like her. he helps her pull off pranks. he’s always shown up for her. he’s handsome. he taught her magic. he kept her company when her mom was busy. he is her first friend. he is her best friend. he is her oldest friend. she really loves him.

and yes, they know he misrepresented himself to jester for years. they know he sent them to an island where you lose your memory every night. they know that he is sketchy as fuck and they do not know if he means what he says. and that is reasonable and understandable and fair.

here is something that i don’t know if you guys know about abusers, regardless of if artagan is one or not. (and he’s not. i’m not even going to say i don’t think he is, he literally is not abusive. words mean something; stop throwing them around because you personally don’t like someone.) you cannot tell their victims that they are abusive or awful or manipulative or horrible, and expect that to help. that makes it worse. the same is true of cults. you cannot, and i mean CANNOT, make yourself hostile, because then the outside world is hostile, and the abuser is safe. the outside world is hostile, and the cult is safe. furthermore you’re reinforcing what every abuser and what every cult plants in their victim’s heads--i’m the only one who would put up with you. i’m the only one who really loves you. everyone else will be cruel to me, but i’m the only thing you have. even if the nein had reason to suspect that the traveler was straight up abusing jester instead of just weird and shady, that is not a good response.

no matter how bad artagan is or isn’t, fjord, caduceus, and beau are still being condescending. they are still failing to trust that jester knows what she’s talking about. they are still trying to coddle her, they are still treating her like a child, and i want to talk about that. i want y’all to see that they’re still treating her like she’s emotionally fragile. like individually, i want to talk about that, and also the fact that everyone seems to want to lump caleb into this. (and yasha?? yasha has barely said anything about him, y’all.)

i’m going to skim over caduceus a bit because i don’t think his is a jester-centric problem. he tends to just trust that he either has the correct answers to a situation, or that even if he doesn’t know what’s correct, he knows what isn’t. this arc has been very interesting, because it’s been a lot of “i’ll play along with this because it sounds intriguing, but i’m going to be very self righteous about it the whole time.” like. the “we’re good” when jester brought up transferring followers to melora is haunting me. why “we’re good”? i get cad’s philosophy that not everyone is going to flock to one god--that’s fine, that makes sense. but the implication of “we’re good” really makes it sound like “mmm no thanks, none of these people would end up in my cool and correct religion anyway.” because he doesn’t know! he doesn’t know if any of these people would actually be happier and better off with melora. or. maybe he does know, or has decided, that they wouldn’t be, because these are not the kind of people that he could see himself falling under the same moral umbrella as. (lmao love how i said i was going to skim. anyway. again, less a jester thing, more a “cad is smug about everything” thing tbh.)

let’s move to fjord. he is quite honestly making me almost more uncomfortable than beau, because he’s making statements that i don’t really actually believe. “we just don’t want you to get hurt” is all very well and good. coupling that with agreeing with beau that they shouldn’t leave jester alone with artagan? without telling jester? does not jive. (i’m still not over the ridiculous of that, by the way. yeah this dude--no, this ARCHFEY, who could snap you in half in a moment--has been alone with her regularly for the first 20ish years of her life but now, now he’s going to try and kill her, and you’re going to be the one to stop that.) fjord keeps saying things like this--that he trusts her--but he doesn’t actually act like it. at one point he even says “if jester has faith in the traveler, that’s good enough for me, i suppose.” but it’s not, and he doesn’t act like it is. you know who actually acts like that? caleb. caleb’s getting his own paragraph though this is getting long as fuck. but if fjord actually meant that? he would’ve told beau “listen i know this situation is sketchy and i don’t like him anymore than you do but because i trust jester i also trust that she knows what she’s doing here, and i’ll be there to back her up with whatever she needs/wants me to do”. but he did not say that or anything like that. instead he agreed with beau to essentially be bodyguarding jester--without consulting jester about it at all. he wouldn’t have told jester “he’s generally full of shit, right?” about the traveler. jester is continually telling the group over and over again that she knows what he’s like. she knows Exactly how he can be. and the sad thing is, if fjord actually believed that she knew what she was talking about when she said that and if he believed that he could actually talk to her frankly and not that her feelings had to be protected at all costs (my skin is still crawling at “we don’t wanna ruin jester’s special day”. it’s not a five year old’s birthday party), then he would have straight up told her. he would have said “hey we’re concerned enough that he’s going to hurt you that we don’t think you should be alone with him. can we help guard against that?”

and i’ll be honest, i’ve kind of been squicked out by all the romantic posts about fjord and jester because he’s spent the last few episodes genuinely treating her like a wonderful but vulnerable child who needs to be protected from the world. when he told beau "I'm probably the least clued in as to how jester feels” i was like YEAH NO SHIT. and i know he meant it in a romantic sense but i feel that it’s true in general. like i get that he’s scared to talk to her. that’s fine. he doesn’t have to talk to her about her feelings, romantic or otherwise. but if he’s acknowledging that he does not at all know how she feels then he has no right to behave as if he does know. and again i don’t mean this in a romantic sense. i mean it in a, he is making the assumption that she can’t handle reasoned criticism of the traveler to her face, kind of sense. he and beau both are opting for “random insults, threats, and judgments they have decided apply” over “genuinely this is why we are concerned”. there has been a lot of “you don’t need him” and “you are better off without him” and “you’re better than him” and “you have us why do you need that” and those are judgement statements that are essentially meaningless. all they do is further demonstrate to jester that they don’t actually understand why she’s upset or what she actually wants.

i think caleb, mr i-eat-encyclopedias-for-breakfast, likely just has a better intellectual understanding of the fae and that may be why he’s not as outwardly concerned as the rest, but he’s also actually decided to trust jester that she knows what she’s dealing with. she has demonstrated both verbally and with her actions that even if she may not have known about artagan initially, She Knows How This Works. and he trusts that. caleb truly went “alright, i trust that you know what you’re doing, where do you need me” and that was IT. i’m not saying that he’s not allowed to be suspicious or concerned or wary of the traveler: i just don’t think he is. and i hate that people keep lumping him in with the rest of the nein “treating jester like a child” because they think he’s predatory or something--especially as caleb and fjord are pretty much the same age--when he is literally the only FUCKING person consistently asking jester how she feels and then actually acting accordingly.

and the thing is, you don’t have to be caleb and largely unconcerned, it is actually possible for you to show concern and alarm and wariness for your friend’s best friend without condescending to them and veth has been doing that this whole damn time. we know how she feels about him; she decidedly does not like him. but she set that aside to really fully listen to jester and then tried to be helpful to her in deciding what to do next, without inserting her own opinion. veth is the only one acknowledging that, sure, this looks really bad and i don’t like that guy, but you know him best, jester, and you know yourself best and so it should be your choice what to do in this situation. she reminds jester--if he is really a friend to you, and he is doing things you don’t like, then you can talk to him about that and he should listen. i want to talk about how when jester suggested that artagan join the mighty nein, there were exactly three reactions. extremely lame excuses from everyone but caleb and veth, “maybe, like, an annex--” from caleb, because he knows what everyone else is gonna say, and “we don’t like your friend” from veth, literally the only person who has apparently decided that jester can hear that without dissolving into a puddle or something.

and i want to make it clear--i don’t hate the actors. and stories are supposed to make you upset and uncomfortable, to an extent. they’re supposed to make you think. you’re not supposed to be happy when darth vader blows up alderaan. you’re not supposed to be happy when edmund betrays his siblings to the white witch. these are all excellent, excellent character choices and i applaud the cast for making them. and i don’t hate fjorester. and like yeah there have been a lot of cute moments in the last few eps. and they are cute and their story is compelling and it’s interesting. but i wish people would stop acting like fjord’s attitude towards her is perfect and lovely and that he trusts her sooo much when he is going behind her back like this. i am...the biggest widomauk shipper. and i have to admit my heart does the swoopy thing every time i rewatch the forehead kiss. but that wasn’t great. it was overall really not a good read or handle of the situation. it was, there was an attempt. and i do think fjord is trying. and i think beau is trying too. and i think all of their attitudes however terrible just come from a place of loving her and wanting to protect her. but--and here i must point frantically back at artagan--loving someone does not mean that you’re not hurting them.

[writinglizards]

Something the Cat Dragged In

Summary: It's been almost a year since Lambert's seen Aiden.

He's likely not interested anymore, even if Lambert had done his best to curb his sharpest edges, keep him coming back. It hurts and he tells himself it doesn't. It's better than the alternative. Better than Aiden hurt...or worse.

Then he finds the cat.

Pairing: Aiden/Lambert Rating: Teen Warnings: None

This is for @contemplativepancakes who asked for a comedy of errors. I am awful at that, but I’ve been assured this is funny, so. Please enjoy!

Read on Ao3

It's been almost a year since Lambert's seen Aiden when he finds the cat.

Or more accurately, perhaps, the cat finds him.

It's been about two weeks since he set out from Kaer Morhen to the clearing where he usually meets Aiden. He hadn't shown last year and Lambert hadn't been able to find him, even keeping an ear out for word about a tall, dark-haired cat witcher too nice for his own good.

He's not sure what he's hoping for this year, or at least he's not comfortable admitting to himself what he's hoping for. He likes Aiden, but they don't need to travel together. He's sure he's fine, he's just...busy.

It doesn't make the ache in his chest any easier to deal with, but he pretends it does.

Regardless, he heads for their meeting spot and sets up camp. He'll wait a week and if Aiden still hasn't shown after that, well.

He's fine. He's just...not interested in Lambert anymore, probably.

That hurts worse, somehow.

-----

The cat shows up the second morning Lambert's camped out.

It's a skinny thing, sleek black with a patch of white on his chest and haunting green eyes.

Lambert wakes up to the creature nestled between his calves and startles, upsetting the cat who mews his annoyance and bites his foot. Lambert shoots out of his bedroll after that.

"What the fuck?" he asks the cat, who eyes him with distaste but doesn't move, and Lambert figures, well. The cat will leave on its own he'll just...wait.

-----

The cat doesn't leave, and it's starting to freak Lambert out, just a little bit.

When he settles down to eat, the cat creeps from his bedroll to sit by his boots and stare with big, green eyes that remind him of Aiden. He shoves that thought from his head as quickly as it arrives.

"Cats don't like witchers," he says, as if the cat might have forgotten, but he doesn't move, just sits and stares at Lambert's jerky.

"Are you just hungry?" he asks, and, after a brief hesitation, he snaps a small piece off and offers it to the cat. The cat, for his part, briefly sniffs the offering before taking it into his mouth only to drop it on the floor and bat it around like a toy.

"Really?" he asks the cat, but the cat doesn't seem to care about Lambert's none too silent judgment, just continues to amuse himself with the bit of food. Lambert only hopes the little creature will move on, and quickly.

-----

It keeps trying to creep into his bedroll.

"You can't sleep here," he hisses, shoving the little creature away from his feet for the third time in as many minutes. In response, the cat hisses and bites, sinking its sharp little teeth into Lambert's calf.

"Son of a bitch." The cat stares defiantly at Lambert over its mouthful of flesh as if daring him to retaliate. Reluctantly, he can admit the little thing has gumption.

"You're mean you know that?" he asks the cat, who, when it becomes clear Lambert isn't going to continue fighting, lets go of its mouthful and steps daintily over his leg to settle between his knees.

"This is only for tonight," he says, huffing irritably, "and only because you're such a little dick." The cat ignores him, settling down and beginning to purr softly. Lambert pretends that doesn't make his heart swell.

-----

Lambert can't bring himself to disturb the cat when he wakes so he just...lays there and lets the little beast slumber.

He tells himself it's because he doesn't want to be bit again. It has nothing to do with the fact the cat is small and warm, and the weight of it against his shins is comforting.

It's fine until the little creatin begins to chew on his toes.

"I thought you were asleep," he hisses, twitching his ankles to dislodge it. The cat only delights in the movement, pouncing after him. Lambert groans.

"When are you going to get lost?" he asks, hauling himself up and depriving the cat of their game. He's not expecting the small thing to sit back on its haunches and merp softly at him. Slowly, he stills.

"You wanna say that again?" he asks, and the cat meows plaintively. Staring at him like this, he's reminded again of Aiden. The eyes, the color of the fur so close to the deep black of Aiden's own hair, and the jagged, mangled left ear, just like--

Something like ice settles in his veins.

"Aiden?" he asks tentatively, and the cat meows delightedly, striding forward to wind between his legs. Lambert crouches to put himself on level with the cat again.

"Tell me I'm not crazy," he begs. The cat just stares at him before headbutting his knee. Without thinking, he raises a hand, running fingers meant for killing back through silky fur. Beneath his fingertips, the cat kicks up a purr again.

"Fuck, it is you, isn't it?" he asks, scratching gently at the base of the mangled ear just to listen to the way the cat--Aiden, it's Aiden--purrs his pleasure, head tipped into the contact.

"What the fuck am I gonna do with you?" he asks. Aiden, too distracted by Lambert's gentle caress, isn't in the least bit helpful with an answer.

-----

If Aiden is here, there's no point in sticking around camp and waiting any longer, but Lambert still feels off-kilter and he did budget a week's worth of resources for camping, so he’ll just...he'll just give it another day or two. Just until he feels a little less like he's losing his mind.

He feeds the cat the bits of the fresh rabbit he caught the night before for breakfast and the cat does eat that, quietly delighted with its little meal. And now that he knows it's Aiden...

"Do you have any idea how worried I was last year?" he asks, petting down his lanky back and enjoying the way he arches into it, purring again, "I thought...uh," he can't quite say it. The I thought you were dead or the I thought you didn't want me, bit. Both hurt.

"Anyway," he mumbles awkwardly, "how long have you been like this?" Aiden just makes a little chirping sound and headbutts his hand again to get him to pet him. Lambert sighs.

He spends the day charting out a path to the nearest mage who might be willing to help. He's pretty sure that would be Triss where she’s been staying in Ard Carraigh, even though she's more than a two-week ride away. She's helped Lambert in the past, he figures she's probably his best bet now, too.

"What do you think, Aiden?" he asks, but the cat is napping curled up on top of one of his saddlebags and otherwise unhelpful. Lambert is pretty much on his own.

-----

That night is a repeat of the night before, Aiden curled up across his shins and purring sweetly. As he lays staring at the stars and trying to sleep, he can't help but wonder how much of Aiden is...present, for lack of a better term. The cat acts like a cat, except he's eerily like Aiden in appearance and the fact that he's...he's fond of Lambert, apparently. He'd known, immediately, Lambert would care for him. He at least needs to get him turned back, proved that Aiden's instincts there had been right.

He falls asleep worrying about it.

-----

Traveling with Aiden as a cat is...not as simple as it should be.

"If you won't stay in the god damned saddlebag, you at least need to hold still," he hisses wrestling the cat into his lap. Aiden’s been trying to walk the length of his horse as they ride, and the prick of his claws is making Cinnamon nervous. Lambert doesn't want to be thrown from the saddle, so he's got the cat under the arms, holding him to his chest as he wiggles in an attempt to get free. Aiden is clearly not amused by the situation.

"You bastard," Lambert hisses when Aiden takes a chunk out of his arm through the thin cloth of his shirt, unprotected by his bracer or jacket, "Aiden would you, fuck--" the cat yowls and Lambert jerks Cinnamon to a halt. "What?"

Before he can figure out what's wrong, Aiden's lept from his arms, landed gracefully on his feet, and bolted into the trees.

"Aiden, wait! Fuck," he hisses, and the next minute, there's a click of hooves and--

"Having a good morning, Lambs?" Lambert whips around so fast his neck cracks alarmingly.

"Aiden?"

He's astride a horse Lambert doesn't recognize, not Sugar, and he looks...he looks...

"You're not a cat," he says dumbly, and Aiden grins, the bastard.

"No, but it's been very fun watching you the last day or so," and oh, Lambert's going to kill him, actually, "you didn't really think the cat was me, did you?"

"I...it was...fuck," he spits, wheeling Cinnamon to march past Aiden's gelding, now headed in the opposite direction. If the damn man is fine, then he doesn't need to go see Triss and he can head back towards Aedd Gunvael looking for contracts as he'd planned previously.

"Aww Lambs, no need to get embarrassed," Aiden calls, and Lambert can hear the shit-eating grin, "I'm just teasing."

"Fuck off," he growls, but Aiden's horse falls into step beside Cinnamon.

"Oh, don't pout on me, Lambert. I thought it was cute," he says, and Lambert can't bite back the words in his throat any longer.

"I thought you were dead," he spits, "or worse." Disinterested. Abruptly, Aiden leans over and catches Cinnamon's reins, pulling them both to a stop.

"Whoa, wait. You thought...what?"

"I haven't seen you in a year," he bites out, horrified to find his throat thick with tears, "what was I supposed to think?"

"You didn't get my letter?" he asks, and then, before Lambert can process that statement, "fuck, Lambert, I'm so sorry. I thought you knew I was working far south last year, I couldn't...I couldn't ask you to come with me, so I left you a note at that inn we drink at every year. Bastards must have tossed it. Fuck."

"So you didn't..." you didn't abandon me, you aren't tired of me, you haven't moved on to something better. He can't say any of that, just goes quiet.

"I didn't leave you high and dry on purpose, no. Fuck, Lambert, how could I?" he smiles, a small, timid thing, "you're the best part of my year, puppy dog, how could I?"

The sincerity in his gaze and his words makes Lambert's face hot, makes his throat tight. He spurs Cinnamon back into motion, and Aiden's horse follows.

"Whatever, you fucking sap." It's the best he can manage without risking something drastic, like tears or his own dopy smile. Still, he can feel Aiden radiating smug energy behind him again.

"Aww, come on, puppy, I just poured my heart out for you, I deserve better than a whatever."

"You did not," he snaps, "shut up."

"Oh, you need declarations of love then? Fine. I--"

"Aiden," he cuts him off, not willing to find out how far Aiden will take this game of emotional chicken, "stop. I'm...I missed you. You're the best part of my year too." He says it without looking at him, Cinnamon a few crucial paces ahead of Aiden's horse. The back of his neck feels hot and he knows he's blushing.

"O-oh," Aiden stammers out, "uh--"

"There," Lambert cuts in, "now you can shut up."

Gratefully, Aiden does.

-----

Lambert's so relieved about Aiden, he doesn't think about the cat until they stop to camp for the night.

"Do you think the cat's okay?" he asks, and Aiden gives him a long, slow look.

"Why does it matter?"

"Why does it--what the fuck Aiden? It's just a little cat. How's it gonna take care of itself out here? I should have gone after it." He regrets being so wrapped up in Aiden that he'd forgotten the other Aiden, cat Aiden. Not cat Aiden? Fuck, he's tired.

"Cats take care of themselves, Lambs, don't stress about it. He was managing just fine until he found a soft-hearted witcher to feed him, he'll be fine."

"Excuse me, who the fuck do you think is soft-hearted here?" he growls, and Aiden lays his bedroll out beside him and grins.

"Why you, puppy dog. You're the sweetest--" he doesn't let him finish, hooking his foot around Aiden's ankle and bringing him down on top of the bedroll hard.

"Not sweet," he hisses, but it feels like overcompensation even to him, and Aiden just laughs, rolling to stare at him with eyes that are far too fond.

"Sure thing, Lambert."

And if, as they both fall asleep, Lambert shifts closer to throw his arm around Aiden's waist, pull him in closer amidst Aiden's sleepy mumbling, well. It's still cold at night. Nothing more.

-----

There's a slight, warm weight across Lambert's shins when he wakes.

It takes his half-asleep mind a minute to realize what that means, and then he's sitting up so fast Aiden makes a startled noise.

"Lambert, what the fuck," Aiden husks, but Lambert's not listening.

No, he's focused on the cat curled across his shins, jet back with one mangled ear and a white spot on his chest. He peers up at Lambert with those same big green eyes, and something in Lambert's chest shifts.

"Hey there Aiden, thought I lost you," he murmurs, reaching out to pet across the broad side of the little creature. He allows it for a moment before catching Lambert's hand with his paws and biting, just enough for him to feel it. "Yeah, yeah, I deserve that."

"What are you--oh." Aiden comes up short when he sits up and sees the cat again, nestled across Lambert's legs, "well I'll be damned." He reaches out to pet the cat too, who promptly hisses and swats at Aiden, claws extended, "Oi, fuck, rude." Lambert laughs.

"Guess he doesn't like you much, eh?" His chest feels light as he scoops the cat up into his arms. He tolerates it, although he gives a fretful little meow at the treatment.

"You would find the only cat that stands witchers and get it only to like you," Aiden grouses, but he doesn't seem genuinely troubled about it, "I can tell why you thought of me, though. That's sweet." And that--

"Yeah," he says, unable to come up with something suitably snarky and mean. He sets the cat down, who scampers back over to make himself comfortable on Lambert's saddlebag, away from the indignity of surprise cuddles. He's trying not to look at Aiden's own mangled ear, the one cut round in a rough approximation of a human's, a reminder of how he’s been treated in the past. Lambert had been...so fucking worried.

"You can't keep calling him Aiden, though."

"Sure thing," he says, forcing a grin. He has no intentions of calling the cat anything else and he knows Aiden knows, too, can see it in the fond little crinkle around his eyes, the sweet upturn of his lips, "Come on, we've got a camp to pack."

And if Lambert keeps calling the cat Aiden and starts calling witcher Aiden witcher Aiden just to piss him off? Well. How else is he supposed to know he's loved?

[melusinezephyr]

One of Us is Lonely, One of Us is Only Waiting For a Call

thelightofcreation:

Sephiran’s heart nearly stopped- though he knew that in this land and many others, the term ‘human’ was oft used and had no such connotations as in Tellius, it was paired with the knowledge that most, if not all, were human. The insistence of it and its counterpart’s usage in Tellius was an easy excuse to continue with his plan for judgment, not to mention so plentiful that he would never need to doubt. But here? To say someone was inhuman was an insult, to say the least. Strangely, he did not feel insulted.

“Pardon…?” It would be odd not to be surprised, he reassures himself, as he is certain that he has reacted, visibly. Perhaps not as strongly as he should have- but he is not certain at the level of reaction one should have at such an accusation. “That is…”

He struggles for a moment to come up with a suitable answer. Simply because he had revealed his identity in the Tower did not mean he was keen to flout it as if it were something to be proud of. “Ah… from where I hail, we call those who are most similar to those called ‘human’ beorc. Perhaps there is a difference that most do not detect…”

Whether that statement was true or not- as far as he could tell, not - it also had no pertinence to his situation, and so he quickly changed the subject. He had no desire to ask the same as her- it held none of the implied importance. If she were beorc or laguz, a being adjacent, or neither, it did not quite matter to him, as long as whatever danger she held for him remained merely a feeling. “Even if it were common for students to be about at this time of night, would a professor not be in their office, if awake at all?”

He would wince at the bluntness of his own statement if he were not afraid to bring the topic back to him.

Zephia frowns as he quickly deflects from her question, her foot tapping impaitently against the ground. She was so clearly not human; so why would he ever be afraid to answer such a question from a fellow non-human? She was a dragon, a mage dragon of a powerful bloodline, and she had never wished to hide such a thing, perhaps even flaunting her inhuman traits, like the horns she bore on her head. And she wouldn't dare try to hide it, unlike the man before her is clearly trying to do. How annoying.

If he is going to deflect, and change the topic so quickly, then she shall do it at well, without a single ounce of shame. She was not afraid of any reprecussions, like she was not in any situation. Why should now be any different?

"Now, now, you shouldn't just not answer a question like that, dear. It's quite... rude indeed. I'll answer your question, only if you promise to answer mine." She smirks, her height towering over the man, striking quite the intimidating figure indeed.

"So, perhaps I should be in my office, or even asleep. But I have never been one to conform to what people expect of me. Now then, I will ask you again. You are not... beorc as you said...? Are you?"

[seeminglyseph]

one day I am going to have to write something to the lit 103 teacher who had us study the great gatsby, I don’t know what tone yet, because I’m not sure I ever disliked a book I am now passionate about so much. It was partially because she really obviously was extremely passionate about the book that made me want to write an essay of substance in the end, even though I fuckin’ just hated everyone in it. But she let me write about Fitzgerald’s female characters, and linked us to some of Zelda’s essays. Which gave me the ability to make a lot of the essay a statement about the representation of flapper culture and treatment of Zelda by Fitzgerald as aspects of intent, even if one of the major lessons at that time was death of the author in that.... ‘right now I want a raw analysis of the text without bringing judgment of the author into play, that’s next semester and a different sort of study’ So it was kind of ‘it is unknown if the authenticity of Fitzgerald’s female characters is an indication of his own insight, or if it is another example of the author’s habit of plagiarizing his wife’s writing. the exact amount of writing that should be attributed to Zelda Fitzgerald is unclear.’ Just as an analysis of how Zelda’s study of flapper culture from her experiences and opinions had an effect on the characters in the fiction.

A result of this has kind of been my transforming into a Zelda Fitzgerald spokesperson, like ‘hi actually Zelda was amazing and her husbanded locked her in an asylum to kill her career did you know that? She certainly had her issues she lived in the 1920s and I’ll excuse none of that but I might fight bungou stray dogs in her honour’

Also now I have to be That Guy who explains that cleavage was not something flappers would be showing off, they wore binding undergarments to make their breasts and hips appear flat as possible. The short hair and straight body type was a flamboyant show of androgyny and another one of those ‘popular with women more than men’ fashion choices everyone ends up assuming is about men in the end....

but even then, the email I would have to send was ‘sorry to the rest of my class who clearly wanted me to shut the fuck up, the process of discussing literature with you and the ‘yes, and...’ cycles I felt like we got into awoke a passion for literary analysis I did not know I was capable of and I do not know how to satisfy so a blessing and curse upon you for awaking this hunger within me. I’m applying it to Greek Classics instead of modern classics but like it’s the same concept and genuinely miss having an unhinged discussion about meanings you could extrapolate from a text even if you graded like you were trying to hurt me you explained that really well as ‘it’s a transition between high school expectation and university expectations. I grade at a higher level than you’re used to because this is about being able to write at a university level. You’re specializing now, the grades are harder. But on that scale 84% is extremely high.’ so like even when I bombed I was like ‘okay, points not made as intended, time to draft out new arguments”

like I don’t know how to explain that as a person with extreme RSD from ADHD and Trauma I like.... She made a disappointing grade a growth point rather than a failure and it was... exactly what I needed as a new but much older student. (starting uni in your late 20s surrounded by people 10 years your junior is scary as shit.)

[clairecrive]

"Rock my world" - Sirius Black x reader

A/n: I was thinking of making this a series but idk, let me know what you think. The band in the picture, Maneskin, are my inspiration for the marauders' band music and aesthetic. Check them out cause they're really good. They're going to represent Italy at the next Eurovision contest.

Here's their Instagram and Spotify.

Tags: Muggle AU, so ofc no magic, no Hogwarts, Marauders in a rock band, no Peter but Regulus instead, jily

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.2K ish

Summary: When y/n finally agrees to check out this band that her best friend was always talking about, she's in for a pleasant surprise and one hell of a night.

It had all started in the cheesiest and most cliscé of ways, really. Y/n had made a bet which had made you go out of your comfort zone that one night and for your bravery, you were rewarded with the most amazing boyfriend ever. It sounds like a story out of a rom-com or a romance novel, doesn't it? Well, yeah, it felt like a main character moment but, unlike what we see in those stories, it wasn't always fun and games.

But let's start from the beginning, shall we?

Y/n's best friend Jules had been nagging her about this rock band who was apparently the new sensation of the year according to her, for the longest time. So, one Friday night, when Jules had informed her that that very band was playing in a bar not very far from her workplace, she agreed to go for drinks there.

Worst case scenario, she thought, the music will be terrible but at least I get to tease Jules about it.

Still clothed in the floral dress she had chosen this morning, but adding a few glittery touches and graphic eyeliner to make her look more nighty, y/n headed towards said bar where Jules was already waiting for her.

"Finally," she huffed when y/n rounded the corner and entered her field of vision. 

"Sorry, it was my turn to close tonight," y/n shot her an apologetic smile before hooking their arms.

They made their way inside looking for a place to sit. The bar was already crowded but not in an unusual way. Maybe it was the hour or the fact that it was a weeknight, y/n didn't know but felt grateful that it wasn't packed. She really wasn't a fan of crowded places.

They got their drinks and caught up as they usually would about their week. They were almost finished when the band walked up the stage and music started playing. Even before the first note, one look at their outfits made clear what kind of music they were going to play. 

They had an interesting aesthetic, y/n had to admit. They wore the same colour but each member had their own style. The band was made up of four guys, the bassist had long straight hair and he looked a lot like the singer who instead had curly hair, the drummer had short curly light brown hair and y/n couldn't see what he was wearing past a black vest while the guitarist had black hair that was all over the place and wore glasses. 

They had an androgynous aesthetic, each of them with beautiful makeup in tones of black and grey and the ones y/n could see clearly were wearing a sort of body. They looked stunning. Y/n had decided she liked them based on this alone. She had to admire anyone who had the guts to express themselves freely especially when it was in such an open and unapologetic way of going against gender norms.

After half an hour, the music stopped and after the singer wished everyone goodnight and they all climbed down. As she expected, they played rock music ranging from soft rock edging pop to hard rock that made her think a lot of ACDC. Y/n wasn't an expert in music but she had liked what she heard and wouldn't mind listening more from them. She was sure that she was going to catch some of their songs on the radio in the future. 

However, Jules picked up the conversation where they had left it before the concert and decided that it was the time where she'd complain about her recent love interest. Each of their weekly meetings had one of this moment. Unfortunately, it looked like Jules didn't have a lot of luck when it came to guys. And as it always would, she wondered if she was the problem asking y/n if the reason every one of her relationships failed because she was unlovable. As if.

"That's not true, I truly believe that you can learn to love anyone. Lest you get to know them, of course."

"Of course you'd say something like that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If you truly believe that, then you're not going to say no to this." Jules wriggles her eyebrows suggestively and y/n knew that the night is either about to become very interesting or about to go very wrong.

"The expression on your face is telling me that I should definitely say no to what you're about to say."

"Oh c'mon, it's just an innocent dare. Nothing too crazy, I promise."

"Which is?"

"You see that guy leaning on the bar? Long black hair with the black leather jacket?" Y/n turned around indulging her friend and eventually spotted the guy she was talking about. She took her time to look at him until she realized something that made her whip around to face Jules again.

"You mean the singer of the band?" y/n asked incredulously.

"Isn't he handsome?" Jules smiled wide completely ignoring the look y/n was giving her already knowing what was going through her friends' mind. "I want you to go to him and ask him out."

"What?" 

"C'mon", Jules complained reaching out to y/n over the table, "didn't you say that it was possible to love anyone? Can't you see yourself loving him?"

"That's not the point," y/n exclaimed still not believing that her friend was suggesting something so outrageous. "Can you see him loving me?" Because that man over there had "heart breaker" spelt all over him. And okay, y/n had to admit that this was a rush judgment she was making and it wasn't exactly fair but there was no way that a guy like him could be interested in a girl like her.

And yes, we could stay here and discuss all the reasons why that statement is wrong but still, if she were to put herself out there -something that was not like her at all- she wasn't going to go over someone so out of reach for her. And that was that.

"Listen, do you remember that video you sent me the other day?" Jules squared her shoulders, now looking fully serious at y/n. Unfortunately, y/n did remember the video Jules was talking about. She would have never guessed it would come back and bit her in the ass otherwise she'd never sent it.

Sighing, y/n looked down at the drink in her hands and thought about it. The video basically encouraged the viewer to go up to what they believed was the most beautiful person in the room and tell them exactly that. It may sound a little silly but at the time y/n had appreciated the sentiment. Going out of one's comfort zone. Challenging yourself. Because, what was the worst that could happen? That person shotting you down? That didn't sound life-threatening. Now though, y/n wasn't so sure. 

"Worst case scenario, just tell him I'm calling you and head back here." Jules offered, almost as if she could tell exactly what her best friend was thinking.

Looking at her best friend, something snapped in her. Jules was right. What's the worst that could happen? She already knew that the guy was going to shoot her down. She was prepared. It was a dare, a silly thing that could give her a story to tell to her nephews one day. 

What the hell, y/n thought squaring her shoulders. 

"You know what?" she downed the rest of her drink and got up from her seat, "I'm doing it." Looking in the reflection of the tissue box on the table to check how she looked, she fixed her smudged lipstick and ruffed her hair before nodding solemnly at Jules and turned around.

As she made her way to the bar, she could hear Jules cheering on her fueling her sudden confidence. 

The man of the hour was there where she saw him last. Her steps faltered as she realized that she had no idea how to approach him. What was she going to say? Oh my god, she was totally going to make a fool of herself. If she was not going to die for his rejection, she sure is going to die of embarrassment. 

She was almost about to turn around and abort the mission when his eyes met hers.

Well, fuck. There was no way she was going to back down now.

She regained her confidence and smiled at him while closing the distance between them. She smiled at him. Who was she? Did someone drug her drink?

He smiled back at her, turning so that he'd be facing her once she reached him and she almost stopped to pinch herself to see if she was hallucinating or something.

"Hey," she said once she stood in front of him. Good, she thought, let's start with something simple.

"Hi," he smiled back at her.  

Okay, okay, it's going good, isn't it? He hasn't ignored me, that must mean something, right? Yes, that he wasn't a rude asshole was her sobering thought.

"So," y/n started trying to take to time while she figured what to say, "I saw a video the other day," was what she ended up with. 

The handsome stranger lifted his eyebrows in amusement and took a sip of his beer. Y/n took that as a "go on then".

"There was this woman that basically dared anyone watching to go up to the person who they thought was the most beautiful person in the room and tell them exactly that." Well, let's just get it out of the way, I guess, she thought. "So, here I am," she added as if it wasn't clear enough.

However, as she saw the man's smile widen, y/n suddenly realized how really screwed she was. This man was way out of her league.

"Well, now that I'm here, I should also mention that you've really good at what you do too." 

"Not to sound rude or anything," he spoke for the first time that evening and y/n had already decided that he had been the gods' favourite in another life before he opened his mouth but now? as he heard his low and raspy voice? she was sure he had been at least a demi-god, "did you lost a bet or something?" he asked, his grey eyes boring into hers like he was looking into her soul.  

Who was this guy? and why was she feeling like this? Get a grip, y/n, she scolded herself.

"Is it that obvious?" y/n's shoulders slouched as some of the tension left them, a nervous laugh leaving her mouth. 

"I saw you downing your drink like it was some kind of bravery potion before you came here," he explained with a light scroll of his shoulders. "Not that I mind though," he added with what should be an illegal smirk. Smug.

"Yeah, I'm sure you've heard it countless time only tonight." Let's joke on it, she thought, there's still a chance I can come clean out of this mess. 

He chuckled and, not leaving her eyes, he slipped a hand through his loose hair pushing it back. "I meant that if you hadn't come I would probably found an excuse to come up to you too." He leaned back onto the bar looking completely unbothered, not as if he had said something that made her feel on fire. 

"Looks like I've to thank your friend for my luck." Looking over your shoulder, he held one of his hands up and lightly waving at Jules, y/n figured.

"Yeah, let's not tell her that or I will never hear the end of it." Rolling her eyes, y/n also leaned on her arm resting on the bar next to him. Whether it was the fact that all the cards were on the table or that what he said meant that he had to somewhat like her, she felt more relaxed than a couple of minutes ago.

"Before I make this solemn oath, I think it would be appropriate to know your name, don't you think?"

"It's y/n," she held her hand up for him to shake. However, he had something else in mind since when he took hold of her hand he turned it and held it up to his lips to leave a soft kiss on it. Y/n  almost rolled her eyes at the gesture if it wasn't for his eyes. They didn't move from hers and she found that she didn't want to stop looking at him. Like she was in a trance. Yes, he was handsome, even more so up close, so of course he was nice to look at but that wasn't why. It's the way his eyes glimmered as they watched her, the gentleness with which he was holding her hand, the softness of his lips on her skin. What would they feel like on her lips, she wondered.

"I'm Sirius." 

And that's how it all started. A silly video sent almost automatically to her best friend and an outrageous bet made y/n's night definitely interesting. To her luck though, Sirius became a permanent presence and not a one-night sensation.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Tagging: @seldomabsent

[moon-light-jukebox]

“All you have to do is ask.” Chapter 9 - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index // next chapter 

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid is one of the most brilliant men in the entire world...but even geniuses can be dumbasses. Once he realizes he’s made the biggest mistake of his life, the next step is getting Reader to forgive him. 

Pairing: Spencer Reid / (Female) Reader

Rating: Mature

Category: Angst. but then the fluff we all need. 

Content Warning: Talk of drug addiction, mentions of injuries, angst. 

Word Count: 9.4k for Chapter 9 

A/n: I’m sorry I didn’t get this out as quickly as I wanted; I know I broke your hearts in chapter 8. So, please let me and Dr. Reid put them back together. Thank you for sticking with me. 💖 Chapter 10 returns to the smut we all signed up for. 

-- Chapter 9 - “You know why.” -- 

Out of all the compliments I've received in my life, "you're such a strong person" is the one I have gotten the most often.

I was “so strong” for busting my ass through college with dreams of going to the FBI.

My friends told me I was “so strong” when I gave myself a few days to lay around and cry about my ex before I bottled it all up and moved forward.

Everyone said I was just “so strong” for joining the FBI and finishing in the top of my class at the academy.

And when I told everyone I was a profiler that hunted the most dangerous monsters on the planet? I was both “so strong, so brave.”

It’s a nice compliment to receive, but I have never really agreed with it. I’ve never really felt strong. I've always felt resilient. The two words have always felt very different to me. It took enormous amounts of strength to go to college, join the FBI, and then become a member of one of the most prestigious units; but eventually, that strength fades, or it just tires out. Resilience came when the strength was gone when the fight had left your body, but you couldn’t give in, you would endure this pain and any pain after it…because that’s just who you are.

It didn’t take strength to leave the hospital 3 days after Spencer Reid broke my heart. It didn’t take strength to go back to the same apartment where I could feel echoes of him in every room. It didn’t even take strength to not break down and cry.

I kept going because I had to. Because I was resilient.

--

“You sure you got everything you need, mama?” Morgan had been annoyingly thorough in his duties today; Garcia had assigned him to be the person who brought me home and got me settled.

I offered him a wan smile. “I’m fine, Derek. It’s just a gunshot wound. I’m actually surprised how well I’m feeling.” Not good. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel ‘good’ again.

He didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? Because the last thing I need is Garcia to throw one of her damn shoes at me again. Those things are heavy, y/n.”

I chuckled at him. “Well, you won’t get maimed on my account. I’m really okay.”

Morgan regarded me from his position by the door, his eyes ran over everything from the exhaustion on my face to my arm that was in a sling; he took note of everything before he sighed heavily. “I know it’s not my place to say but…”

“Then don’t say it, Derek.” I brought my gaze up to his, my eyes were pleading. “Please, just don’t say it.”

Reluctantly he nodded. “You call any of us if you need anything.”

I nodded. Because I would call any of them if I needed anything…any of them except the one person I really wished I could call.

--

My life went on like that for a time. On my first night home, Rossi had flowers delivered. On my second night home, JJ came by to bring me groceries. On my third night home Emily came by and helped me wash my hair in the sink because I couldn’t lift my arm yet. On my fourth night home Garcia came over with a stack of action movies and popcorn. I didn’t ask why she brought mindless action movies; I knew why, and I was grateful.

On my fifth day home, the team left on a case. The in-person visits slowed down a lot after that, much to my relief. I loved them all but they're profilers and I was so tired of pretending to be strong when the only reason I was still standing was because I was too fucking stubborn to fall down.

But still, Garcia would schedule the odd visitor every now and then to come to check on me; usually either her, JJ, or Emily. No one ever brought up Reid, and I was very careful not to ask about him. I don't know what they knew and what they didn't…but I just couldn’t talk about it.

I was cleared to go back to work on the second Tuesday after my injury, but I would still be on desk duty until I was 4 weeks out. I had sent Hotch an e-mail on that second Tuesday morning and requested to use some personal time, just until the end of the following week. His response was, “Whatever you need.”

He didn't respond to the e-mail I sent yesterday. The e-mail I wasn't even sure I wanted to send but knew I had to. I had submitted a hardship transfer request.

“Then maybe you should reevaluate your place in this team,” Reid had said to me. Maybe he was right. I had thought my home was with the family inside the BAU…but I had also thought Spencer Reid wanted my heart.

“But I think your judgment has been compromised.” Maybe my judgment was never that good to begin with.

--

Twenty-four days after I was shot and two after I requested my transfer there was a knock on my door. Scheduled visits weren’t a thing anymore. Only Garcia had been coming by; Emily and JJ would send me texts, and Morgan drove me to physical therapy a few times but that was it. So, I was very surprised when I heard a sharp knock at my door at 2 pm that Friday afternoon.

I opened the door only to find the last face I expected to see.

“Hotch,” I said, my brows drawing together.

He just gave me a rare smile. “Not who you were expecting?”

“It’s not that you’re not who I was expecting,” I began carefully. “It’s just that…when I think of cheerful visitors coming to surround me with rainbows and sunshine…I don’t think of you, boss man.”

He scoffed, which I had learned was his version of a chuckle. “Garcia is busy. So, can I come in?”

I waved my arm, offering him inside.

He surveyed my apartment; he’d never been here. None of the team had ever been here before- Stop. Don’t think about it.

“How have you been?”

I gave him a very sour look. “Peachy with a side of keen, Hotch. But that’s not why you’re here.”

He didn’t look abashed in the slightest. “You’re right. That’s not why I’m here.”

We both sat on my couch; I kept my gaze on my hands, but I felt his eyes on me.

“Why are you requesting a hardship transfer?”

I was prepared for this question. “Because there is a personal issue within my team that affects me; I can no longer be an effective agent of the FBI in this unit.”

Hotch gave me an almost smile. “That’s a very political answer.”

“It’s the truth.”

“It might be.” He sounded so thoughtful I turned to look at him. We were both profilers, but Hotch was in charge for a reason; that man saw things in ways I don’t think any of us did. “The reason might also be that Reid is a dumb ass.”

I was in no way prepared for that statement to come out of my boss’s mouth. A laugh, the first real laugh I had had in almost 25 days, burst out of me before I could clap my hand over my mouth.

He did smile then. It was a soft, sad smile. “I figured that’s what it was.”

“He’s a genius, Hotch.”

“And he’s also proof geniuses can be dumbasses.”

That one got a small chuckle out of me. “I didn’t know you were funny.”

“I have my moments,” he said dryly.

I took a deep breath, my eyes moving around my apartment, searching for something to focus on. “I don’t know what you know, I don’t know what any of you know…but I can’t stay. Not like this.”

The older man considered me for a moment, planning out his next words. I knew that the team knew that Reid and I had been…something. I hadn’t asked what they knew; I couldn’t ask.

Hotch let out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping before he spoke again. "Hayley had an affair."  

…I have no idea how I’m supposed to respond to that. “I’m sorry, Hotch.”

He just nodded, his gaze sort of far off. “The team was working a case in Milwaukee; it was right before you joined. I was considering transferring; it was right before Gideon left. I knew it, she knew I knew it. I think that was sort of the beginning of the end for us.”

I just stared at him. Hotch didn’t talk about personal things.

He continued on. “It was never really brought up again until the divorce. You think divorce will end your fights…it never works out that way.” Hotch let out another sigh. “Anyway, I think about this one specific fight a lot now. I just…She was so fucking cruel, y/l/n. She said things she knew would hurt me.”

You can’t call a dead woman a cunt, y/n. You just can’t.

“I think about it so much now because I know she lashed out because I hurt her and she was scared. I picked my job over her and Jack. And she’s right…I did.”

Enlightenment finally dawned on me.

“Hotch, I see where you’re going but it’s different,” I stressed. “Protecting the team is my job. I protected a member of my team.”

He just nodded, his eyes never leaving my face. “You also jumped in front of a bullet for a man who is in love with you, who now thinks it’s his fault you got hurt.”

“He is not in love with me!” I interrupted, not that Hotch seemed to care.

“And you also told him you loved him, for what I suspect was the first time, while we all thought you were dying.”

Hold the fuck up. “You heard me? Spencer heard me?!”

Hotch nodded his head solemnly. “Rossi figured he hadn’t told you. He was inconsolable on the way to the hospital. He rode with you in the ambulance. Morgan had to restrain him when you were taken into surgery.” I felt my lungs seize, there was no more air in the room. “His legs gave out from under him when the doctor told us you made it. He was in your room right before you woke up. He ran out when your heart rate spiked.”

That…that can’t be right. “I…I don’t know what happened while I was under, but you weren’t there. You didn’t hear what he said to me, Aaron.”

“You’re right,” he said softly. “I wasn’t, but I have been around him every day since you were injured. I’ve known him for years, y/n. He’s hurting…because he’s a dumbass.”

I tried to focus on Hotch’s words, I really did. But one thing kept playing over and over in my head. That asshole heard me. He lied to me.

--

-- Spencer POV –

“Because I love you.”

“Because I love you.”

“Because I love you.”

The worst thing about having an eidetic memory is that I never forgot anything. I remember the crushing disappointment I felt on my 8th birthday when my dad didn’t call. I remember how gutted I felt when I found Gideon’s letter in his cabin. I remember the self-loathing I felt when Emily was beaten by a deranged cult leader at Liberty Ranch because she didn’t think I could handle it.

I could remember every single crushing moment of my life with absolute clarity, including the moment when I told y/n I didn’t love her. I could see every detail of her face in that moment whenever I closed my eyes. How pain covered her face for just a moment before it went blank.  

Her face in that moment was all I saw when I was awake, but what I saw at night may have been worse. I saw her happy. I saw her laughing at some joke Morgan made. I saw her smiling at me while I explained the scientific impossibilities of the show we were watching on her couch. I saw how thoughtful she’d looked before she kissed me for the first time.

In the 24 days, 21 hours, and 16 minutes since I made the most painful decision of my life, I had regretted it and rethought it countless times. But then I remembered how her eyes fluttered closed that day, how her blood ran out of her body and down my arms, no matter how hard I pressed on the wound. I remembered how it felt to think I was going to lose her.

The members of my team were all furious with me for my decision; I even felt tension from Rossi and Hotch, though it was more subtle. Y/n hadn’t been with our team long, but she had already carved out a place in everyone’s heart…and she’d carved out all of my heart; now it was filled with almost nothing but her. At first, it was just Morgan who was pissed at me, then Emily started becoming frustrated, even JJ stopped inviting me over for dinner as much. They were all still my friends, but everything felt different.

I hadn't realized there was a giant problem until the last person I ever expected to be mad at me finally snapped. We were in the conference room discussing our last case when I had asked Garcia a question. Looking back, I can see it was a dumb question; Garcia cross-referenced everything and dug into people's lives before we even had a chance to ask. But even my stupid question hadn’t warranted her response.

“Garcia, do you know any of the victim’s extended families have any connections to one another? Even distantly.”

She had clicked her tongue against her teeth, her shoulders stiffening. “Of course I have, Reid. That’s a stupid question…but I guess we should expect stupid questions from you now. Since you’ve suddenly become an-“

“Garcia,” Hotch warned.

“Sorry, sir.” She let out a breath.

“Yes, Dr. Reid, I have checked and found no apparent connections.

She’d been avoiding me ever since.

I knew that I had made a mess of things, but the team just didn't understand. They'd only felt her warmth from afar; I'd actually got to be a part of it. They didn't know how her feet were always cold and how she'd shove them under my leg while we watched TV. They didn't know that she mumbled in her sleep sometimes, or when she was really stressed about a case, she'd grind her teeth. The pain I felt now was indescribable, but I couldn't live with losing her.

We’d gotten back home from a case earlier this morning, Hotch let us all go home around noon. Usually, he'd make us stay and finish our paperwork, but he said he had "something" he had to take care of.

Not being at work was bittersweet. Because work reminded me of her, but at least I could occupy my mind with other things; when I was home, she surrounded me. I couldn’t lay in my bed without imagining her beside me. The look on her face when she told me she was ready to be with me. For the first few days after I could still smell her shampoo on my pillow. That was long gone now.

It was just after 2 pm when there was a very loud knock on my door.

“Open up, dumbass!’

What is Morgan doing here? I got up from my couch to open my door. Morgan was in the same clothes he wore to work, he didn't look injured, but his jaw was set, his teeth clenched together. Uh oh.

“Why are you here?” I sighed. I already knew why he was here.

“I’m here,” he began, shoving his way into my apartment. “To see why you’re still being a dumbass.”

I didn’t bother correcting him. Maybe I am a dumbass.

“Morgan-“

“Nu-uh. You sit your little scrawny ass down and listen to me.”

I’m not that scrawny, I thought grumpily while I sat down.

He put his hands on his hips, coming to stand in front of me. “Reid, what are you doing man?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled.

“Well, I’ll tell you what the fuck you’re doing, Pretty Boy. You know, we were all content to let you flounder along for a while longer. You’re smart, you’d figure it out. But that was before y/n submitted a request for a hardship transfer.”

My shoulders stiffened. I had told her to rethink her place on the team, but I didn’t mean leave it. “What? When?”

“I’m not sure when,” he replied. “Hotch is at her apartment now trying to talk her out of it.”

So that was his important business.

“Look, kid.” He came to sit beside me on the couch. “I know you’re scared. I know you almost lost her, and you couldn’t bear that. But you’re losing her now too, man!’

“It’s different, Morgan,” I protested.

“Yeah, it is different, because you don’t have to lose her! You didn’t see her when she came home from the hospital. She wasn’t even sad, Reid. She was numb. We all knew she had walls up before…but these new walls, man? They make the old ones look like nothing.”

I put my hands together, lacing my fingers tightly. “But-“

Morgan stood up. “No, Reid! No! No buts. I understand that you’re hurting, believe me. But did you ever stop to use that big ass brain of yours to think for a second that you’re hurting her too?!”

“I know I’m hurting her, Morgan,” I said hotly. “I know! But it’s better she’s hurt like this for a little while then die over me!”

“Oh, come on, kid! You can’t make that choice for her! That’s not how love works!” He let out a sigh. “You’re acting like a coward, Spencer. And that’s not the kind of man you are.”

It’s exactly the type of man I am. “Morgan, she’s…she’s everything to me. She’s the sun at the center of my universe. I can’t let her disappear.”  

“Okay, okay,” Morgan nodded, considering me. “Now, I’m not a genius but I do know some stuff after hanging around your ass for all these years. The universe would fall apart without the sun. But…what happens if the sun dims?”

“What?” My heart refused to work when I processed his words.

“You heard me. What happens to the universe when the sun dims? It’s still there, but it’s nowhere near as bright anymore. Because she may be the center of your universe but she’s still a part of a lot of other people’s…I don’t know, galaxy or some shit.” Morgan flicked his hand around to gesture at nothing, like this somehow proved his point.

“Spencer. I know you’re scared. I get it. But you’re making the choice for her. You lied to her, man. You got her to let you in and then you fucking shut her out when you get scared! Do you think she wasn’t scared to let you in in the first place? She’s never going to be totally free of danger, Reid. That’s part of what makes her who she is; she is always going to put herself at risk to help people, we all are! It’s why we’re on the same fucking team!”

The impact of Morgan’s words was a blow to the gut. What if I wasn’t keeping her safe? What if I was putting her through this…because I was afraid? Did I push her away from me for her? Or did I-

“Oh my god. I’m a dumbass.”

Morgan threw his hands in the air before slapping them against his hips.

“I fucked up.”

Morgan opened his eyes very wide and tilted his head down in a universally recognized expression of “you think, dumbass?”.

“What do I do?”

“You apologize, Reid! You go over to her house and you beg for forgiveness.”

My palms were starting to sweat. “What if she doesn’t forgive me?”

Morgan shrugged. “Then at least you tried, man.”

“Will you give me a ride?”

His face split into a wide smile. “There’s the genius! Let’s go!”

--

-- Reader’s POV --

It was just after 4 pm when there was another sharp knock on my door. I picked up the remote to pause the TV show I wasn’t watching; I had just needed some background noise. With a huff, I pulled myself off the couch and started shuffling towards the door. Hotch hadn’t been gone long, so I just figured maybe he’d come back to impart more wisdom on me.

It wasn’t Hotch. My heart stuttered when I saw that mop of curly brown hair out of my door’s peephole.

He knocked again, more hesitantly than before. “Y/n,” he called. “I know I don’t have any right to ask. But…I need to talk to you.”

My eyebrows drew together in confusion. What could you possibly have to say to me?

I cleared my throat. “Is something wrong?”

I saw his head snap up; his eyes fixed on the peephole on my door. “Yes. Everything is wrong.”  

Oh. “Are…are you alright?”

“No.” His answer was simple and firm. “I know I don’t deserve anything from you…but, please, y/n.”

Taking a deep breath, I cracked open my door. “What do you want, Reid?”

I only allowed a tiny sliver of my face to be seen through the door. “C-can I come in?”

“I…I don’t know,” I mumbled. You’re still everywhere. If I let you in now…how will you ever fade?

Reid just nodded. “I understand. I just…I owe you an apology. I owe you so many apologies.”

I swallowed; my throat suddenly coated in sandpaper. “Reid, I don’t…you don’t…”

His eyes never left mine; he was leaving the choice up to me. “I don’t have to come in. I’ll talk to you through your door. Or I can talk to you over the phone. I’ll send you letters if that is easier. Just…please say you’ll talk to me?”

Very, very slowly, I eased the door open. He was cautious when he walked in, his hands stuffed into his pants pockets. “You don’t have to-“

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted. “That day in my apartment… I asked you not to lie to me. And I’ve done nothing but lie to you for the past 24 days, 22 hours, and 30 minutes.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“I already know you heard me, Reid.”

He just nodded. “That’s one of the things I lied about. But it’s not all. It’s not even close to all. I told you my feelings changed, and they didn’t. They haven’t. I still feel the exact same way that I always have. I’m so sorry I even let you think that I didn’t l-“

“Stop.” I wrapped my arms around my middle. “I-I can’t. You…you can’t say that.” I will break if you say that.

His hands came out of his pockets, his arms outstretched, palms facing me; like I was a wild animal he was trying not to startle. “I won’t, I won’t. I’m sorry. I won’t say it until you're ready to hear it if you're ever ready to hear it. But…you have to know why.”

My teeth dug into my bottom lip; my eyes averted from him. “Why what?”

“Why I…Y/n, I just…I thought that I was protecting you.”

My face fell into a frown. “Protecting me from what?”

He stuffed his hands back into his pockets. “From me.” I opened my mouth to say something, but he hurried on. “I know I contribute to the team in some ways, but I also know other people have to pick up my slack sometimes. I just…I know members of the team have gotten hurt protecting me before.” He swallowed, his eyes blinking rapidly. “I couldn’t let you get hurt trying to protect me too. I’m not worth it.”

I felt anger start to burn in my stomach. “You don’t get to make those sorts of choices for people, Reid.”

He nodded. “I know. I was wrong.” He squared his slim shoulders, pulling his hands out of his pockets to rest them at his sides. “I fucked up. I’ve made the biggest mistake I have ever made in my entire life. And I only know one way to fix mistakes this big.” He paused, his throat working when he swallowed. “In Narcotics Anonymous the hardest steps for a lot of people are steps 8 and 9. Step 8 is acknowledging that our actions have caused pain and we need to make amends. Step 9 is making those amends and making them in a way that won’t hurt anyone.”

Hands back in his pockets, he took a hesitant step towards me. “I promise, y/n, I will never hurt you again. This isn’t an excuse, but I was so…I was so scared. I thought that…I thought that your injury was my fault. And I thought if I distanced you from such a…a colossal fuck up like me that you’d be safer.”

My body started to shake, but I wouldn’t let any tears fall. I couldn’t. If the dam broke now, I don’t know that I’d be able to put it back in place.

“Y/n, I don’t deserve the opportunity to make amends to you. But…if you’ll let me, I’d like to try. You’re…you’re everything, y/n. Everything. I even lied before when I said you were sunshine and warmth. You’re so much more than that.”

I heard the tears in his voice, but I couldn’t look at him. I’d break if I looked at him.

“You’re the sun. You’re the center of my universe. And I thought I was keeping you safe, but…I didn’t give you the choice. I took your choice away from you when you’ve always given me a choice in everything.”

I moved my eyes upwards to look at the ceiling, crossing my arms over my chest, my hands rubbing over my upper arms. “I don’t-I don’t know what you want me to say, Reid.”

I heard his shoes on my floor; I felt the air shift in the room when he took a step closer to me. “Just…Just say you’ll…that you’ll at least wait before you push your transfer through. That you’ll let me try to fix this, even though I don’t deserve it.”

A humorless laugh left my throat. “I already told Hotch to hold my transfer request.”

His voice cracked when he spoke again. “You did? When?”

“He came by about an hour ago.” I finally, finally looked at him. I saw his glassy eyes, his wild hair, and the clear pain mixed with a spark of hope on his face. He wasn’t my boy, not anymore. But…goddamnit. “He said…He said you were being a dumbass.”

Reid laughed a bit at that. “That seems to be the general consensus.”

“He asked me to give it some time. To see if working with the team again would actually be a hardship. My first day back is Monday, and I’m cleared to go back on active duty Wednesday.”

He shifted, his hands coming up to push is hair out of his face. “So, you’ll be back on Monday?”

"That's the plan," I said softly. "But…Reid, I don't-I don't know if I can…"

“I’m not asking you to forgive me. I’m just asking you to let me try to make amends for this.”

I brought my hand up to rub my forehead. “What is your goal here, Reid? What do you want?”

His face was as open as I’d ever seen it, his eyes were wide, and his lips were parted. “I want to go back to the moment you started to wake up in the hospital. I want to hold your hand and tell you how much I” he cut himself off, which I was grateful for. “And I want to be the one that drove you home. I want to be the one that helped you wash your hair. I want to be the one that sat on your couch and watched movies with you.” He sighed, his eyes shifting to the side. “But I can’t have any of that. Morgan came by my apartment around the same time Hotch was here…he told me that I was hurting the thing I was trying so hard to protect. And he said you were building a wall around yourself.

Dr. Spencer Reid brought those brown eyes back over to meet mine. “I want you to let me try to knock down that wall again.”

My voice was soft, I could feel my chin trembling, my nails were digging into my arms. “But why?”

For the first time since he entered my apartment, he smiled. It was small but overwhelmingly warm. “You know why.”

I felt something pierce my heart; it was small and sharp, both painful and soothing at the same time. “Reid…I…I don’t know if I can…I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to know,” the man said simply. “You just have to be willing to let me try.”

“But they’re just words, Reid. They’re just words. How am I supposed to believe that you won’t do this again the next time I get injured? Because I can handle being injured…but you gutted me.” I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, using the pain to help me focus. I couldn’t let the dam break.

“They’re not just words,” he whispered. “I’ll prove it, y/n. I promise.”

I took a very shaky breath, not making an attempt to hide my pain. “I gave you everything, every single part of me and you brushed me aside. You left me in agony when I needed you.”

My choked words lashed at him, but he just took it with a nod. “I know. I don’t deserve another chance. I have no right after what I’ve done. What I’m asking for isn’t fair…but I have to ask. Please?”

“Okay.”

“What?” His words were soft, but the smile that spread over his face was the brightest thing I had ever seen.

I huffed. “You heard me. Don’t push it.”

‘Okay.” He smiled at me again as he made his way around my body, heading for my door. I wrapped my arms tighter around myself like I could somehow physically hold myself together. I heard the lock turn and the door pull open; I heard his feet shuffle through the doorway…before he paused. “Thank you, y/n.” The door clicked shut softly, and I finally allowed myself to breathe.

I wasn’t strong, I really wasn’t. Because if I was strong, I wouldn’t have felt so fucking hopeful.

--

After my conversation with Hotch yesterday, and my surprise visit from Reid last night, I expected my Saturday to be fairly uneventful. Which is why I wasn’t expecting a knock on my door at 8 pm that night.

“Who the fuck is it now?” I muttered, sighing with exasperation.

I thought Hotch was the most unexpected person I would ever see at my door unannounced, but this one caught me more off guard for so. I opened the door to see the bright smiling face of a young man in a delivery uniform. “Y/n y/l/n?” He asked politely.

“…Yes?”

He handed me a plastic bag with styrofoam containers inside. “Here you go. The bill has already been taken care of. Have a good night, ma’am!”

He was already halfway down the hall before I realized what was happening. “Wait, I didn’t order anything,” I called.

"I know, ma'am," he turned, walking backward as he spoke. "The order was placed in the store. A man came by and ordered the food, left a note to put in the bag, and told me to leave before you had a chance to refuse it." He smiled sheepishly at me. "I'm sorry, he gave me a really good tip. Have a good night!"

Frowning, I shut my door and moved into my kitchen, setting the bag on the counter. Sure enough, there was a note on top of the container.

“I know it’s your favorite. S.R.”

The thing about Reid is he had the worst handwriting I had ever seen. Even if I hadn’t suspected this was from him and he hadn’t signed the note, the handwriting would have given it away.

I went into my living room and snatched my phone off the couch before I quickly fired off a text.

“Why did you have dinner delivered to my house?”

His response came a moment later. “You know why.”

--

On Sunday morning, I had one of my last physical therapy appointments. I hadn't sustained any permanent damage to my left shoulder from the bullet. The only real issue was the healing muscle and the artery that was nicked. Even though I was right-handed, it was important in my line of work that I did not lose any strength in my left arm. The physical therapist had made an exception to see me on the weekend since my first day back at work was tomorrow.

The thought of going back to work made me incredibly nervous. I wasn't sure how things would be different. Not only did I have to worry about my relationship with Reid, but I also had to worry about how it would affect the team. I knew they all cared about me…but Reid had been a part of their family much longer than I had. Hotch’s visit on Friday meant a lot to me; I don’t think I would have been able to come back to work without it.

Despite my nerves, after being home on my couch for almost a month, I was itching to get back to doing the work I loved. I had already passed my post-injury psychiatric evaluation, which was pointless anyway as the BAU wrote the questions, but now with this approval from the physical therapist, I would only be on desk duty for 2 days once I returned.

I was so caught up in thought when I got to my apartment that I almost missed the paper taped to the front of my door. It was an envelope that looked some sort of parchment. If the type of paper didn’t give away the sender, the messy way my name was written on the front certainly did.

Calm down, y/n, I thought, reaching up to pluck the note from the door. It’s just a piece of paper. I knew my fear was irrational but trusting him after everything that had happened was terrifying. Because despite my best instincts, I wanted to trust him.

Inside the envelope was a letter, it wasn’t written on standard paper; but, nothing about the man it was from was ever standard.

--

“Y/n,

Before my mother’s schizophrenia became as bad as it is now, she used to read to me all the time. She was a professor of 15th-century literature. My love of reading came from her. Her favorite author is Margery Kempe; and when I was thinking about what I wanted to say to you, one quote in particular from Kempe kept coming to mind.

‘Patience is more worthy than miracle-working’.

The fact that you’ve given me even the slightest chance to apologize to you is the closest thing to a miracle I’ve ever seen. It's not a gift I'm going to take lightly. I know this is so incredibly hard for you. I know tomorrow is going to be hard for you, but I don't want you to feel like you're being forced to do anything before you're ready. I want to make amends, or at least try to, but I don't want to cause you any more pain.

You were patient with me in the beginning of our relationship; you were so unbelievably kind and generous – I think those are the things that made me…feel how I do now. I just want you to know that I’m prepared to be patient too. I never expected you to forgive me, and on the off chance you did, I knew it wouldn’t come easily.

I’d wait for you forever, y/n.

I don’t want to go against your wishes, but I want you to know that I’m ready. I’m ready to tell you now and every moment after for the rest of my life. All you have to do is ask and I’ll never stop telling you what you mean to me.

- Spencer”

--

My hands shook as I refolded the letter, slipping it back inside the envelope. I was dialing his number before I was even fully aware of what I was doing.

“Hello?” His voice sounded slightly apprehensive, almost shy.

“I got your letter,” I said quietly.

“I-I…I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

I let out a sigh. “No, Reid. You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“You’ve not called me Spencer since…”

“I’m not there yet.” I closed my eyes when I said it; even now…I didn’t want to hurt him. I’m just not there yet.

I heard him shift around on the other end of the line. “I know. You don’t have to be. I just…I just wanted to tell you how I feel.”

“And send me dinner,” I added dryly. He laughed softly before I asked what I really wanted to know. “Reid…how have you been?” I ran my hand over my forehead. “I mean…before I was…before I was shot I know you were struggling with-“

“Ah,” he mumbled when the realization hit him. “It wasn’t easy…it hasn’t been easy. I went to a lot of meetings after you were…And I spent a lot of time on JJ’s couch trying to convince her and myself that I was doing the right thing by pushing you away.”

I flexed the fingers of my left hand, my posture shifting while he spoke. “But you haven’t…I didn’t make…”

“Y/n,” he said, his voice was so fucking gentle that it almost shattered me. “I haven’t. And even if I did, it wouldn’t have been your fault. No bad choice I make is ever anyone’s fault but my own. My demons are my own.”

I sighed. “I know, Reid, but I don’t want to be…I don’t want to make them worse.”

“You couldn’t,” he said firmly. “Whenever I did think about calling a dealer, doing anything I could to not feel the pain in my heart…I-I kept seeing your face. You looked so understanding when I told you about dilaudid. You made me feel proud of myself for the first time in a long time.”

I had to put my palm over the end of my phone. I didn’t want him to hear how my breathing had become uneven.

“Y/n, I’ll do anything to have you look at me like that again.”

"I don't need to ask why do I?" I asked lightly, in an attempt to defuse the tension.

He laughed. “No, I don’t think you do.”

I found myself smiling, grateful he couldn’t see me. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Reid.”

--

When I arrived to work on Monday morning for my first official day back, I was apprehensive but hopeful. The world wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t as dark as it has been.

Right when I entered the bullpen, I saw something on my desk that made me pause. There in the center of my desk was a large iced coffee from my favorite cafe, the one near my house. No matter how early I got up, I never seemed to have time to stop there before work most days. So, the fact that a cup was there in the first place was cause for notice but that wasn’t the strangest part; the ice wasn’t melted. There wasn’t any condensation on the plastic cup.

I know I’m not a genius, but that can’t happen. Right?

“There she is!”

I turned to see Rossi making his way towards me, his arm's outstretched. He wrapped me in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

“We’re happy to have you back, y/n.”

I smiled widely at him, meaning it when I said, “I’m happy to be back.” He gave my upper arm a squeeze before he started to walk away. “Hey, Rossi. Did you do this?” I asked, gesturing to the cup on my desk.

He just had a sly smile on his face. “I did not, kiddo.”

Of course, he didn't. After taking a deep breath, I turned to the desk across from mine. Reid was already sitting there scribbling away, doing a very good job of pretending he didn’t know I was already here. I marched over to him before I lost my nerve. “The ice wasn’t melted.”

He looked up at me, not the slightest bit surprised at my presence, a soft smile on his face. “Beg your pardon?”

“The ice. In my iced coffee. It wasn’t melted.” I waved my hand around in the air. I’m not crazy, am I? That couldn’t have just happened.

“That’s because I asked them not to put any ice in when they made it,” he said simply. “You don’t like it as much when it’s watered down after the ice melts some; so I just added the ice here.”

My heart started to beat faster. “Why would you do that?”

The smile on his face got bigger, his eyes seemed to soften somehow when he looked at me. “You know why,” he said simply.

I didn’t know what to say. So, with a tight nod at him, I turned and walked back to my desk.

The rest of my first day back went how I expected. When Morgan saw me, he gathered me up in a giant hug and spun around ignoring my demands to put me down. Garcia hugged me like she hadn’t seen me in years and brought me cupcakes. Emily and JJ took me to lunch. Hotch made me fill out forms. And Reid…well, whenever I turned to look at him, I found he was already looking at me.

--

The very next day when I showed up for work, I was suspicious. Every day since that Friday, Reid had done something. But when I arrived in the morning there was nothing on my desk. Nothing appeared out of place. Maybe it’s a fluke. Reid was already sitting at his desk, scrolling through his e-mail.

I knew what he had done the second I sat down. For as long as I had worked at this desk in the BAU bullpen, there was one wheel on my chair that was wonky. It never wanted to roll, and it always drove me insane. No matter what I tried the wheel never worked this well, and especially not this smoothly. Did he-?

When I looked over, he was already looking at me, that same soft smile on his face.

--

On my third day back at work there was nothing on my desk when I arrived, there was nothing anywhere. But I knew him, I knew he wasn’t done yet; there had to be something.

That something was on my desk when I got back from turning in my return to active duty forms to Hotch. There was a single sunflower in a vase sitting on my desk. I walked up to it and touched the petals softly. It was beautiful, but I was confused.

Walking over to his desk, I didn’t bother trying to hide the confusion or apprehension on my face. This time he wasn’t pretending to be doing something else; his eyes had been on me since the moment I walked out of Hotch’s office.

“It’s beautiful,” I began. “But I don’t understand the symbolism.”

He tilted back in his chair, looking up at me. “Sunflowers always want to be looking at the sun…and so do I.”

Because he thinks I’m the sun.

“But don’t sunflowers stop turning towards the sun when they get older?”

He just nodded. “They might, but I never will.”

I ran my tongue over my lips before I pulled both of them in between my teeth. I felt tears prick the corners of my eye. “Why?” I asked, my voice slightly thicker than normal.

Spencer stood up then; it looked like he would reach for me, but he quickly put his hands at his sides. “I’ll stop if it hurts you. Y/n, I promise to never hurt you again.” His words were earnest, his eyes were pleading. “But ‘why?’ You know why.”

I just nodded my head slightly, blowing out a shaky breath. “Thank you, it’s lovely.”

I don't know why Spencer said I was the sun because his smile at that moment was the brightest thing I'd ever seen. "Is it too much if I throw in a cheesy line, like, 'it's not as lovely as you?'"

“Brat,” I muttered, turning quickly so he wouldn’t see my smile.

That bright smile was still on his face when we all met in the conference room 20 minutes later. I saw Rossi clap him on the back when he walked in. JJ shot him a very sweet smile, it was almost motherly, like she was proud of him. Prentiss just winked.

Morgan wasn’t subtle. I’m not sure he knew how to be. He held out his fist for a fist bump, laughing openly when Spencer just wrapped his hand around it and shook.

“Alright,” Hotch said from the front of the room. Fuck, even he is smiling a little bit. “Let’s get started.”

--

Less than 30 minutes later, I was boarding the BAU jet for the first time in more than a month. We were off to Arkansas to assist the Hot Springs police department to catch a suspected serial killer.

I was one of the last ones on board; I smiled awkwardly when I saw everyone’s eyes on me.  

“What kept you, Pretty Girl?” Morgan asked with a grin.

Oh, I’m Pretty Girl now? Subtle. I shot Morgan a look to indicate I wasn’t amused. “I had to talk to Garcia.”

Rossi looked at me expectantly “…About?”

They were all just staring at me, and they weren’t even trying to hide their amusement. I sighed. “I couldn’t just leave it on my desk, you assholes.” Garcia might have squealed loudly when I brought her my sunflower and asked her to watch over it for me.

Every one of them laughed…except Reid. Reid just bit his bottom lip and dropped his gaze. He looked so much like my nervous boy that it made me ache. That was the first time I allowed myself to admit how much I missed my darling boy.

--

I was in the middle of going over victimology when a cup of coffee was sat down beside me. I mumbled my thanks, not even glancing up, just reaching out to grab it. It wasn’t until my fingers wrapped around the cup that my head snapped up.

“Morgan,” I called. “What’s this?”

His smile was very, very bright. “It’s your coffee.”

I picked up the iced coffee, giving it a once over. “Are you or are you not the same Derek Morgan that has said multiple times, ‘I ain’t no damn barista if you want special coffee you go get it your damn self'?"  

He nodded, his smile never wavering. “I am, so don’t get used to it. But when my boy has finally stopped being a dumbass and is trying to win his girl back?” He winked at me. “I’ll make an exception when he asks for a favor.”

I heard JJ laugh softly from the other end of the table. I scrunched my face into a mock glare at both of them. “Don’t you have a murderer to catch?”

He turned before leaving the room, putting a hand to his chest in a very dramatic fashion. “Pretty Girl, you should know SSA Derek Morgan can multitask!”

--

I still don’t know what it is about towns in the middle of nowhere, but it never fails, one of the cops from said town will try to weasel his way into my bed the second the case is over. I was packing up after the unsub was booked when someone cleared his throat behind me to get my attention. This time it was a tall, slightly out of shape Officer named Reynolds. His smile was greasy but at least he didn’t try to touch me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, offering what I hoped was a polite smile. “I have a boyfriend.” I always tried to be diplomatic when this happened, just because I didn’t need to Hotch reprimand me for threatening a member of the local police…again.

Officer Reynolds’ scoffed. “He doesn’t have to know.”

The smile dropped off my face, my eyes hardening. Fucker. “That’d be pretty fucking difficult since he’s a member of my team and he’s sharing a room with me.” I picked up my bag and tossed a sarcastic “nice working with you” over my shoulder before I hightailed it out of the conference room. I didn’t stop until I got to the main entrance of the precinct, where I planned to wait for the rest of the team.

“So, am I the boyfriend you mentioned?” A voice asked from behind me.

Of course. I turned to see Dr. Spencer Reid looking very pleased with himself. “I also didn’t know you wanted to share a room with me tonight. We each have single rooms though, so we don’t have to swap with anyone else…” he trailed off pretending to think. “So, who’s room are we taking?”

I rolled my eyes. “Reid, if it got some slimy cop off my back, I’d tell him you were my husband. I will throw you under the bus to save myself from a very awkward conversation that would probably lead to me punching someone.”

His face changed, he no longer looked overly pleased with himself. He looked like the same man that sat on the couch with me all those weeks ago and asked me if I kissed my submissives. He looked like the Spencer that used to be mine.

“You act like I’d mind,” he said quietly.

“Mind what? Being thrown under the bus?”

“Being called your husband.”

I froze, my eyes immediately dropped to the floor. I couldn’t look at him, I couldn’t. I let out a very shaky exhale, a sure sign that I was about to cry. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t. Why is he doing this to me?

I saw his beaten-up converse move into my field of view. He was close to me now, but he didn’t touch me. “I’m sorry, y/n,” he whispered. “But I promised I wouldn’t lie to you anymore.”

JJ walked around the corner then and he broke away from me. I just stared at my hands the whole drive back to the hotel.

--

The clock on the bedside table blinked 11:47 pm. I had been lying in bed since 9 pm trying to fall asleep. When we arrived back to the hotel, I didn’t speak to anyone, I just kept my head down and walked straight into my room. Once I was inside, I tore my clothes off and got into the shower, turning it on the hottest temperature I could tolerate.

I felt the tears; they were right there, I felt them pulsing underneath my eyes. I didn’t know how to do this. I didn’t know how to deny myself everything I had ever wanted when it was offering itself to me…I was the reason I was in pain right now, and it was all because I was so fucking terrified to trust him again.

I glanced back over at the clock. 11:49 pm.

Taking a deep breath, trying to pull some sort of courage into myself, I picked up my phone.

He’s probably sleeping, I reasoned, giving myself one last chance to back out.

But then the phone was dialing. I listened to the ringing and held my breath. Because what was I supposed to do if he didn’t answer? What was I supposed to do if he did?

“Y/n?” his sleepy voice asked, sounding disoriented but urgent. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Everything. And no. But I couldn't get my mouth to open. I couldn't say anything. If I opened my mouth, then everything would spill out. All the pain, all the secrets, all the hopes, and fears…and it would all be bared to Spencer Reid.

In the way that Spencer knew everything, he knew what I needed then. “I’ll be right there.” I heard a rustling on his end of the line, but he never hung up the phone.

Before I was ready, I heard the same hesitant knock on my door that I heard every night he came to my hotel room just because he missed me; the same knock that I had heard that first day at my apartment. The knock was the final crack that broke the dam I had built around my emotions in an attempt to hold them back so they wouldn’t sweep me away.

I don’t remember walking to the door, I don’t remember unlocking it; all I remember is Spencer standing on the other side in the same Caltech t-shirt and sweatpants he wore in my apartment when we sat on my couch on our first real night together.

“Y/n?” His eyes ran over me frantically. He came into the room, shutting the door behind him. His hands reached out like he would grab me, but I saw the indecision on his face. “Tell me what you need, baby. Please?”

The moment that I was so afraid of happened then. The tears finally flooded my eyes and my jaw unlocked. “Spence, I’m scared.” I swallowed, trying to control my broken voice. “I want this so much but I’m terrified.”

His arms enveloped me before I was finished speaking. One hand in the center of my back, the other on the back of my head. He smelt like coffee, laundry detergent, and my Spencer. My body shook in his arms. The pain from his words at the hospital, the pain from him not being there when I woke up, the pain of losing him, and the pain of having to turn him away for almost a week when he was all I wanted; all of that pain just poured out of me while I sobbed into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, y/n,” he whispered against my hair. “I’m so, so sorry. And I will do anything-I’ll do everything to prove to you that I will never hurt you again.”

He kept holding me until my tears finally quieted, my body almost went limp in his arms. The weight of all of that pain was so heavy for so long, and now that I didn’t have to hold it, I was so tired.

“Spence?” My throat felt raw, my eyes were puffy.

“Hmm?”

I didn’t lift my head to look at him. “I’m ready to hear it now.”

Spencer froze, I’m pretty sure he stopped breathing for a moment. Then he leaned back, pulling his chest away from my face. Both of his hands cupped my face, his thumbs moving over my cheeks softly, wiping the tear trails away. Spencer held me like I was more fragile than glass like I was made of something that would crumble into nothing if he so much as moved wrong.

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly, his beautiful golden-brown eyes searching mine.

I nodded. “Yeah, I think so,” I said, giving him a small shaky laugh.

He tilted my head up slightly before his lips brushed against my forehead. “I loved you before you were ready to hear it; I loved you before you even knew I existed.” He pressed another kiss my cheek. “I loved you since the first time you smiled at me.” He kissed my other cheek. “I will never stop telling you how much I love you.” He trailed his lips over to my mouth. “I will love you forever…because no one has ever loved someone the way I love you,” he whispered, his breath washing over my lips.

I leaned forward and brushed my mouth against his. I felt the final layer of my resistance crumble. “Please don’t hurt me again, Spence.”

He pulled away to stare in my eyes. “I will never hurt you like this again. I’m so fucking sorry, y/n.”

“Just kiss me, Spencer.”

He gave me a tiny grin at the command. “I thought you didn’t kiss your submissives,” he teased.

I brought my hand up to hold his face. “You know I break all my rules for you, my darling, nervous boy.”

--

--

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[rory-for-short]

New Crossings New Horizons: Part 3

TELL ME WHY I DECIED TO MAKE PART THREE THE START OF A SLOW BURN PLOT WITH NOOK AND THE READER I HATE MYSELF BUT ALSO IM HAVING FUN. 

So the plan is to make a community out of this island over the span of one summer and a fall semester. Nook had explained that there were more generators arriving in the nest few days. It was up to you all to figure out how housing would work. The list went on and on from pod homes, tiny houses, campers, and prefab homes. Tiny homes won. With a stipulation. We would start with them, then upgrade to prefabs later on. It would be easier to run tiny homes with the starting generators until we could figure out an electricity grid, and work on a plumbing/ well system for now. Nook seemed happy with this decision, and in the meantime, you and Cherry went out to collect wood and supplies while Apollo and Bob offered to find food.

“Hey imma trap some bears maybe there will be a zoo eventually,” announced Timmy jokingly.

“You and what bear trap,” Tommy snickered.

“I have several yards of rope, that's all I need,” Timmy smirked, uncoiling some thick rope from a knot.

“You kids be careful and stay close to camp. Me and Y/N are going south to find some wood,” Cherry informed.

You had already gotten some rope and packs yourself so that you could tie up logs into a bunch for easier carrying.

“Me and Bob are setting up snares to the west. All for small game but still, watch your footing if you are going up our way,” Apollo warned before everyone parted ways. You and Cherry managed to not only find wood, but also collected a tote of wild strawberries. Soon evening was upon you. Cherry mentioned heading back now before it got too dark, so the two of you started heading back. You were walking in front of Cherry leading your way back to camp when you lost your footing and found yourself stepping in a snare. Apollo and Bob must have really covered their ground, because you two were nowhere near the west of camp. Yet here you were, dangling and suspended ten feet off the ground from a tree.

“Y?N! Are you alright?” Cherry exclaimed as she ran for you dropping strawberry filled tote and running towards your dangling form.

“Yeah, I think I’m good...Just hanging around,” you smirked half expecting a rim shot. “It looks like the guys had covered more area than we thought,” you reasoned. Your current position was impressive, and uncomfortable. There was currently a rope around your arms and torso that made moving your arms impossible. At least you weren’t hanging by the neck. You could deal with some rope across your chest and restraining your arms as long as you could breath. You counted that as a blessing.

“Do you see a place to cut me down?” you called to her. Cherry began to scurry around the base of the trunk and nearby trees.

“I don't see any rope down here. It’s like it's on you and the branch and just nothing. There should be some rope down here for easy release right?,” the small girl panicked as she darted to and fro, hurriedly searching for the end of the rope to cut you down. Yet nothing was found. Great. You sighed in frustration. As cool of a trap as it was, you could feel your arms being construed and knew you’d have bruising from the rough rope.

“Go get the guys at camp. They can get me down, they set the trap afterall. But be quick it's getting dark,” you warned. Cherry nodded and sped towards camp. Hopefully she could get to them fast and not leave you dangling all night. Not five minutes after she disappeared, you began hearing rustling in bushes. The hairs on your neck stood up.

“ah-Apollo? That you?” you asked meekly. No reply. To be fair it was a bit windy, and you reasoned that you being alone at night with visibility getting lower, you were starting to be on edge. However, that didn't keep your eyes from darting to every little sound. Ten minutes in and your arms really started to hurt. Not to mention it was getting dark-dark, not just late-evening-dark. Just then, you saw a flashlight coming from the direction of camp moving steadily towards you

“Y/N! Kid! Where are you?” called the voice of none other than Tom Nook. Well thank you for the backup, Cherry, but what luck would Nook have at figuring out an Apollo snare?

“Over here Mr. Nook!” you call meekly from the tree severely doubting Cherry’s judgment at the moment. His flashlight beam landed on you and you squinted at the sudden change of light.

“Oh thank god! I'll have you down in a minute kid, don't you worry,” he said voice dripping with concern. You weren’t really worried about being stuck up here all night, except for the fact you had no idea where the rope release was.

“Cherry couldn’t find the release. I doubt you'll have much luck in the dark Mr. Nook” you reasoned.

“Who do you think taught Timmy to set a trap? Don't worry, the end of the rope should be about shoulder height on one of these trees behind you.” he explained as he disappeared into the shadows behind you.

“Timmy?! I thought this had to be Apollo’s handy work,” you were slightly impressed and it was notable in your tone..

“Don’t tell Timmy that. I’ll go straight to his head. Okay Y/N, get ready and brace yourself,”

“Do wha-” and at that you were crashing down ten feet to the ground. You landed awkwardly on your heel at an angle and yelped a bit in both pain and surprise. Tom Nook was beside you in a blink.

A look of worry stained his features as he knelt near you. You were trying to shrug off the now significantly looser rope. Red marks and bruises were already forming on your upper arms and forearms.Pain surged through your foot. A look of horror washed over your face as you feared it might be sprained, rolled, or worse, broken.

“Sorry that landing sounded rough. Here, let me help you up. Your arms aren't looking too good either,” he noted as he scanned your bruised arms. He extended his hand to help you on your feet when pain shot through your leg, calf and foot. You winced and your step faltered. Tom noticed and held your arm a little tighter.

“You landed bad didn’t you? You think you can make it back to camp on that ankle?”

You hesitated a moment before answering.

“Uh, ye-yes I’ll be fine,” you said through gritted teeth as you tried to adjust your steps to be less painful. However, your attempted step caused another shrug of pain all the way from the heel of your foot up your calf. You suppressed a yelp. Your eyes, now watering from the injured muscles that betrayed you, met Nooks and you could tell he knew you weren’t actually all that fine.. You sheepishly looked down and away.

“You can’t walk back, can you?” he sighed. It was more of a statement than a question. A beat of silence fell between you and he finally resolved.

“Alright, I’m too old for bridal style so you’ll have to get on behind me,” he reasoned.

“What? No,- come on we can try walking-” but the ankle was already starting to swell and Nook gave you that Dadtm look that stopped you dead in the middle of your sentence.  A look he probably mastered by practicing it on Timmy and Tommy. The kind that said ‘I’m not arguing kid, do as I say’. You sighed as he crouched in front of you. You reached your arms around his shoulders and despite claiming to be an old man, he lifted you pretty effortlessly. Which should have taken more effort, you were a full grown woman after all. You, at this point, were red in the face and you knew it. It was a pretty embarrassing predicament, having the decider of your future employment carry you on his back through the woods like some kid that scraped their knee. How were you gonna hide the red face at camp? You didn’t know, but hoped everyone would be in bed already.

“Sorry Mr. Nook, I should have been more careful,” you muttered into his shoulder. You felt his chuckle resonate through his back and into your chest.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. I was the one who dropped you too suddenly after all… and everyone calls me Nook or Tom. You don't have to call me ‘mister nook’ you know,” he answered softly.

You nodded into his shoulder and you both approached the camp. You saw everyone waiting on the two of you sitting around the fire with cooked fish and rabbit.

“Oh great. Looks like he managed to break her further,” Timmy laughed, elbowing Tommy. Nook shot Timmy a glare.

“I got her out of the “bear trap” YOU set. Really Timmy, if you are going to set snares, annonce them to the general populace so no one gets hurt,” Nook scolded with you still on his back, as he walked over to where everyone was sitting and eating. Red face was a go, but you could probably blame it on the injury and fire light. Nook helped you to sit on the log seating as Bob handed a plate your way. AT\t that moment you realize just how hungry you were.

“Catch of the day, besides you of course,” Bob snickered and you gave a light laugh.

“First I gotta splint up this ankle,” you explained.

“Ill get the first aid kit,” Cherry offered and scampered towards the main tent. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Nook a few inches from Timmys face, looking like he was hardcore chewing him ou in a hushed tonet. Now it was Timmy's turn to be embarrassed.

[peaceoutofthepieces]

you were my crown

chapter 4

Ao3

~^~ The scrape and swoosh of curtains opening followed by a blast of light to his face woke Jens up. He winced and jerked away, raising a hand in front of his face before he came to his senses enough to shoot up and look around in bewilderment.

Lucas stood watching him by the window with his arms crossed over his chest and head cocked, completely unimpressed.

Jens pulled the covers up over his chest with a sputter. “What are you doing?”

“My job,” Lucas said bluntly, rolling his eyes slightly at Jens’s gesture and pointedly turning away. “I didn’t pick you for the modest type. Does this mean I won’t actually have to be involved in your bathing?”

It was too early. There was too much in that little bit of speech to parse through with his sleep-addled brain. It was too early to be reminded of Lucas’s heavy sarcasm and persistent disrespect. He did not have the energy to step up to the taunting, nor was he awake enough to fret over Lucas connecting him and modesty and bathing all at once and how that made him jittery.

Jens let the covers slip away from him carefully, ignoring the sleep still clinging to his limbs to step out of bed, ambling his way to the table. Faux confidence carried him to where Lucas had laid out his breakfast. Well, ‘laid out’ was generous. He saw Lucas look over his shoulder at him as he lifted the plate and drew it with him to the head of the table. Only when he sat down did he allow himself to look back at Lucas, finding the boy’s gaze quickly glancing off his stomach.

“These are, obviously, private chambers.” Jens raised a brow. “You’re supposed to knock.”

Lucas met his eye and raised a brow back. “I did. Multiple times. And I called your name. I thought someone might have offed you in your sleep, and the door was open, so.”

Jens sunk slightly in his chair and repeated, “You’re supposed to knock. Wait to be invited. You’ll lose this position right away if you don’t obey basic courtesies like that.”

“Pity,” Lucas said dryly.

“It will be, when you’re dead.”

Lucas’s expression went blank at that, and he turned away to neaten the curtains. Jens glanced at his breakfast, then returned to watching Lucas’s back.

“The carriage was waiting for you?” he asked. “You found it okay?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Lucas replied calmly, his tone clipped with mock politeness. As he turned around and slowly came closer to Jens, however, some of the usual passive aggressive emotions slid from his expression. “It was better than walking would have been, I imagine.”

Jens tilted his head and failed to hide a small grin. He knew the chances were high that such a response would simply shut Lucas away again, but he couldn’t help it. “Is that a thank you?”

Lucas scoffed and rolled his eyes, but didn’t retreat, which Jens took as both a positive answer and sign.

“You’re off to an okay start, otherwise,” Jens offered. “I mean, you’re here, and you managed to bring breakfast. Sander’s tour must have been worth something.”

Lucas hummed. “Sander met me at the door,” he admitted.

Jens laughed. Lucas’s lips twitched at the reaction, and Jens thought, pleaded, Maybe. Maybe, hopefully, eventually. It seemed unlikely that they would ever be friends; it seemed impossible that they wouldn’t have to be something.

Jens had earned himself a new companion, someone who would be able to take the edge off the loneliness of his life, and he had doomed himself to one less possible friend. It wouldn’t be a real option even if Lucas didn’t hate him—because Lucas was his servant and had his own friends, and Jens couldn’t really have any.

It cut his laughter down abruptly, and he had to remind himself that it didn’t matter. It wasn’t about him. He couldn’t have let anything happen to Lucas, to any innocent, and that was all.

He managed to keep his smile, and gestured at the seat next to him, nudging the second plate towards Lucas. “Come eat.”

Lucas blinked at him. Then he pursed his lips. “I don’t need your scraps.”

“Well, good, because I usually try not to leave any. But you should eat your own breakfast before it goes cold.” Jens pushed the chair out with his foot, making Lucas step back.

“My own breakfast?”

Jens nodded at the plate, smile twitching. “What else was that supposed to be for?”

Lucas hesitated. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I thought…”

“You thought I was going to stuff my face while you’re expected to starve?” Jens guessed. When Lucas pursed his lips again instead of replying, Jens huffed in amusement. “The servants also get meals, Lucas. Usually they eat breakfast earlier, though it depends on the job. You would be expected to eat yours first before coming to me, so you’d be ready to start your duties.” His smile widened. “Here I was thinking you’d simply wanted to eat with me.”

There was a slight flush to Lucas’s cheeks, but he still managed a derisive huff at the statement. However, he finally moved, carefully taking the seat Jens had offered at his right hand. He pulled himself close to the table as Jens pushed the plate in front of him, then hesitated. “I had something to eat before I left home,” Lucas said.

Jens poked at his egg, then took a bite. “What did you have?”

“Just...some fruit,” Lucas mumbled.

“If you don’t want to eat it, that’s alright,” Jens said. “But it’s for you.” Then, “I can’t imagine fruit is all that filling. Have more when it’s available to you, Lucas.”

Lucas appeared as if he was going to argue again, then swallowed the words down and dug in. Jens watched him only long enough to make sure he didn’t actually dislike the food or wouldn’t change his mind, then politely glanced away and focused on his own meal. It was rude to watch someone else eat, is what he’d always thought, but he couldn’t help shooting occasional looks at Lucas, couldn’t help but notice the way he quickly devoured the food once given permission.

When he paused a moment to rub at his chest and clear his throat, Jens wordlessly poured a cup of water and handed it to him.

Lucas took it with a small, surprised ‘thank you’, and gazed at Jens for a moment before finishing off his food. It was, admittedly, less than Jens’s and probably not entirely as appetizing, but it was mainly down to Lucas’s speed that he was finished when Jens still had a quarter of his plate left. Lucas grew a little awkward at the realisation, but simply shrunk back in his chair and sipped at his water before asking, “What should I do, now?”

“Let your food sink,” Jens said. “There’s no rush. I won’t personally need you much today. You might be asked to do the polishing, but don’t let anyone bully you into cleaning anyone’s things but mine. That isn’t your job, and if anyone tries to make it one, tell me. Likewise with the stables and the horses. You can help out in any cases you want to, but we already have people doing those things, so just tend to whatever is mine. Okay?”

Lucas nodded hesitantly. He looked a bit nauseous; Jens wasn’t sure if he was overwhelmed or had just eaten too quickly.

He found himself trying to be reassuring regardless. “Sander will guide you around for the day, anyway.” He furrowed his brow, looking around at the door as the realisation occurred to him. “Isn’t he supposed to be here, anyway? And weren’t there supposed to be guards stationed outside my door?”

Lucas shrugged. “Sander said if it was my job to get you your breakfast now there was no reason for him to traipse after me. I guess the guards idea hasn’t been implemented yet.”

“My mother might not be happy,” Jens said, swallowing thickly. Trying to eat faster so Lucas wouldn’t have to sit and watch him was not working well. “But it’s her own mistake, so I guess we enjoy it while we can.”

This made Lucas quirk a brow at him, but this time he did not seem annoyed at Jens’s smile. In fact, it almost looked like he wanted to return it. Instead, Lucas looked away, taking in the room. It only lasted a moment before he was inevitably drawn back to Jens’s bare torso.

Jens sat back in his seat, and Lucas’s gaze flickered up to him. “Ask,” Jens said.

Lucas shook his head. “I won’t. If you want to tell me, then you will. It’s not any of my business.”

It wasn’t a surprising response, really; not from Lucas. Jens considered him, then prodded at the jagged scar on his stomach, cutting through the muscle like lightning. “I’m not modest,” he said eventually. “I’m just never sure of how people will react.”

“It’s just a scar,” Lucas replied. It wasn’t dismissive, nor was it comforting; it was fact. There was no judgment or pity in Lucas’s voice, none of the usual irritation or sarcasm. He showed a faint curiosity and nothing more. “I have one on the back of my shoulder from falling out of the bed when I was seven. One on my foot from where a calf stood on me. This—“ he brandished the inner side of his left arm at Jens “—from when I fell off a cart with Kes and broke my arm. Should I go on?”

Jens huffed, shaking his head. But he leaned his arms on the table and accepted the truths for one of his own. “I was stabbed when I was ten. They would have sliced me in half if they could’ve. Probably should have died, honestly. My father did.”

Lucas’s eyes darkened and he pressed his lips together.

It was something everyone knew, the trajedy that killed the King. It had been more of a battle than a war, because it had done nothing but silently brew until that single fight. The culprits had all died in the process or been caught in the aftermath, at least, and the kingdom had mourned and rallied together.

But then there was this.

“I didn’t know anyone else had been involved,” Lucas said, quietly. “I mean, with the rest of the family. I thought they were only after the King. No one ever said any different.”

Jens shrugged. It wasn’t as heavy as it once would have been. “I guess they thought I would just be the next King if they didn’t do something about it. And I would’ve been, if I hadn’t almost died. It was the only reason my mother took over.”

“You were ten,” Lucas said, dumbfounded. “You were a child. You couldn’t have been a leader or a threat.”

“I still don’t think I could be,” Jens returned with a slight laugh. “But different people will always expect different things.”

Lucas stared at him as if he had never seen him before, or was seeing something new. He leaned forward as if to settle on the table with Jens, but was interrupted by a knock and the door swinging open.

Jens whipped his gaze around, expecting to see Sander or one of the boys again, and instead catching sight of his sister.

Lies strode over to them with all her usual elegance, the pale green lace of her dress sleeves flowing around her arm as she lifted her hand in a greeting. She made a thorough examination of Lucas and no attempt to hide it, before settling an unimpressed look on Jens.

“You know,” Jens told her, “the purpose of knocking is completely defeated when you don’t wait for an answer.”

“I was worried you were being murdered,” Lies said, too loftily to be serious. She looked from Jens to Lucas. “But he’s harmless, isn’t he? Aside from the killer looks.”

Lucas snorted in surprise, then immediately covered his mouth with his hand. Jens blinked at him before staring sharply at his sister.

Lies rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that look, you know he’s not for me. A little...delicate, for my taste. Surely someone’s catch, though,” she quickly added in Lucas’s direction, who dismissed the assurances with a flick of his hand and an amused smile.

“Did you want something?” Jens asked, brow raised.

“I brought gifts,” Lies said, gesturing behind her to where two guards now stood in the doorway. Lucas sat up in his seat at the sight and shifted his shoulders uncomfortably, and Jens shot another sharp look at his sister. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m just following orders to take care of my little brother.”

“You’re not even ten minutes older than me, Lies.”

She, predictably, ignored him. “I also have orders to give.”

“What, so you aren’t just here to stick your nose in?”

“Well,” she shrugged, looking at Lucas again. “I had to see what you’ve made all the fuss about.”

“I haven’t made a fuss.”

“Are the orders for me?” Lucas asked, interrupting their bickering with an unusually polite tone and patient expression.

Of course, he would even like Jens’s twin better.

Lies indulged him with one of her most winning smiles. “No, no. For you, I simply wished to introduce myself.” She stepped further into the room, rounding behind Jens to Lucas’s side of the table. He rose to meet her, and her smile widened. “I’m Lies.”

Lucas bowed and held out his hand. Lies slipped her own into it easily, and Lucas brought it to his lips in a gentle kiss. His eyes flicked past Lies to Jens, pointed and mocking, and Jens felt himself bristle again. The understanding he had thought passed between them just moments ago slipped through his fumbling fingers as if it had never truly been within reach.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Princess,” Lucas said. Jens really might kill him himself, eventually. “I’m Lucas.”

Lies hummed, amused. “How chivalrous. You’ll have to be careful where you take him, he might be new competition.” She winked over her shoulder at Jens.

“I don’t go anywhere,” Jens said, confused. “Nor do I compete for anything.”

Lucas snorted again, and this time something thrummed in Jens’s chest.

Meanwhile, Lies sighed and ruffled Jens’s hair, finally parting from Lucas’s careful hold. “Pardon, Lucas, it seems like I do have an order for you. Try in some of your time here to make this one less boring, will you? This is joyless.”

“I’m not sure it’s possible, Your Highness, but for you I’ll try.”

Lies beamed at Lucas, clapped her hands once, then pointed sternly at a scowling Jens. “And, for you, mother dearest has ordered a family lunch.”

Jens blinked. It wasn’t entirely unusual that they would have such family get-togethers, but it wasn’t entirely usual either. They were reserved for special dates, birthdays and anniversaries and the like, or for announcements their mother wished to break to them before anyone else. It was certainly no one’s birthday, and as far as Jens knew, it was not an anniversary either. “Moyo and Aaron are still here. I’m supposed to meet them for lunch before they leave again.”

“Don’t argue with me, Jens, I’m just the messenger. Take it up with her if you want.” Lies shrugged, already on her way back out the door.

Jens looked back to Lucas, who had already returned to facing him with his arms crossed. Jens tucked his own arms around his stomach, his thumb absently rubbing over the scar there. He was not modest, and likewise, he was not self-conscious, but then again, he never had anyone looking at him that wasn’t his family or Robbe, with Senne and Sander being the odd exception. None of the maids have ever really seen him in such undress, even, despite readying baths and bedsheets and the more complicated clothing he was so often forced to wear; this was outer garments or just the buttons, laces and ties he could not manage himself.

He felt barer when it was Lucas. This wasn’t exactly embarrassing or scary or uncomfortable. He wouldn’t have sat with Lucas so long if it had been, and he wouldn’t have mentioned the marring of his skin himself. But it was unfamiliar; it was new. He felt twitchy and hot in the face of it. Unsure.

Thankfully, Lucas was as unaffected as ever and spoke up first. “I can see the similarity.”

Jens raised a brow. “We’re not identical.” Lies’s hair and eyes were lighter, and she wasn’t quite as tall, and her face seemed both softer and more delicate than Jens’s at once. There were similarities amongst all of them, but they bore no closer resemblance to each other than they did to their mother or Lotte.

“No, far from it,” Lucas agreed. “She is much more likable.”

Jens resisted the urge to throw food at him.

Lucas’s lips twitched as if he could tell. “Does this mean I won’t have to bring you lunch?”

“No,” Jens sighed. “It also means I won’t be able to guide you through anything until after that. But I’m sure that doesn’t disappoint you.”

Lucas simply shrugged.

“I’ll tell Sander. You could have lunch with the boys, if you want,” Jens suggested.

“Could I?”

It wasn’t hopeful. It was not a request, not curiosity, not to seek permission. It was dubious, deadpan disbelief. Jens supposed Lucas was right not to expect the offer to be casual or genuine; servants were there to serve.

“You would have been there with me, anyway. You are expected to stick with Sander for the most part. And you have to eat, regardless. Join them with Sander, if you want to.”

Lucas considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. What until then?”

“First,” Jens rose to his feet, “you’ll help me find one of these ridiculous shirts my mother likes and then help me get it on.” He moved towards his wardrobe, and looked over his shoulder when Lucas did not follow.

Lucas blinked at him. “Seriously?”

Jens huffed a laugh. “Welcome to the life of a Prince.”

|*~^~*|

The only saving grace about having lunch with his family was Lotte. She had beamed at Jens when he came in, then immediately scowled as he ruffled her hair. Now she was perched next to him at the table, one foot hooked up onto the chair out of sight of their mother who, of course, sat at the head. Lies sat across from him, managing to look both bored and completely composed at once.

It was becoming concerning. They had gotten through the first half of their food on idle chit-chat, and Ellis hadn’t told them why they were here.

Lies, like Jens, kept flicking looks at her. Like she was waiting, but not like she was curious. Like she knew.

“Care to fill us in?” Jens eventually prompted.

His mother looked up at him as Lies faltered with her food. “Pardon?” Ellis asked.

Jens flicked a hand between them. “Whatever it is we’re all gathered about. Whatever you’ve already obviously talked to Lies about.”

Ellis sighed, considering her plate before passing a hand over her mouth. She folded her arms over each other and looked at him steadily. “You are going to need to start preparing to take over the throne.”

Jens blinked.

“Isn’t Jens already doing that?” Lotte asked, with the easy, childish curiosity Jens didn’t feel he was allowed to have.

It made their mother gentle, which shouldn’t have been a relief. Jens knew how much she adored her youngest daughter; even if she didn’t have much time to show it. “Of course,” she began to explain. “It has always been the path he’s been on. But I mean, really start preparing. Deciding what kind of leader you will be...and who you will have by your side.”

“But…” Jens hated how small he sounded, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Why? You aren’t going anywhere. What’s the sudden change?”

“You can never be too prepared,” Ellis said lightly. “Besides, you can assume the throne any time. It is not always a passage that only follows death.”

“But there’s no need. And I don’t want to.”

Lies huffed. It sounded considerably less amused than when she’d been trading teases with Lucas in his chambers this morning. “You know this isn’t about what anyone wants, Jens.”

Jens frowned at her, feeling shame and irritation bubble in his chest at once. It didn’t dissipate when his mother covered his hand with her own.

“She’s right. You’ve always known your duty.” She took a breath that turned into a sigh. “And the kingdom has always been restless under the rule of a single queen. You know it was never supposed to be my throne.”

It threw him back in his chair. Of course he knew—he’d admitted the same fact to Lucas just this morning. The realisation made him dizzy now.

The kingdom was restless about their Queen?

It seemed impossible. Since his father’s death, there had never been an attempt on the throne. The kingdom had never been more cohesive, more peaceful. It had never run smoother than it has while guided by the flick and flow of Ellis’s hand. They loved her. Jens heard the nasty comments about their family in general, about any kind of royalty, but even those people always held a grudging respect for the woman after meeting her.

But Jens didn’t go anywhere. He didn’t see anyone, not really. No one that wasn’t already close to their family.

If there were rumbles of disloyalty, how would he know?

If those people existed and discovered Ellis had somewhat stolen the throne, what would happen?

How stupid and reckless could Jens be, and why did Lucas specifically seem to bring it out in him?

He realised immediately and with abrupt clarity that he absolutely could not admit this to his mother, and pressed his lips tightly shut.

Lucas didn’t even care. He didn’t say anything about that. You chose to trust him only a day ago. Don’t change your mind now. He hasn’t given you a reason to yet.

He didn’t bother acknowledging that by the time ‘yet’ arrived, it might be too late. It wouldn’t help.

“I...I wouldn’t rule any differently,” he said, swallowing. “And Senne would just move into his father’s position, right? He and Sander would be there, and Robbe.”

Ellis smiled, but it looked more like a pursing of lips. “Of course, I assumed as much. But that’s not what I mean, darling. A single king may be an improvement, but the ideal kingdom is run by a king and his queen.”

Jens stared at her. “Hang on. You’ve arranged this to tell me I need to get a wife?”

Lotte sunk away at the snap in his voice, and he glanced at her in apology. Lies seemed entirely unaffected, sitting with her chin propped on bridged hands.

“You’re the Prince, Jens,” Ellis said, stroking his hand gently. “And you’re beautiful, and charming, and the people love you. Everyone has already been waiting years for you to find your Princess.”

“Hoping they’ll be the lucky one,” Lies added, with only half the sarcasm Jens was sure she wanted to use.

Jens shook his head. “It’s not my fault I just haven’t met anyone like that.”

“Well.” His mother drew her hand away. “That’s why I’ve invited King Ackermans and his daughter.”

Oh. Oh, no. No way.

Lotte understood just as quickly. “Wait, Jens doesn’t even get to choose?” She seemed appalled at the idea, leaving Jens feeling very justified in his own anger.

“It’s not set in stone,” Ellis said. “But I think it is a good match.”

Jens’s fury must have been showing on his face. She hastened to add, “You and Jana used to be such lovely friends when you were children, Jens, surely you remember.”

Yes, Jens thought, when we were children. The last time he had seen Jana was before his father died—a good ten years ago. The last time she had come from the bordering kingdom was for his father’s funeral, when Jens hadn’t even gotten to see her, still on his own deathbed.

“You’re lucky that it can be this simple,” Lies said.

Jens gritted his teeth. “Easy for you to say when nothing rests on you,” he snapped.

Lies glared at him, clearly prepared to retort, before Lotte leaned towards her and quietly pleaded, “Don’t fight.”

Her mouth snapped shut, and she glanced at her little sister before carefully relaxing in her chair.

Jens didn’t want to fight, either, but he was too annoyed to settle. He pushed away from the table, the scrape of the chair loud and grating on his nerves further. He pointedly avoided Lies’s apologetic eyes and Lotte’s crestfallen expression, but Ellis never knew how to go ignored.

“Jens,” she called after him. “You haven’t even finished your lunch, for pity’s sake, sit down!”

He let the door slam shut behind him.

|*~^~*|

Robbe met Lucas’s eyes as he crept through the open doors to the stables and quickly raised a finger to his lips. He was impressed when Lucas gave absolutely no reaction—no questioning gaze, no raised brow, no quirk of the lips. Lucas simply glanced over him as if he wasn’t there, exactly how he wanted.

It made it all too easy for him to creep up on Sander.

He made it to the knight entirely unnoticed and quickly curled his fingers around Sander’s sides, digging in with enough pressure to feel like a jab and enough lightness that it wouldn’t hurt. The result was exactly as intended; Sander jolted and whirled on Robbe with his hand moving to grasp a sword that wasn’t there. Just as quickly, the hand was around Robbe’s throat. Then it dropped even quicker.

“I could have killed you,” Sander said, with his usual brand of over-expression that could have just as easily been under. The tone was indignant, the words irritated, the pout of the lips a whine, the light in the eyes fond. All were out in force, and all conflicted and made each other lesser.

Robbe snorted in response. “Uh-huh.”

“Seriously, Robbe,” Sander frowned. He was fixing Robbe’s collar with one hand; the other was slipping around Robbe’s wrist. “You need to stop with that.”

“Because it annoys you that I can still do it so easily?”

Sander sniffed. “I knew somebody was there.”

“No, you didn’t,” Lucas said.

Robbe had forgotten he was there, but when he shifted his eyes from Sander he saw the boy was grooming Jens’s horse and not even looking at them. He seemed caught up in the brushing motion, petting his other hand along the horse’s side absentmindedly. He looked more content than Robbe had seen him so far.

“How would you know?” Sander demanded.

Lucas looked over to raise a brow at him. “I was here.”

Sander opened his mouth to argue, then simply huffed and waved Lucas off, returning to where he’d been fixing a strap on his own saddle. He didn’t quite let go of Robbe right away, so Robbe was drawn to his side in the process. He couldn’t say he minded.

He poked Sander’s side. “Don’t be mad,” he requested.

Sander huffed again. It faded midway as Robbe leaned his chin on Sander’s shoulder and knocked their heads together lightly. Sander’s hands paused for a second, and he was smiling by the time they resumed their task.

“That’s better,” Robbe grinned, pushing himself away to wander towards Lucas. “Are you two joining us for lunch? I’d rather not listen to Moyo and Aaron alone.”

“You can’t survive a day without me, that’s all,” Sander called over his shoulder. Robbe glanced back just in time to catch Sander’s wink and rolled his eyes, despite the warmth in his stomach and his growing smile. Sander hung up his saddle and returned to Robbe’s side, knocking their shoulders together, as tactile as Robbe himself.

Robbe loved him.

He loved Jens, and he loved his mother, and he loved his other friends, but none of them were like Sander. Losing his mother would break his heart, and losing Jens would be something like losing a limb; he’d never function the same.

But Sander…Robbe couldn’t bring himself to imagine what it would be like to lose Sander.

He wasn’t sure what that meant.

He just knew he felt content when Sander easily pulled him to his side, softer today without the usual chainmail or cloak. It was just a washed-out black tunic for Robbe to rest his cheek against. Soft and worn; comfortable and familiar.

He was startled when Lucas spoke. “Are you sure it’s alright?”

“Jens told you it was, didn’t he?” Sander said. “He’s not testing you or anything. He’s not that smart.”

Robbe made a small sound to rebuke him, which Sander predictably ignored.

Lucas only huffed, then hesitantly shook his head. “I know Jens said so, but that doesn’t mean…it isn’t really your duty to babysit me. We don’t have to be friends.”

Sander’s hand tightened for half a second on Robbe’s shoulder, and a pained look crossed his face. Robbe understood. Sander had been just as unsure of their kindness in the beginning.

“No one has to be,” Robbe agreed, quickly. “But that’s not what we’re talking about. We’re asking you if you want to join us for lunch because we’d like you to.”

“And because you’ve already been brushing that horse for seventeen minutes. You are going to get tired of it eventually,” Sander added.

Lucas’s hands dropped quickly to his sides, and he looked at Sander in bewilderment. “How would you even know that?”

Sander snorted. “I was here,” he lightly mocked.

Lucas narrowed his eyes at him, but his lips were twitching. Robbe got it—Sander was irresistible. It made his heart swell with pride and clench at once. Something in him tripped and faltered as Sander left him to take the brush from Lucas and put it away before clasping Lucas’s shoulder.

The fears he’d developed yesterday seemed real, all of a sudden. He’d half-talked to Jens about it while lying on his bed, while Sander had still been missing—busy with Lucas. He’d been overthinking it while Sander was away with Lucas and Jens. He could picture it with sudden clarity, now. It wasn’t just new duties that would be taking up Sander and Jens’s time; it was a whole person. A person with whom feelings and care could be involved. A person that would be involved with all of them, even if he had only been altering one dynamic.

Robbe curled his arms around his stomach and wrapped the feeling away. Neither Sander or Jens would leave him behind. The notion on its own was ridiculous.

Lucas could be Sander’s friend, because he could be Robbe’s too. It was way simpler than his brain was trying to make him think.

“Robin,” Sander said, in that way that suggested it wasn’t the first time. He was smiling at Robbe, holding out a hand, and Robbe reached for it without a thought. Sander gave him a gentle tug. “Coming?”

Robbe fell into step alongside Sander and allowed himself to enjoy the light sweep of Sander’s thumb over his knuckles before pulling his hand away. Lucas hesitantly followed along by his other side, pulling too-short sleeves down over his wrists and watching his feet. He flickered a glance at Robbe, and his shoulders loosened when Robbe smiled instead of looking away.

“You’re his best friend, right?” Lucas asked after a second. “Prince Jens, I mean. You’ve lived here a long time but you just genuinely like him, don’t you?”

Robbe blinked, surprised by the question. He probably shouldn’t have been. Everyone knew him; he realised that. Everyone certainly knew Jens, and they knew who Robbe was to him. Robbe occasionally forgot that this didn’t mean they were known, and it definitely did not mean they were automatically liked.

Lucas had every right and reason to be skeptical. Robbe should have expected it and been prepared for it, but even Sander had never questioned them much.

But this question was easy.

“I love Jens,” he agreed. “He might as well be my brother. But it isn’t just that we grew up together or I feel I owe him anything. Jens is one of the best people I know. He always has been. There’s plenty to like about him.”

“Well, now, let’s not get carried away,” Sander interrupted. “Others here are just as likable, if not more so.”

Lucas raised his brows as Robbe rolled his eyes. Neither could hold back a smile. “You, for example?” Robbe said, already dripping sarcasm.

Sander placed a hand to his chest while tugging the library door open. “Why thank you, Robbe, that’s so sweet of you to say. But I was talking about you.”

Robbe’s prepared retort died on his tongue, and he felt hot as Sander grinned down at him. He resisted the urge to raise his hands to cover his cheeks.

Lucas simply hummed his agreement. “You are the nicest. Even without knowing you—the kingdom adores you. I can understand it.”

“Understand what?” Moyo questioned from inside. He wiggled his fingers in a wave when they all turned startled gazes on him. “Have we just swapped one pretty boy for another?”

Aaron slumped back next to him with a groan. “Don’t tell me Jens is actually bailing again.”

“It didn’t seem like he had a choice,” Lucas said, in Jens’s defense. He pulled a face once he realised this.

Robbe considered him. He hadn’t known how to respond to Lucas’s compliment, and he was glad they had been interrupted so that he didn’t have to. But there was something about the way Lucas had said it and how he had asked about Jens in the first place that made Robbe turn back. “Why can’t you understand why people like Jens?”

Lucas blinked over at him in surprise. Robbe just smiled sheepishly at him, and Lucas shrugged, uncomfortable.

“Do people like Jens should be the first question,” Sander said. Robbe punched his shoulder.

“They do, I suppose,” Lucas admitted. “My friends didn’t have the highest opinion, or I guess just didn’t really care, but then…I guess they like him alright.”

“You don’t,” Robbe said.

“I didn’t say that.”

Moyo nodded as if Lucas had said something very smart. “Good. Probably shouldn’t give them any more reasons to accuse you of treason.”

Lucas pulled another face.

Sander tugged them both to sit down. “Okay, continue while eating, please. I need to move afterwards.”

“Move?” Moyo and Robbe asked.

Sander looked to Robbe. “Jens and I told you, didn’t we? I’m moving rooms closer to his because of this whole business?” He gestured at Lucas.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said. “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no big deal,” Sander shrugged.

Robbe watched him, not feeling quite as sure.

Sander denied Lucas’s offer of help, urging him to take time to finish his lunch (unnecessarily—Lucas had devoured his food) and then to enjoy the short time he would have free of both Jens and Sander. Robbe stood up to follow, however, and Sander didn’t argue with him.

Now they had half of Sander’s things moved in a single trip between rooms, and Robbe was pondering the best way to ask Sander if he also thought this was a terrible idea.

He settled on asking, “Are you sure you’re okay with all of this?”

Sander dumped some of his clothes in the wardrobe and shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be? This room’s better than mine. I think they’ve even got a comfier mattress. Why is that kind of special treatment wasted on guests?”

Robbe smiled slightly, but tried not to fall off track. “I’m not just talking about the room.”

Sander turned to face him slowly, moving shirts from one hand to the other. “What then?”

“All this is a bit…I don’t know. It was kind of a rash decision, right? It’s a lot of…responsibility.”

Sander snorted. “Are you saying I’m not responsible enough, Robin?”

He couldn’t believe Sander was making him spell it out when he knew exactly what Robbe was talking about. “You’re not healthy enough, and you know it,” he breathed.

Sander’s face went blank as his hands froze. He stared at Robbe, who refused to look away. Sander broke the gaze first, turning back to his wardrobe and fiddling with a hanger. He said nothing.

“Sander,” Robbe whispered, imploring. “You can’t take this on. Never mind the pressure, but you can’t be expected to be available all the time. And now switching rooms? It’s too much.”

“It’s very little for them to ask of me, Robbe,” Sander argued, abandoning his task to turn and face him. “I’m a knight. This is nothing.”

Robbe shook his head. He had known Sander would fight him on this, but it still always hurt when the older man refused to listen. “You know it’s not. Sander, you—“

“It’s been months,” Sander cut him off.

His voice was quiet and strong at once. He looked so small just then, even though he was obviously determined. He’d straightened his shoulders and was holding Robbe’s eye, and still, something lurked underneath. There was a silent desperation, a wildness that Sander had always seemed to contain, confined tightly in his chest but always threatening to explode. It was there in his eyes, a plead mingled with the insecurity he truly felt.

It wasn’t just that he wanted Robbe to believe him. He wanted Robbe to convince him. To reassure him that he was, in fact, right, and more than capable of holding the weight he’d placed on himself.

But Robbe cared about him too much to do that.

“I know,” he said softly. “But it has been months before.”

Sander instantly shook his head, insisting, “Never this long. It’s different.”

Robbe closed his eyes. It wasn’t, and it wouldn’t be, regardless of how much Sander tried to will it into existence. Robbe knew it; he’d already seen it. He couldn’t let Sander believe it and be reckless with himself as a result.

But what more could he say?

I’ve seen it firsthand. What happens when you can’t get out of bed for a day, then two, then a week? There’s no way of hiding it, now—what would be your excuse?

What made you think you could do it, in the first place?

“Mama…” Robbe started, trying not to be hurt by how Sander rolled his eyes and turned away. “She’s been well this long before and it didn’t last either, Sander. It’s not—we don’t even know what—“

“I know,” Sander cut him off, moving towards him abruptly. His hands fluttered by his sides as he stopped in front of Robbe. “I wasn’t thinking of that, I didn’t realise…I didn’t think of how it would be necessary to be around all the time. But I can’t take it back now, Robbe.”

Robbe shook his head. “Of course you can. Now is the perfect time to take it back, before it gets too far.”

“No one else will treat Lucas right.”

“You can’t know that.”

“They’ve already shown it! He’s unhappy enough here, and Jens is a disaster, and I committed to them both.”

Robbe swallowed, shaking his head more. Trying to think. “What about Senne?”

“He has enough duties. Besides, it’s his brother involved in all of this.”

“They don’t even get along. I’m not even sure they speak.”

Sander sighed. “They do, but that’s not the point. Just—“ he curled his hand around Robbe’s wrist. He was no longer looking him in the eye. “—don’t doubt me. I won’t be able to do it if you don’t think I can.”

Robbe’s heart dropped into his stomach. Then he dropped his head against Sander’s shoulder and sighed back. He slipped his hands around to Sander’s back and curled them in his tunic. “Sorry. You know I think you can do anything. I just…”

“I know.” Sander hugged him back, tipping his cheek against Robbe’s head. “You’re probably right, though.”

“No, Sander—“

“I hate it, but I know you’re right. I know I’m not—that it won’t just—“ Sander broke off on a sound of frustration. Robbe squeezed his waist. Sander squeezed back. “But maybe it won’t happen. That I’m needed and I can’t…I don’t think it will be this important for that long. They’re not even making me keep an eye on Lucas every second now, and it’ll ease up from here.”

“But if it does happen?”

“I’d hoped I’ll have you,” Sander admitted quietly. “And I—I could probably talk to Jens, if I have to.”

Robbe tried not to sound too eager. “He would understand. They could help.”

Sander pressed his face harder against Robbe’s head. “There isn’t any helping this, Robbe.”

“You don’t know that. My mother, she used to be worse. I mean, she still gets bad, but it used to be constant, Sander. And more extreme. But she has help now.”

Sander didn’t say anything, but his head still lay heavy. Robbe hugged him tighter. Sander clenched his hands around Robbe’s shoulders. “Just promise me I’ll have you,” he eventually whispered.

Robbe ignored the swoop of his stomach, and the burn of his nerves where Sander’s thumb brushed bare skin, and whispered back, “Always.”

[dog-day-morning]

The word of God tells us we shall suffer for the cause of Christ, he who seeks a greater reward must attain a greater faith. Unto whom much is given that much more is required. You wanna eat that whole caramel cake, you crave that sweet tea, you pursue that woman in a nightclub hoping to get her in a compromised position, face down tail up because face it, we're not willing to bow down to the will of God, but we’re so happy, and ready to give in to that round mound of doo doo brown. The 3 Hebrew boys Meshach, Shadrach, and Abednego went into the fiery furnace defying Nebuchadnezzar's declaration to worship him. These men had the inspiration, strength, and courage to say, even if He doesn't deliver us, we know that He can. That kind of faith is called perfected faith. We can be lazy because we refuse to work with what God gave us before the day of calamity comes to devour us. Tribulation is kicking into high gear, and many of God’s people are none the wiser. There are people who were working 3 jobs before, and after this pandemic became a global concern who know what is on the horizon. You don't need an Issachar spirit to discern the times; read the Bible. He also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you say at once, ‘A shower is coming.’ And so it happens. And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat,’ and it happens. You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time? The gov't has pulled back on unemployment benefits forcing many to find a job. The 2 righteous servants in the parable of the 3 servants increased the wealth of their employer who trusted 3 men with different amounts of talents [money], and the 1 who didn't work diligently for his master inherited weeping, and gnashing of teeth. God invested in us, and He expected a greater return from this major investment. Jesus was the greatest financial venture ever made. The Father placed His faith in His Son who in turn gave Him many more sons that walk amongst us waiting for the Day of Judgment. This investment which supersedes all, but are intertwined will never decrease, and forever increase. The 144,000 isn't a spiritually inspired interpretation based on mine, and Mima getting the Holy Ghost or having an encounter with the Holy Spirit to speak in tongues. Sit down grandma, your Depends are leaking brown stuff that reeks of formaldehyde, and raw chitlins. God is looking for a righteous Nation to worship Him not themselves. These men, and boys who represent the 12 tribes of Israel have never been defiled by women, and hopefully not by men either. You lucky mother You can take the word literally or as a misinterpretation. Those who don't believe in the written word who believe that God's word isn't infallible aren't all to blame for this heresy. Those who originally interpreted the King James Bible added to, and took from are suffering for a misleading interpretation. The prophetic which God didn't let man corrupt altogether has pretty much played out verbatim. We may be dying to a world that is trying to kill our faith that God has no intention of doing until He finds His true worshippers, and He’ll never destroy one's faith in Him. Winter is coming and you and I must be prepared. We must live like today is our last without being caught up in fear. I'm suffering from a form of laziness called jackass. God shall supply all your needs, but faith without works is dead. The ant has the intuition to work throughout the Summer knowing that Winter is coming. A lot of these drones won't live to see the finished product. Ant mounds look like the Pyramids of Giza that secure the Queen, but where is the King? They serve the one who gives life that sustains the colony, she is their goddess, but what happens if the Queen dies? There's more than one Queen serving the colony who can breed an entire colony independent of one other. fulfilling their role while working together in unison with the others who all serve a greater purpose. This

is a major element that drives the Kingdome of heaven. Christ is just like His Father In the Kingdome that includes the Holy Spirit which they will pour upon all flesh again soon. There are no cowards or sinners in the Kingdome. The angels are not as drones, they are blessed warriors.

Revelation 21:8

8 But the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars, shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone: which is the second death.

1 Corinthians 6:8-10

8 Nay, ye do wrong, and defraud, and that your brethren.

9 Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind,

10 Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.

Alkebulan we need to wake up and get right. Black American's of the tribes of Judah, Gad, Reuben, and Issachar you need to aim at my forehead, and scatter my scatter brained grey matter all over the pavement. When Joe Biden told a radio podcaster if you don't vote for me you're not Black, he must be color blind. This vaccine that suspiciously looks like the Mark of Whodunnit. They can plant a microchip in your arm that can track your every move, financial transaction, and possibly your dreams while you sleep. Some Walmart stores are refusing to take cash when you check out; they only take debit, and credit cards. These are signs that we’re living in the End Times. The Last Days. I'm looking at this as a sign to get the hell outta this city, and decompose. What in God's name am I afraid of? Jesus took a beat down like a man on a mission.. You're not weak or simping if you gave your life for a people you fed, healed, gave sight to, preached to, taught them a new way to live, pray, love, told them about a Kingdome greater than Jerusalem, and you didn't kill anybody in the process knowing what they were going to do to your physical body in an almost retarded like bid to destroy their salvation. I've done none of that; my bad. Stop looking for men, especially zaddy to deliver us. “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” Some of us foolheartedly called Bill Clinton the first Black president when he's not, never can, or will be to me in any sense, Barack wasn't either. Thomas Jefferson, the third elected president, who served two terms between 1801 and 1809 was described as the “son of a half-breed Indian squaw (Black) and a Virginia mulatto father (Black).” Abraham Lincoln, the nation’s 16th president, served between 1861, and 1865. Lincoln had very dark skin, and coarse hair and his mother allegedly came from an Ethiopian tribe. His heritage fueled so much controversy that Lincoln was nicknamed “Abraham Africanus the First” by his presidential opponents and cartoons were drawn depicting him as a Negro. Warren Harding, Calvin Coolidge, Dwight David Eisenhower, and the scourge of the South Andrew Jackson were all n**gahs. I’ll see you come Hanukkah you self-hating black, Uncle Ruckus’s. I don't celebrate Thanksgiving, why should I be overjoyed about the genocide, and enslavement of God's people? Christmas is what it is. Hopefully you will celebrate this holiday season together fulfilling God's prophetic word. I can't unless you kill me. The Christmas holiday is as pagan as Joel Osteen is at scamming. David Duke, you might wanna go to ancestry.com, and take a DNA test. You might be 30% Swahili. By the looks of those big, gorilla nostrals you had before that rhinoplasty. You, and Bull Connor may be related to Idi Amin. Your biggest shame is your greatest blessing. Personally you can kiss the skid marks in the middle of my skid marks after I take a fresh dump. Conservative, political pundits, and wannabes whose names I won't mention, but one in particular who looks like he smoked 23 blunts in 15min. with no filter. Please keep him in California, and let him drown with his zaddy, and pancaked tail, bowed hipped women. Use your lips as a floatation device dude. These people are ashamed of the God who has blessed many, and plenty. These people suffer, hopefully not always, from the white savior or white zaddy complex. The truth isn't in any of them, that's why they're so adept at lying when making bold-faced statements before the public that opposes their previous opinion like people don’t have YouTube or google. I’ll Bing a factoid or Yahoo that mother to get the truth I may even pay for it, gimme a dollar. My inability to walk amongst men as a man has stagnated my propensity to live That's BS, my Apostle said something this past Sunday that's stuck on my forehead. YOU'RE LAZY!!! I am what I am, a pain in the rear end. This has gone on way too long. Sometimes

I feel as though God wants me to kill myself because the PO PO won’t. I would feel better if my natural family would stab me in the neck, not my back, with a piece of diseased, pork, spare rib from a boar hog, and let me die from a rare form of trichinosis. The people have spoken while I’m playing Jay, and Silent Bob. Father, get me outta here. Elohim, 9/16/2021