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juleswolverton-hyde · 3 years

Text

Not by the Moon | 05

Genre: Smut, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, Drama, Tragedy, Werewolf AU, Supernatural AU, Bookshop AU

Pairing: Bookshop keeper!/Werewolf!JB x Reader

Warnings: A sprinkle of grumpy jealous werewolf!Jaebeom who gets a wee bit violent, tooth-rotting domestic fluff, werewolf courting, sexual tension, werewolf!Jaebeom acting like a pup, and poor yet adorable attempts at coming across as human.

Summary: Every story has a purpose or goal it is dedicated to, their authors at times going to great lengths to see the project they once started to completion. Nevertheless, the things the writers swore on to see their latest art piece to completion are static.

Unchanging.

None of them swore by the Moon nor Love because they can solely genuinely swear on all that changes like themselves.

And yet, a wolf in love foolishly swore by the moon.

That is when Time truly started ticking.

Author’s Note: This chapter is from Y/N’s POV. Bam and Jinyoung make a cameo.

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Masterlist

Wonderful as a trip abroad might be, there’s nothing that can compare to the secret feeling of relief when returning home. No longer there is luggage to drag along, languages to swap between, or cultures to assimilate to. While it is in good fun, it’s also physically and mentally exhausting. Henceforth, coming home is like a cozy blanket to wrap around your shoulders by the fire on a cold November day. And once you’re bundled up, it is time to breathe easy and rest.

Although, home is not necessarily a place. In fact, mine has made good on his promise and puppy dreams, standing in the crowd to pick me up.

“Y/N,” a familiar voice calls out as we enter the hall of arrivals, “over here!”

Manes tucked away under a dark red beanie and wearing a simple black jacket over an oversized black shirt, Jaebeom waves to pull attention to himself.

“Who’s that?” Bam follows my gaze to the adorable tall man as we make our way through the crowd of trolleys, suitcases, hellos and goodbyes. “Is that the dude you’ve been texting and calling?”

“He is,” I whisper in reply as we approach him. With every step, the storm of butterflies in my stomach worsens although I feel light as air at the same time. Happiness in Love is a strange thing.

“So that’s your boyfriend,” my colleague purrs. He sounds pleased in the way I imagine he’d sound if he was my older brother.

I whip my head around, tongue-tied but not enough to protest the assumption. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

Bam merely chuckles to himself, grinning like the Cheshire Cat as he continues. “Sure he isn’t, Y/N. After all, you’ve not been touching your lips and turning into a blushy mess afterwards. Or keeping those books you have with you close at all times, looking at them fondly.”

“Of course I am.” Jaebeom jumps into the conversation when we’ve reached him, acting as if he’s heard our conversation perfectly through the ruckus of the crowd. The sparkle in his eyes dims and turns into a poisonous glare when he notices the guy besides me. “Who are you?”

“JB, this is Kunpimook.’’ I gesture from one to the other, jaw clenched in the hope the wolf man won’t actively show the hostility harboured in his gaze. ‘’The colleague I told you about.”

“Just call me Bam.” Politely, he holds out his hand.

“Im Jaebeom,” the other man introduces himself, fortunately accepting the gesture howbeit with a strained expression. “Her boyfriend.”

“Hey, you must be Y/N.” Holding a tray with three coffee cups in it, a young man joins our company.

Like Jaebeom, who has proudly proclaimed himself my boyfriend, he is tall, slender yet muscular in build and has black hair. Nevertheless, whereas Jaebeom has a flair of being unapproachable, the stranger has a boyish air around him that’s open for contact.

He moves the carrier from his right hand to his left for a handshake. “I’m Jinyoung.”

Immediately, bells start ringing at the mention of his name. After all, there hasn’t been a single call the past week wherein he wasn’t mentioned. “Jaebeom’s told me about you. You’re a professor at the university here, right?”

“I am,” he beams, his proud tone indicating how much he likes his job. “I teach Mythology. It’s a course that encompasses folklore around the world, so it’s fairly broad.”

“You teach only one course?”

“I do, but I’m also a doctor. Well, still studying to be one officially, but I’m allowed to work at the university’s clinic already.”

“Wow.’’ A professor and a doctor. There’s little else I can say as a mere travel journalist, so I just try to remain casual despite being utterly gobsmacked.

“I know, it’s a lot. Nevertheless, somehow I manage to do it and occasionally write an article.”

How does he do it? He’s likely not that much older than I, but he’s evidently busier than I am.

“Show-off.” The grumbled insult interferes with the friendly conversation. The focus of Jaebeom’s glare has changed targets from Bam to the professor. However, the latter doesn’t seem to notice his friend’s chagrin.

“I’m simply introducing myself, Jay. Here,” Jinyoung hands him one of the paper cups from the carrier, “your apple and cinnamon tea.”

“You drink tea now?” I raise an eyebrow, surprised. It sounds like a strange concept because I’ve never seen him drink anything but black coffee.

“Doctor’s orders,” JB murmurs in response, discontent and keeping a close eye on Bam as he nips the warm beverage.

“I’ve put him on tea, preferably green, to lower the caffeine levels in his blood. Otherwise, he’ll be staying up all night reading and trying to cook. Oh,” he reaches for something in his pocket, pulling out a small bottle like the one JB showed me in the park and handing it to his friend, “you forgot your meds.”

“You’re on medication?” Bam asks without any implications or judgment. The funny thing is, despite being extroverted and extravagant - extra, in general - he actually studied psychology and thought about becoming a psychiatrist for a while. Therefore, he has a general interest in medicine and its function of helping the human psyche.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jaebeom sneers sarcastically, his voice closer to a growl than human speech. Then, he turns his attention to Jinyoung, who continues to hold his calm. “Why are you giving this to me now? Couldn’t you wait until we’re back? I’m not gonna take them in front of some stranger, especially not someone close to her. Besides, what does skipping one time or by a few hours matter?”

“Jay, don’t be like this,’’ the young professor sighs. ‘’You know how important timing is, especially with this new treatment.”

“You’re embarrassing me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

A nudge against my shoulder distracts me from the fierce bickering, Bam lowly whispering he’s leaving for home as well as an apology for what he has unleashed. I answer in a similar fashion when promising to call him later and apologizing for putting him into this situation. He merely waves dismissively, unbothered, and disappears in the crowd of trolleys and journeying strangers.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” I intervene lest the situation gets out of hand. A hand on his chest, I try to distract Jaebeom by shifting his focus to me. “Let’s go search for somewhere quiet around here where it’s just us. It’s important to me too you take your meds.”

“Let’s just go home.” His features soften, compromising like I did that day in the bookshop and didn’t want to eat. “I’ll take them in the car, alright?”

“Why do you have to be cross with me about it when you readily accept to take them when Y/N tells you to?” Jinyoung crosses his arms in defiance, lips pulled into a displeased pout.

“Because she’s my mate,” Jaebeom argues, sure to show his teeth. Withal, he turns into a gentle giant again once he wraps an arm around my waist and looks down at me with so much adoration I feel my cheeks burning up. “Girlfriend, I mean. We’re dating, so she’s my girlfriend.”

“We’ve only been out together once,” I sputter. It’s wonderful to hear the affirmation we’re an item, although I still think it’s a bit too early to claim we are.

“Twice after today. And we’ve kissed,” he corrects me, tone indicating there is no use in protesting. Nevertheless, the sternness wavers as it warms into merriment. “I got you something. I’ll give it to you once we’re home.”

Jinyoung leans in as we head to the exit, whispering. “He went kinda overboard.”

“I didn’t,” Jaebeom growls. “Stop embarrassing me. Know your fucking place.”

“Boys,” I sigh in warning.

Both lower their head and let out a whimper in apology. “Sorry.”

“This is where you live?” Jinyoung parks the car in front of the tall white brick building overlooking the quay at the edge of town.

“Wow...” Jaebeom murmurs in the passenger seat, awed by the fact I live on the east side of town. It’s a recently redeveloped area, the warehouses refurbished into apartment complexes to help combat the growing housing issue.

“I do. Not for much longer, though.”

Both men turn in their seats, looking at me as if I’m insane.

“You’re moving out?” The professor asks, although it’s more of an exclamation than a question. “Why would you leave this place? It’s one of the most desired places to live within the city.”

However, JB doesn’t care about the reason which makes me want to leave the neighbourhood behind. Instead, he’s anxious to know where to find me. “Where will you go?”

“Do you know those orchards on the outskirts of town? With the old cottages?” Both nod as confirmation. “Well, that’s where I’ll be moving to. I’ve been meaning to get out of the city for a while. Granted, the harbour district isn’t as busy as the city centre. But, despite being only twenty-two, I crave the silence of the countryside. Or, rather, its tranquility which I can also find in the suburbs.”

“You’re twenty-two?” Jaebeom asks, head tilted to the side.

“I am,’’ I admit as I pull my knees up to make myself as small as possible. ‘’I never mentioned it because I didn’t think it’d matter. Does it, though?”

My voice is hardly audible, a frog stuck in my throat. Why did I have to be the one to bring this up?

“No, not at all! I still like you. A lot. A lot, a lot. But, I’m older than you. Quite a bit, I think.”

“How old?” The question barely rolls off the tongue, pale with dread.

Please, don’t let there be too big of an age gap.

“I’m twenty...” He looks at Jinyoung, brow furrowed.

“Twenty-eight,” the good doctor whispers, unconscious of the fact that the well-meant reminder is loud enough for me to hear.

“Twenty-eight,” Jaebeom confirms, staring back at me in anticipation. “Six years difference. Does it matter? To you, I mean. In how you see me?”

“It doesn’t. Do you see me differently?”

“I never did.”

“Age is only a number, after all,” the professor pitches in to cheer us up further. “Anyway, I’m dropping you off here.”

“Can’t you stay?” Surely I can’t let him leave without at least thanking him with a cup of coffee or tea.

“I’d love to, but- Don’t you snarl at me.” He points an accusing finger at JB, who’s showing his teeth and lowly growling like he did at the airport.

Caught red-handed, the wolfish man feigns ignorance and stares out the window. However, his sulky expression and scoff betray his true feelings.

“As I was saying,” Jinyoung continues after an exasperated sigh, “I’d love to, but I get to attend an interesting transplant operation today and have a bit of research to do for a new article.”

“That’s a shame. I owe you a cup of coffee, then. That’s the least I can do to repay you for driving me home.”

“I’ll make good on that promise soon. But for now, go on, you two.” He motions for us to get out of the car. “Don’t make it awkward by making me the third wheel.”

“Jinyoung.” Hesitantly, the big wolf man holds up his fist.

“No hard feelings.” He bumps his fist against JB’s.

“Good.” The seat belt comes undone, but Jaebeom doesn’t move to step outside yet. Instead, he leans in towards Jinyoung and takes a whiff, squinting as invisible question marks float in the air. “You smell weird, though.”

“Really?” The other man sniffs the collar of his jacket, shrugging casually in jest. “It’s not that bad.”

“Jinyoung.” Despite still looking a bit pale with remorse, the wolf man says the professor’s name harshly, his voice deep as he chastises the turn to humour. He grows still, gaze focused on his friend as he tries to look for what’s unspoken in the other’s body language.

However, there is nothing to see. Although, if there actually is something off, the professor hides it well. But Jaebeom doesn’t get the chance to scrutinize him long enough to see for himself because Jinyoung turns back to the wheel and waves dismissively. “I’m alright, Jae. Go. Have fun with your girlfriend.”

His friend nods, a strained look on his face, and opens the door. I follow behind, having silently observed the conversation from the backseat.

What’re you worried about? Jinyoung looks fine. Nothing wrong with him whatsoever.

Nevertheless, barely have we opened the trunk when the doctor hangs out the window. “And don’t forget your present!”

“Got it right here.” In confirmation, Jaebeom holds up a neat-looking paper bag, chique enough to originally have been used in a boutique.

“That’s my boy,” he chuckles before he resumes his seat.

With a dull thud, Jaebeom closes the trunk again.

The engine roars to life and the car pulls out of the parking lot, Jinyoung honking a few times as we see him off.

I look from Jaebeom to the bag, leaning in to try and sneak a peek of its contents. “What did you get me?”

You promised me a shirt, but do you really need this big of a bag for one?

“I’m not telling you,” he muses.

I straighten my posture, a smile building as a golden opportunity presents itself. “Aw, what’s in the box?”

“Box? Y/N, it’s a bag.”

“I know, but- Never mind.” I wave the apparently obscure allusion with a dismissive gesture, disappointed he doesn’t get the reference. “Let’s go inside.”

“Are you upset?” he asks as we walk to the entrance of the building.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Another reassuring question burns on his tongue, but before he can ask it I stand on the tips of my toes to peck him on the lips and nose. “I’m not going to get upset simply because you didn’t understand me. Besides, it’s just a trivial matter. Come on, let’s go. I’m hungry.”

Though I failed the first time, I again try to get a better look at the mysterious bag. As before, the attempt is in vain. “And curious.”

“I think you’ll like it. In fact,” his lips pull into a smug smirk, “I’m fairly sure you’ll look pretty in it. More pretty than you do now.”

It’s prettier.

I let the mistake slide.

To let him have his little moment of triumph.

There is no place like home. Truly, not a single hotel room or bed and breakfast in the world can substitute the small studio with its minimalistic interior in shades of white and grey.

I breathe in deeply, glad to stand in the familiar narrow hallway leading to the kitchen and space beyond. A faint musty smell cuts through the fragrance of the Nordic leather diffuser sticks I bought before going to Belgium.

Guess I’ll be cleaning tomorrow.

Luckily, it’s been only a few days so the level of dust isn’t too bad. Notwithstanding, the place could do with a little clean-up.

“Well, this is me.”

“I know,” Jaebeom replies sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his eyes on me.

“No, I mean, this,” I gesture around as I walk into the apartment, “is my place. My house.”

He murmurs something under his breath, seemingly contrasting two words as he tries to understand them or, rather, the difference between them.

“It’s nice,” he remarks when he has figured out his train of thought, looking around appreciatively.

“The cottage will be nicer, I think. I can’t wait to decorate it, make it cozier than this place. Maybe get some plants, hang up a few photos-’’

“A few of us together, maybe?” He proposes as he, too, takes his shoes off and follows me into the living room.

“For example.” I nod at the bag when we settle down on the couch next to the window overlooking the quay. “Can I open my present now?”

“Say ‘please’.” Arms crossed, he leans in so our faces are mere inches away from each other. His breath ghosts warmly over my lips when he continues in a tender yet playful babying tone. “Life is short, but there is always time for courtesy. Manners, young lady.”

“Can I open my present, please?” Regardless of the chance to finally satisfy my curiosity, I don’t dive into the gift directly. Instead, I stay my hand, bothered by a nagging feeling his words are familiar to me. “What you just said, isn’t that a quote?”

“It is, but,’’ Jaebeom bites his lip, eyes averted to the ground, ‘’to be honest, I can’t remember who said it.”

Funny, how you can remember quotes. Maybe that’s how we can communicate in the future if your condition gets worse. Although, let’s hope that’s not the case for a long time.

“Ralph…’’ I start, trying to recall who originally said it. ‘’Ralph Waldo? No, that’s not right. He went by his middle name. Wait, his middle name was Ralph so it was him.”

“Have you read his work?”

“Honestly speaking, I haven’t. However, I have a friend who studies American literature and poetry and she sends poems, quotes and the occasional snippet. I think I’ve seen him in passing. Anyways,’’ I pull the bag onto my lap, giddy as a child in a candy shop, ‘’let’s see what’s inside.”

The present catches me off-guard because the bundles of clothing are both what I expected and yet not. “You...” I trail off, checking and double checking the amount of shirts. “Seven?”

“One for every day of the week,” he beams, proudly barking his reasoning.

These will last me two weeks if not longer. Minimalism isn’t his thing, is it?

I pull out a big grey hoodie and hold it up to my nose to sniff it. A wild forest of which the air is faintly scented by a cologne with fruity undertones and the musty smell of books. I hum contently, enraptured by the scent. By him.

From the corner of my eye, I see Jaebeom grinning in unadulterated amusement. Albeit not without effort, I lower the article of clothing. “I know this is likely stupid to ask, but eventually they’ll have to be washed so what if your scent fades?”

“I’ll just scent them again.’’ He shrugs casually before he points inside the bag. ‘’Also, what’s in the little box on the bottom might help with that too.”

In my astonishment, I missed the cardboard square at the bottom which turns out to be the packaging for a bottle of cologne. “You can spray it on. Sure, it’s not really purely my scent but hopefully it’s still rem- remi- a reminder of me.”

You meant reminiscent, didn’t you?

“Or I can go to you and have you scent them,” I joke, only half-serious.

“If that means more time together,” his mismatched eyes sparkling with gleeful stars, “sure, why not? I’d be glad to help.”

“Thank you.’’ Absentmindedly, I fidget with the folds of the hoodie. ‘’I really like it.”

Jaebeom ruffles my hair, letting out a chuff. “You’re welcome. Now, why don’t you just sit tight and I’ll make us something to eat?”

“Don’t set my kitchen aflame, though,” I warn him as the wolf man gets up from the couch.

“I won’t,” he answers smugly before leaning in to steal a kiss. “I promise.”

With a spring in his step, JB sets off for the kitchen with the bag of groceries he pulled from Jinyoung’s trunk. The two must have dropped by the supermarket before coming to pick me up.

A pillow propped up against the armrest and the blanket formerly draped over the couch now covering my shoulders, I lie down for a nap.

As consciousness fades, a warm affectionate wolfish smile pierces through the growing haze. Jaebeom murmurs something unintelligible and turns his gaze back to the chopping board.

I am home.

Dreaming of two little pups running around an orchard.

“Dinner’s ready!” The loud remark barely filters in until it’s repeated up close, the merry bark lowered in volume. A hand shakes my shoulder, but what does the trick in waking me up is the warm wetness nibbling away at my ear. However, it doesn’t stay there, but travels down the side of my neck and ends its journey at the hem of my shirt, giving it a gentle yet fierce tug.

“Y/N, come on. Get up,” JB whines, the words distorted thanks to keeping the fabric firmly between his teeth. He tugs at it again.

What on earth?

I turn onto my other side, causing the big wolf man to let go. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get you to eat.” He makes himself smaller, gaze briefly averted to the side before looking at me again, continuing in the same tender yet stern tone he uses whenever food is involved. “With me. This is my first time cooking for you and I practiced really hard while you were away. So, please, eat with me. I want to know whether I did a good job.”

“Do you have to drag me by the collar for that?” I reach out to scratch him behind his ear, tracing his jaw as my fingers work upwards.

Jaebeom’s eyes mist over, his expression turning dreamy as he leans into the touch. “Want- Don’t know… know how to- Come to… kitchen. Although, maybe, just...”

“Feels good?”

A hasty sheepish smile flashes on his lips as he nods in agreement, eyes closed and speechless.

You really are a wolf. Weirdo. My weirdo.

A whine slips out when I stop. JB slowly opens his eyes again, blinks a few times before he clears his throat. “Can we do that again? After dinner, maybe?”

“If I liked what you made, sure. However,” I kiss his forehead, “since you asked so nicely, we can do this again after we’ve eaten. So, will you eat with me?”

Will you stay with me?

“What’s wrong?” Picking up on the worrying thought, he tilts his head to the side and scrutinizes my face as he did Jinyoung’s earlier today.

“Nothing.” I shake my head, dismissing the thought since we’ve already said everything there is to say about it. “Just a silly thought.”

His expression falters. “I’m being over- overbear- too much.”

“No, not at all! Don’t say that, silly.”

Jaebeom nudges my nose with his, his tone sweet in an attempt to make me confess what’s bothering me. “Then what is it?”

“I’ve never done this before,” I admit at last. “No one’s ever cooked for me aside from my mom and grandmother or had a guy proudly proclaim himself as my boyfriend. This is simply new to me so it makes me feel, well, a bit awkward. It’s unreal, like a dream that might go up in smoke any second. That’s maybe a better way to put it.”

“I’m really here. Also, remember what you promised me? You’d stay by my side until you can’t anymore and I promised you the same. I’m a wolf, after all. Loyal to my pack or, rather, my- uh- my bi- no, that’s wrong. My lady,” he grabs my hand and lifts the fingers to his lips for a chaste kiss, “I am your gentleman and I won’t go anywhere without telling you first. And, if possible, I’ll take you with me because I refuse to leave you behind. But for now, let’s go eat. Together. I’ll try not to make a mess.”

Don’t cry, Y/N. Don’t you tear up right in front of him.

I take in a shivering breath, swallow hard, and try to regain composure.

We’re here together and wherever it is we’re going next, we’ll be there as we are now.

Side by side.

Even though I’m hungry and the table is literally three steps away, I groan as I get up from the couch. Travelling takes its toll, no matter how short the distance might be. All the same, I shuffle towards the chair facing the kitchen and plop down on it, watching JB plate up. “What are we having?”

“Steak with blanched vegetables and sweet potato mash,” he proudly announces while serving the food.

“Uhm, that’s very nice. However- it’s alright if you don’t remember, but I’m vegetarian.”

“I remembered.” A bright smile forms on his lips, eyes alight with triumph and joy. “That’s why your steak is soy-based. I found it while doing groceries or, rather, Jinyoung pointed it out. He’s been teaching me how to cook and bake. Well, we’re still working on the latter, but I did bring homemade cheesecake for dessert. I still wonder why they call it cheesecake when what’s going in it isn’t really cheese.”

“Beats me too.”

“You got slapped by cream cheese?” Visibly gobsmacked, he leans in with an expression that holds the middle between curiosity and utter confusion. “How did that happen and was it painful?”

“I mean I don’t understand either,” I reply, shaking my head with a low chuckle, and cut into the steak. As the knife sinks into it, a rosy fluid oozes out of it as if it’s been cooked medium-raw which is exactly how I liked it back in my non-vegetarian days. “But baking hasn’t been a success?”

Jaebeom sits back, shoulders hunched as he pokes the carrot on his plate with his fork. “I burned a cake, pulled it from the oven as black as charcoal. Then there’s the case of the exploded soufflés and marble cake that turned out to have no marbling at all. Not to speak of the melted... what’re they called again? There’s also a song that’s got to do with them. Jinyoung sings it a lot. Rocky road! Melted rocky roads and millionaire’s breads.”

“Maybe stick to cooking instead of baking. Not everyone has a knack for both.”

He sighs in defeat. “Maybe I should, but I’ll still try to make you something every once in a while that’s actually good.”

“As long as you don’t blow up one of our kitchens.” I include my kitchen as well because the mere thought of baking together spreads a rosy flush throughout my body that leaves me warm with affection. Besides, it’s another excuse to see him wear an apron, maybe pull some shenanigans myself and have something to eat with a cup of tea or coffee and a good book.

That would make for a nice date. We should do that soon.

“I’ll try.” He holds out his pinky. “Promise.”

The adorable genuineness of the determined gesture is what drives me to seal the promise by wrapping my pinky around his. “I’ll hold you to it.”

While eating the simple yet well-made dinner, the conversation is about novels, the shop, Jinyoung’s cooking lessons and the weary stories of how Kunpimook and I crossed Bruges in search of the best chocolate. Jaebeom hasn’t done much in the time I was away it seems. The bookshop’s been quiet, so he’s had plenty of time to read and work on his cooking. Nevertheless, his expression turns dreamy when I show him the pictures from the trip, but right beneath the surface of it floats a form of sad longing which is too unclear to be certain of or to be properly described.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m glad you got to see this,” he murmurs as he takes my phone from my hand to leave through the collection again. “I’m kinda jealous, though. It’s been so long since I went somewhere other than here. I’m not sure if I’ve ever been somewhere else.”

Brows furrowed, he tries to remember the last time he travelled. Withal, he comes up short, the melancholy of missing memories staining his voice. “I’ve been nowhere except here. Chained.”

“This place clearly is your home, that’s why it’s keeping you here. It knows you belong here and I’m glad you’ve remained.”

He lets out a breathless laugh which oddly holds the middle between a growl and a giggle. “I’m happy you showed up at my doorstep, then. But, the cottage you’ll be moving to... it’d- it’d be nice if I could make that my home too.’’ His cheeks grow pink like rose petals. ‘’Well, maybe not literally, but it would be nice if it would become our little somewhere.”

“Our little somewhere,” I repeat, charmed by the sound of it.

“Our home. Well, concretely speaking. Abstractly, and most importantly, you are my home.’’ He gets up to move to my side, where he crouches at my feet. Foreheads rested against each other, he easily nips at my nose and nuzzles it affectionately with his. ‘’You are what breaks the silence, makes me able to hope for better days.”

“The same goes for you because even though you sometimes still intimidate and freak me out a little bit, you make my days more interesting than they have been in years. So, thank you. For being here, spending your time in my company.”

“Thank you for the same reasons. Now,” JB leans away to get up and starts to clear the dishes, “how about dessert?”

Before either of us is aware of it, the clock on the wall notes it’s already ten past eight when we finish off the homemade cheesecake. Naturally, partially to also do my fair share, I stand up from my chair before the big wolf man does in an attempt to clear the table and do the dishes. However, when I’m about to walk to the kitchen with them, Jaebeom unapologetically takes them from my hands.

“What’re-? JB, you don’t have to do everything! Let me at least do the dishes.” Flattered yet a tad annoyed by the kindness, and poorly conveying my appreciation, I protest in a harsher tone than I intended to use.

Fortunately, though also a bit comically, he remains unperturbed. Notwithstanding, an unyielding sternness underlines his voice when he responds. “You’ve had a long journey, so sit down and relax. I’ll be right with you after cleaning up.”

Henceforth, unable to protest and rendered comatose by the delicious food, I plop down on the couch. Nestled into the corner, I have a proper view of the man who’s claimed my kitchen for himself.

Although it’s an intrusion to a certain degree, it’s quite soothing to watch Jaebeom defy classic gender roles. Contently humming a song and barely shy of skipping, he cleans up the mess with a tea towel tucked into the side of his pants.

When he’s done, he hangs the tea towel over the stove’s handle, washes his hands, and settles down next to me. On a whim, though it’s maybe because of instinct, I get up from my little corner and nestle against him. He wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer as I drape my leg over his thigh to get into a more comfortable position.

Situated snugly in his safe presence, I close my eyes and sigh in pure content. “Can you stay here tonight?”

“Are you sure? Don’t you want to be alone and rest?” he murmurs into my hair.

“I can recharge with you. Besides, you’re nice and warm.” I snuggle up to him more, basking in the mixture of wild wood and cologne. “A perfect pillow.”

He pulls me on his lap, wraps his arms around my body and pulls me flush against his chest, which feels sculpted but not hard with muscle. Abs are nice and all, but I prefer the softness of a defined though not hardened chest.

“If it brings you rest,” he curls his finger under my chin and lifts it, compelling me to look at him, “I’ll stay.”

I run my fingers along his jaw and up to his ear, immediately reducing him to the puppy-like state he tends to get into apparently when being touched like this. “Thank you.”

“My pl- pleasure.” What would have been a normal response is lost in a growl when I accidentally brush against his crotch as I shift my weight and sit up a little.

His eyes snap open, the hazelnut brown and ocean blue irises darkened, devoid of any sense of their former satisfied tenderness. With his thumb he traces the outline of my lips, lowly purring. “Pretty.”

“Jaebeom,” I place my hands on his shoulders, maintaining a bit of distance between us. We shouldn’t rush this, but the sensation of his growing bulge against my thigh, throbbing against the inside of it, convolutes every thought. Somehow, his scent seems to have gotten stronger too, overwhelming me with the same clear message the firm grip on my hips has.

I don’t push him back as he leans in, bridging the emptiness I initiated. Foreheads rested against each other and his calloused hands on my cheeks, he guesses what’s essentially withholding me. “Scared?”

“A bit,” I whimper against his palm, the words muffled by the rough warm skin.

“It’s me, Y/N. I won’t hurt you.” Feverish yet sweetly with persuasive conviction, he kisses me. “I’m your gentleman, your boyfriend.”

“I’m afraid it’ll hurt. That we’re going too fast.”

“We’re not. I want this. I want more of you. With you. But,’’ lips pulled into a straight line, he clears his throat while looking as if he is restraining a wild beast that can easily get the better of him if he lets go, ‘’I’ll leave it up to you.”

So, what you’re asking is…

Jaebeom takes a deep breath to regain his composure, though it has little effect. His breathing remains heavy, close to panting. Nevertheless, the gentle stars return to his eyes as the strained expression softens. “Will you have me?”

#GOT7 #Jaebeom #Im Jaebeom #Jaebeom smut #Jaebeom x Reader #Jay B #Defsoul #GOT7 smut #Werewolf AU #GOT7 Werewolf AU

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spidernerdsblog · 3 years

Text

Love Is The Biggest Spell : Chapter Five

A/N : Chapter five is here. This chapter should have been posted on Halloween lol but never mind. Hope you like this chapter. Feedbacks and suggestions are always welcome.

Pairing : Warlock Tom Holland x half mortal reader

Summary : Witches are forbidden to fall in love with mortals. But what if your long lost love returns to you as a mortal, can you defy your heart? Any spell any magic seems useless in front of the magic of love. Let’s join our lovers in their magical conquest beyond life and death as they fight for their love unravelling dark mysteries of the past along their way.

Warnings : mild language, witchy stuff.

Mini Playlist : Can't help falling in love with you

After you had your breakfast Tom drove you to college. You were walking to your classroom.

"Y/N!" You heard the voice you despise the most right now call out to you. You didn't look back and quickened your pace.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N hey wait please." Cole ran to you grasping your wrist.

"Leave my hand, Cole!" You yanked your hand away from him.

"Y/N just listen to me for once I can explain." he pleaded.

"What more do you have to explain, Cole? That you were making out with me but magically it turned out to be someone else."

"Yeah exactly."

"Cole can you just stop now. I'm not going to judge your life choices but I hope you enjoyed sucking her mouth."

"Y/N please you can't do this to me."

"Umm mate I think Y/N made it quite clear that she doesn't want to talk to you." Tom intervened.

"Listen dude let's just not pretend that this isn't the best day of your life. So please stay out of this"

"Cole! You can’t talk to him like that.”

"A guy showed you a little affection for one night and now he is the good guy. So typical of you Y/N." you were literally hurt by his words.

"You know what Cole? I was actually thinking of forgiving your not so sorry ass but now I'm so over that thought, we are done for good Cole!"

"C'mon Tom let's go." You stormed off dragging Tom with you by his wrist to the library.

You slumped down on the seat as Tom took the opposite seat to you

"I can't believe Cole would say that! I'm an attention seeker? Seriously?!" You seethed.

"How did you guys even fall in love?" Tom asked out of courtesy though he had no interest in knowing that.

"You know childhood best friends it was like we owed to date each other." you shrugged.

"Maybe we can do something to divert your attention?"

"And what is that?"

"Finish our assignment I guess that's still pending."

"Seriously?" you gave a disinterested look.

"What? That is much better than talking about your douchebag boyfriend, ex boyfriend"

"Yeah maybe some witchy stuff can help keep me distracted." you walked to the shelves and pulled out some books and placed them on the desk with a loud thud. You picked up a book and were turning over some pages in a book and stumbled upon something as you frowned.

"What’s Dark Baptism?"

"Huh oh it's a sort of ceremony. The Dark Baptism is the most sacred, unholy sacrament the witches practiced for centuries. The oldest of their rites. A novice witch signs his or her name in the Book of the Beast, and gives the Dark Lord dominion over their soul and in exchange he gives them unlimited power and eternal youth." Tom explained.

"Huh what’s the use of such powers if I have to give up my freedom of will?" you scoffed.

"It’s the only one of several possible interpretations, see like all religions have symbolic gestures and demand sacrifices right?"

"Signing the Book of the Beast is more like a pledge to abide by the devil's commandments."

"But the Dark Lord aka Satan is the embodiment of evil." You state. Tom corrects you immediately.

"As per texts he is the embodiment of free will and that he goes beyond the mere concepts of good and evil and the infernal punishment of the "False God"."

"So what about Hell?" you ask.

"If you accept the Dark Lord's gifts, then you won't die for a long time and Hell is for mortals. In exchange for their service and devotion, witches are exempt from the eternal flames of damnation." Tom explains.

"That's some crazy ass bullshit." You laugh it off.

"But you seem to have quite in-depth knowledge about these things. Do you happen to practice witchcraft in secret?" you narrowed your eyes.

"Maybe, who knows" he shrugs." Why are you so invested in knowing all this?" he counter questioned you.

"Nothing just general curiosity that's it." You shrug.

"General curiosity or is it about the visions or nightmares whatever you have." Tom smirked.

"Who-who told you.." You stutter.

"Jane told Harrison and he told me."

"Those are just some stupid dreams that's all."

"Or may be not, maybe you are a psychic or a witch "

“Ha ha very funny.”

"Okay leave all that." Tom cleared his throat.

"Hey I know it would be really inappropriate for me to ask you. You know you can totally say no."

''Hey it's okay we are friends now c'mon spill it out." you held his hand reassuringly.

"Umm my mother seems to have liked you a lot the day you stopped by our house and wants me to invite you to our Halloween party. It's kind of a spooky themed business gala. "

"Your mother likes me or you?" you narrowed your eyes with a sly smirk.

"No I swear my mom told me to invite you." Tom flustered.

"Okay then tell your mom that I would love to go."

"Oh thanks." Tom’s eyes lit up like a child.

"And by the way if you want me to be your date just ask." You winked.

"It's - it's nothing like that." he stuttered.

"Relax anyways I'm single now." you giggled.

"So what are you divs doing?" Harrison dropped in between your conversation.

"Nothing just getting ready for my dark baptism." You chuckled though Harrison gave a mortified look as he exchanged glances with Tom. Who shook his head dismissively to let him know he hasn't said anything.

“Uh okay..have you seen Jane anywhere?"

"Why do you also need some attention?" You joked lazily placing a hand on Harrison's shoulder and instantly backed off with a light gasp.

"You okay?" Harrison asked looking at your horrified expression.

"Yeah, yeah I'm-I’m fine." you stammered blinking your eyes.

"I'll go and find Jane." You walked away huskily.

…….........

Agatha and Zendaya visited a farm to purchase a black goat to be used for sacrifice during your dark baptism in the woods.

"What is on your mind mother? A few days ago you wanted that half breed dead but now you are here arranging for her dark baptism. I don't understand any of this."

"Well you three failed in your task and I'm grateful to Satan for that this time because I recently found out she is the key to perform the spell by which our coven will gain infinite powers."

"What spell?"

"For now you don't need to know more than this. Just remember that girl needs to be protected."

…………..

It's 31st of October and you are officially 25. You were at the cafe as Jane came in all bubbly and chirpy.

“Happy Birthday babe!!!” Jane exclaimed, giving you a tight hug.

“Thank you babe.” Tom and Harrison dropped in after sometime.

“Isn’t it your birthday day? Why the hell are you working today?”.

“Because it’s my birthday.”

"Well somebody has got the whole concept of birthday wrong." tom quipped.

“Here we brought something for you.” He placed a cake box on the table.

“Jane dear can you arrange this for us please.” Harrison asked her sweetly.

“Of Course will.”

“Seriously guys you didn’t have to do this.” Jane was quick to arrange the cake on a tray with some candles and placed it in front of you. You blow out the candles as they sing for you.

“Thank you so much guys.” your heart swelled in happiness.

“We would have loved to stay but we have another party to arrange so see you girls in the evening.” Harrison said.

“I'll pick you up at seven.” Tom informed you softly.

“Will be waiting.” You smiled. After they left you turned to Jane.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah what?"

"What do you know about Harrison? Apart from he's a sex God. His family and life." you snickered.

"Umm they are rich, business partners with the Hollands. Loves his mom and sister a lot. Why?"

"Nothing, you are my best friend just don't want you to fall for the wrong guy. I finally learnt my lesson. Heh." You chuckled slowly.

“Don’t worry babe if he does something bad I’ll give you the privilege of kicking his ass.” She laughed and went to the back of the shop.

Now how will you tell her that when you touched him you had one of your stupid visions. You saw blood, pentacles, human skulls, it felt so inauspicious the darkness engulfing you. Your eyes went to the blown out birthday candles and you suddenly remembered about the night where the candle caught fire on it’s own. Then you recalled Tom saying that you may be psychic and you suddenly got the idea of testing the fact.

"This is all a hoax, I'm not psychic nor a witch. I was drunk and was seeing things." you said to yourself and took a deep breath.

"Well here goes to nothing." You focused on them but nothing happened.

"Huh, definitely a hoax" you blew out your cheeks and turned to do your work. But when you turned around again to your surprise each and every candle was lit up magically. You exhaled deeply, frowning.

……………

Reaching home you went to your room and saw a big gift box kept on your bed. You took the lid off the box to find an expensive black dress with a note.

Happy Birthday Y/N. Will be really happy if you wear this tonight. Love T. H

You smiled and held out the dress in front of you admiring it in the full length mirror in your room, it was the most exquisite thing you have ever seen. The soft silky fabric with intricate lace work was literal work of art. You changed into the dress and decided to let your hair down for tonight with minimal jewelry and makeup.

Meanwhile Tom and Harrison were getting ready in their finest tux for the gala and your baptism.

"You really gifted her the wedding dress."

"Well it's an important night for her she will be turning into a complete witch and hopefully her memories will come back after that." Tom said, fixing his cufflinks.

"You ready son?" Nikki walked into his room.

"Yes mother." Nikki could see in his eyes that something was bothering him.

"Don't worry I talked to your father and I will be presenting your dear Y/N for her baptism." Tom's eyes lit up hearing the news. It's usually the mother who presents her child for the baptism but your mother will not be able to attend it so the whole thing of who will be presenting you was bugging him for a while. And hearing that his mother is going to do that relieved him.

"Really mother! Thank you so much."

"I’m really happy that you’re finally going to be happy in your life son."

Tom was there to pick you up sharp at 7. You stepped out of your house as you saw him waiting for you leaning against his car. He couldn't take his eyes off you. You literally looked like an angel he thought.

"You look gorgeous, love."

"Thank you, you look surprisingly dapper too."

"Thank you."

"But you didn't have to buy me such an expensive dress. The whole night now I will be so self conscious of not ruining the dress."

"I will buy you a new one don't worry."

"Ha ha not happening again. Now let’s go"

He opened the door of the car for you as you sat inside the car. You reached his place in an hour and stepped out of the car holding his hand as he led you inside.

You walked into the ballroom and your breath was caught at the grandeur. You’d never been in a space that made you feel so small–or so plain. Crystal chandeliers spiraled down from the arching sky-blue ceiling, illuminating the glimmering golden walls and a floor so polished it looked like an iced-over lake. And it wasn’t just the ballroom–the women sparkled like a box of jewels, shades of emerald and ruby and amethyst swirling before you, their low chatter accompanying wafts of rose and hyacinth and jasmine.

"Whoa dude am I supposed to be a part of this gala? I mean just look at all the people around." you gave out a nervous laugh.

"You were always supposed to be here Y/N."

You are immediately greeted by Jane and Harrison.

“Hey you made it!” Jane hugged you and your dress caught her eyes.

“Damn girl now that’s a one of a kind ball gown.” She giggled as you blushed.

“Only for the one of a kind girl.” Tom snickered.

You, Tom, Harrison and Jane then hit the dance floor, slow music playing.

Wise men say Only fools rush in But I can't help falling in love with you

You clasped on to his hand placing another hand on his shoulder blade as he did the same. You began moving back and forth waltzing around the ballroom. Spinning and circles and shuffling your feet to the slow, rhythmic music. It was paradise, but even more so when your eyes met.

Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? If I can't help falling in love with you

His eyes were chocolate brown, which made your knees buckle and your lips quiver. He narrowed his eyes slightly and let out a small chuckle. Your dress was getting in the way and your heels were making you clumsy or you were actually clumsy around him. He noticed your discomfort and changed his stance making it easier for you to follow. His grip tightened on your hand giving it a comforting squeeze making your heart skip a beat.

Like a river flows Surely to the sea Darling, so it goes

You swayed to the music, bodies so close, his hand still grasping yours. This was perfect as if time stood still, your gaze filled with burning desires as he looked down to your slightly parted lips. Tom was trying to get a read on you as you looked at you longingly. You could feel your cheeks burning and you knew you're blushing on the outside which only made his smile grow wider.

Some things are meant to be So take my hand Take my whole life, too For I can't help falling in love with you For I can't help falling in love with you

He dropped your hand but before you could frown he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled your body even more closer. His kind, smiling face met yours as you felt his sweet, warm breath fanning your face. Your breath hitched all that brooding, pining and longing stares just for this magical moment. Out of instinct you tilted your face a little, closing your eyes. But instead Tom knelt down to your ear and whispered.

“Parere mandatis meis.” You opened your eyes with a vacant gaze as if someone robbed you of your emotions and reasoning. You stood there like a living statue.

"Y/N now listen to me carefully you are going to do whatever I say okay?"

"Yes." You nodded in a mechanical fashion. Agatha walked towards you.

"Is she ready?"

"Yes Lady Layman”

"Good then bring her to the altar."

“Was the hypnosis necessary?”

“You got a better idea to make your non believer half witch willingly go through her baptism?” Agatha quipped.

“No” He answered lowly.

“Then bring her outside fast midnight is approaching, the blood moon will appear soon.” She ordered.

The party moves outside, where the moon is at its fullest and begins to turn red. With midnight approaching, everyone rushes off into the woods. Tom took you to a gate burning with blue flames, you pass through the blue flames unharmed and arrive at your baptism, where the Holland's, Osterfield's, Layman's, and many other important delegates are in attendance.

"All this grandeur for a half breed's baptism, how pathetic is that?" Zendaya quipped, rolling her eyes.

The priest assigned for your baptism arrived at the altar.

"Welcome daughter of Night"

"Who presents this girl for unholy baptism?" He reckons.

"I do." Nikki states.

"We are gathered here in these woods in the presence of our dark lord, with all the souls, the living and the dead, of our coven

the most unholy church of dark." He addresses.

"Kneel child." You kneel in front of him in your trance.

The priest smears blood over your forehead and read you your rights and demands your loyalty.

"There is no law beyond. Do what thou wilt." He states.

"Our dark lord asks -

" Would you like to be happy child, to be free?"

"Free to love and to hate? To be what nature meant you to be, true to her laws and yourself only?" you stay numb Tom takes the initiation.

"Say yes Y/N."

"Yes, father." You say as you were told.

"Do you believe in Lucifer, the archangel, who preferred the loss of Heaven to that of his pride?"

"Yes, father."

"In exchange for this belief, you shall be granted powers that will enable you to be of service to the dark lord."

"Y/N Warren are you willing to forsake the path of light and follow the path of night wherever it may lead you?"

"I am"

"And are you willing to place our dark lord above all others in your life, be it your loved ones, friends, family." you pause for a moment but under the hypnosis spell even if you wanted to but you couldn't make your own decisions.

"I ...am"

"Then it's time to sign his book." The weather started to deteriorate as strong winds started to blow and thunder rumbling at a distance could be heard.

Meanwhile at your home your mother was turning restless with the sudden change in the weather she ran to your Aunt Rose's room.

"Rose what's happening?"

"It's about time Martha." Rose says coldly.

"What do you mean? Where is Y/N?" Martha panicked.

"Don't worry she will be fine but for some people this is the beginning of their end"

"Mom what's happening?" Erica came running too.

"Oh Erica you are here can you fetch me the ancestral calcified bowl." Erica did as she was told.

"Martha give me the ashes of Amber." She handed over a bottle of ash as Rose poured it in the bowl. She lit the candles around the bowl with her magic and chanted.

"Here and now

I evoke the elemental force of Fire

the flames of creativity and passion

dancing source of heat, light and life.

I seek the flowing forge within

I call you forth to burn away

All that impedes my highest vision

And to enact change in the world

Lightning and hearth

Hearth and forge

Fire, I call thee hence"

Rose focused on the ashes in the bowl as flames erupted in it.

"Y/N wake up, recognize your true self"

“Phasmatos Incendia Ignis absumet Ignarious. Ignarious! Ignarious Ignalusa”

Meanwhile you were standing at the altar and an ancient book was kept open on the flat stone in front of you. The priest took a knife and made an incision on your hand as a drop of blood flowed down from the cut on the page. Tom was behind you as the priest signalled him to proceed; he took your hand with the pen to sign your name in the book. Just when you were about to sign the Dark Lord’s Book of the Beast with your blood, Rose's invocation ritual broke the hypnosis spell on you and you were snapped out of your trance. The fog that clouded your mind got lifted as you felt light headed. It took awhile for you to process what was happening around you.

"You swear to obey without any question any order you may receive from tHe dark lord, or from any figure He placed in authority over you."

"In signing you swear to give your mind, body, and soul unreservedly to the furtherance of the designs of our lord satan." The priest went on.

"No!!" You yanked your hand away from Tom's grasp.

"What do you mean no child?" the priest frowned.

"Who are you? Where the hell am I?!" You looked around in confusion.

"Tom what's going on? Where's Jane?!" you look at him with panic stricken eyes.

"Y/N,love, listen to me this is for your own good just complete the ritual"

"Is this some kind of Halloween prank because it's not funny."

"You think you are sick with some neural disease that is why you can't feel warmth. Y/N don't you understand that you are not human." Tom tried to make you understand.

“Tom why are you so up to prove that I’m some sort of psychic?”

''You are a smart girl Y/N don't tell me the visions you get doesn't seem real? That you didn't light up a candle just by focusing your mind on it." agatha quipped.

"You are a half witch Y/N magic runs in your blood and to reach your full potential you have to submit to our Dark Lord"

"Whatever I maybe there is another path for me. A third way. And even if there isn't, my name is Y/N Warren, and I will not sign it away!" you stated.

"If you don't complete the ritual then you have to face the wrath of the dark lord." Agatha warned.

"The only thing I'm gonna do is to get away from you jackass people."

The coven tries to stop you from escaping as everyone chanted in unison.

“Crescere arbor”

While you attempt to escape you become entangled in magical possessed vines which held you to your place.

"Why can't I move?" you struggled to free yourself.

"You're not leaving unless and until you complete the ritual."

Suddenly the stone of your antique necklace starts glowing, emitting a reddish orange aura which just grew in intensity as time passed blinding your eyes. A sudden rage started to grow inside trying to burst out.

Your body was shaking imminently as the blazing inferno coursing inside you was becoming too much for your body to handle. You forced your eyes open and a chill ran down the spines of everyone present for the ceremony. You irises appeared like burning coals of fire.

They flashed with anger, a burning animosity growing in your amber orbs. Tom couldn't recognize you anymore you appeared to be a totally different person.

Flares started erupting from your hands soon turning into flames ready to engulf anyone that came in your way. The flames spread to the magical vines holding you as they were burned into ashes setting you free. You gasped as you looked at your hands on fire.

"What's happening?! What did you guys do to me?!" You panicked.

"Y/N, love calm down. Just try to control it"

"I can't!!'' You growled

"I can help, just let me help you Y/N"

"No! Don't come near me." You warned with a hoarse voice. A ring of fire formed around you.

"Tom do something or she will burn down the whole forest." Harrison said in panic.

''You've nothing to fear no one will do you any harm."

"Just calm down and everything will be fine. Close your eyes and focus, love"

You closed your eyes taking in measured breaths trying to calm yourself. It worked as the raging inside you dissipated. Your hands were no more on fire.

"Suctus Incendia" everyone chanted in unison and the fire died down.

You on the other hand felt weak and drained out as you collapsed on the ground unconscious.

…………………………………………………………………..

Taglist: to be added or removed send a message or ask.

@sleepybesson @sophs-library @spideyreidstheroom @itstaskeen @milli86 @biebsmylife95 @quaksonhehe @hannahholland1811 @awhollandx @joyleenl @greatpizzascissorstaco @tomhollandsotherpinkytoe @jjandreidsgirl @brighterthanthesunx @adevilallthetime @panicattheeverywherekid @onewithnomightypowers @itsnotmeh24 @bitchinwpei @astridcommings @hollandprkr @hollandsobrien @timotayswriter @kiki-hines @casualprincess77 @spideyth @perspectiveparker @thevelvetseries @tempo-rary-fix @onebigolemess @itsbqueenthings @chingonaconcha @yoongi-holland @l0lmk @itsemohours @fanficscuziranout @allthisfortommy @starcoadrienette2 @hollanddolanfangirl @drie-the-derp @pvnkfangirl

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fluff #Warlock! Tom holland #tom holland and reader #tom holland and you #tom holland and y/n

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wickedmilo · 3 years

Photo

LOVE LIKE THIS | MILO & METZLI

PLACE: Metzli’s Apartment TIMING: 8:20 PM SUMMARY: Grappling with his feelings of loneliness, Milo decides to confide in Metzli WRITING PARTNER: @deathisanartmetzli CONTENT WARNINGS: Addiction tw (brief mention of an intervention)

Milo was never sure how much blood Metzli kept in their apartment. And for numerous reasons, he felt it was better not to ask. Given their history together, Metzli might think he was being controlling, or refusing to trust them when it came to maintaining a healthy diet. But he also didn’t want to give the impression that he was eager to deplete their precious stash. It was why, as he knocked on the door to their apartment, he was grateful for his own stash, and the two blood bags he had slipped into his backpack before making the journey to see his friend. He still felt strange after their conversation. Even over text, being honest, and open could be emotionally draining. It was almost as though now that he had finally, in a way, said the words out loud, it was impossible to deny them. Impossible to ignore the aching in his heart, the longing for something that was so out of his reach. Rubbing at the marks on his throat, evidence of the trauma that was causing him so much turmoil, he did his best to repress his emotions. Metzli had invited him over to comfort him, he knew that much, but that didn’t mean he needed to dwell on why. “Metzli- it’s me, I mean you already know it’s me. I don’t know why I said that. Just- open the door?”

“Door’s unlocked!” Metzli yelled from the kitchen, finishing up making Yuca’s dinner. She was meowing in excitement, trotting around in circles as if to try and hurry their owner along. “If only you knew how spoiled you are, chiflada.” They smiled at her and led her into the living room where her food perch was. Leaping up, she completely ignored the familiar visitor walking in to focus on her food.

Metzli had a few movies picked out for the night, and of course, as they had mentioned, there were the signature Hispanic blankets with tigers on them. They were incredibly soft and always made them feel so comfortable and cozy. Nothing matched the impeccable designs or craftsmanship. “Pick out what movie you wanna watch first.” A finger pointed to the cases on the coffee table, knowing they’d get a great reaction from Milo.

Milo let himself into the apartment, his gaze searching the room as he kicked off his Converse. Letting the door swing shut behind him, he pulled the two blood bags out of his backpack so that he could abandon that too, carrying them both to the kitchen where he could hear Metzli preparing Yuca’s dinner. He wrinkled his nose as the smell of cat food hit him, but he couldn’t help feeling a rush of affection at the sight. It was so nice seeing Metzli in such a warm, and domestic setting. Regardless of what they told him about how it felt to exist without a soul, it was obvious they still cared about the animal. “I brought dinner for us.” He explained, setting the blood down on the nearest counter. “Hopefully it’s far more appealing than that.” He nodded his head in the direction of the food bowl, only turning his attention away from his friends when he was instructed to decide upon a movie. He wandered back into the living room, failing to hold back a peal of laughter when the various covers jumped out at him. “Underworld, Let Me In, Vampires vs The Bronx, 30 Days of Night, and… Twilight.” He read aloud, faltering as he reached the final movie. As funny as Twilight was, Rio had been the one to make him watch it. And suddenly he was bombarded by memories of them curled up on Rio’s couch, teasing each other about the ridiculous world of the Cullens.

And there it was again, that sense of heartache, of something missing from his life. He forced himself to ignore it, forcing it back down until it was nothing more than a minor discomfort. “I haven’t watched half of these since, y’know- since becoming a vampire.” He admitted. “Jeez, it’s so weird looking at them all…” From the quiet, ominous vampires of Let Me In, to the bloodthirsty, monstrous vampires of 30 Days of Night, every writer had their own interpretation. Their own version of what it meant to be undead. “Do you have a favourite?” He called. “Shit, you were alive when all of these came out. Like, an adult- I mean. Did you see any in the cinema?”

“That’s so rude.” Metzli blew a raspberry at Milo and trotted over to the kitchen and heated up the blood in two mugs to prepare for the movie. They pondered on what he had just said, not seeing any of the movies since becoming the very thing the movies glamorized. The microwave beeped and Metzli grabbed both mugs before heading back to the living room and answering Milo’s question with a somber look on their face. “We didn’t really have movies, you know? All the myths were basically just left to the imagination until, well, it wasn’t just that. Got to see the real thing up close and personal while I think...maybe four or five attacked me? It’s been a long time.” A clack sounded from the table from the mug being placed down, and a soft sigh pushed past tight lips, sitting down slowly.

With a shake of their head, they sipped and chuckled a little to alleviate some of the tension. Even though it was a little bit of a sensitive subject, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as it used to. Besides, Metzli wanted this night to be about friendship and care, not their troubles. “I really like horror, so 30 Days of Night is definitely one of my favorites. Pretty gory too. But no, I’ve never gone to the movies. Always thought the concept was weird.”

“I meant no offence.” Milo laughed as Metzli stuck their tongue out, listening to them absentmindedly as they readied the blood. It only took a few seconds in the microwave for the smell of copper to permeate the air, and he felt a familiar thirst constrict the back of his throat. Sometimes no matter how well fed you were, the temptation was there. It was undeniable. Glancing back up from the table to offer Metzli his full attention, he gratefully accepted his mug as they brushed past him, curious to hear them speak about being raised without movies. It was something he hadn’t considered, hadn’t really dissected in his mind. The world had been a very different place when Metzli was born into it. A very, very different place. Suppressing a shudder as he thought about how terrifying it had been to be targeted by a single vampire, he couldn’t imagine the abject horror of being attacked by four, or five. He took a drink from his mug, distracting himself with the rich, comforting taste of warm blood. It was strange to consume the same substance repeatedly without growing bored, or sick of it. When he was human he would obsess over a favourite food until he could no longer enjoy it. Until his body demanded he take a break, and find a fresh new flavour to fixate on. But somehow blood tasted better each time he tried it, he knew that was never going to change.

“I guess I didn’t really think about what genres you might like.” He shot his friend a sheepish grin. He should start paying more attention to the interests of those around him. Sometimes he got so lost in his own problems, he forgot other people were equally as complex. Everybody had shit to deal with, in the same way everybody found something different in books, and films, and other forms of artwork. “You’ve never been to the cinema? Not even once?” He asked, unable to hide his incredulity. He joined Metzli on the couch, picking up one of the blankets they had laid out ready for him. Setting his mug down so that he wouldn’t spill his drink and stain the material, he ran his fingers along the soft fabric, enjoying how gentle it felt against his skin. “You’ve not even been a little curious?”

Metzli shrugged, not really caring if Milo had ever thought that deeply about them. To his credit, they hadn’t really delved into interests and preferences. This was one of the first times the two had been able to sit down and take a breather from all the impending doom. “No, never been interested. Why bother going out in public when I can just watch a movie here? Can’t even have the snacks there.” The television came to life and the Playstation soon followed. There was no need for a dvd player when everything could be condensed to one console.

“All right, have you picked yet?” Mug in hand, Metzli leaned back and let an arm drape over the back of the couch casually, taking special care to make sure Milo didn’t notice. He seemed a little distant, not taking to his usual snarky personality where the two could go back and forth easily. Something was gnawing at him, but they weren’t sure if prodding was the right move. Taking the risk, they nudged their hand forward and ruffled Milo’s hair.

“You okay, Depresso?”

Milo laughed, shaking his head. “But it’s about the experience. There are some seriously cool cinemas out there. And even if the cinema isn’t the greatest, midnight premieres and shit can still be so much fun. It’s nice to sit in a room knowing you share a passion with everybody in there… I guess you kind of have that with your art gallery, huh?” Settling down against the cushions, picking up his mug again to cradle it in both hands, he watched the Playstation logo appear on the tv screen, chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip. The Twilight DVD kept drawing his attention, and he couldn’t help but remember the same DVD on Rio’s coffee table. The way Rio’s face had lit up when he inserted the disc into his own Playstation. “I don’t know.” He answered, his voice far more disinterested than he had intended it to sound. He pushed his glasses up his nose, attempting to compose himself, although he knew there was no real use in making the effort. Metzli knew him, and the entire reason for him being here was his emotional state. He quite literally couldn't hide from them.

As if to prove his point, Metzli leaned back to join him, and he avoided their gaze, staring straight ahead despite there being nothing to watch just yet. “What? No, I’m fine-” He insisted, not moving away in time to avoid his friend’s hand. Pouting like a child as he surrendered himself to the treatment, he didn’t bother brushing his hair down again. Leaving it tousled, and unkempt almost to spite them. “I’m just-” He broke off, wondering whether he should finish his sentence. “I’m missing someone- Rio. I’m missing someone called Rio.” He was suddenly grateful for his inability to blush. “We got close a while back… he actually showed me Twilight to make me feel better about all of this. But he’s gone… he left, and I don’t know if I’m ever going to see him again. He was the first person to ever make me doubt what I want… you know? And now…” He hesitantly caught Metzli’s gaze, looking away again almost immediately. “It doesn’t matter, I’m being stupid.”

Seeing that Milo didn’t bat their hand away, they attempted to just run their hand through his hair, trying their best to be comforting. Missing people was extremely hard, especially when they made such a big impact on you and when you don’t know where they went. Metzli’s voice took on a caring tone, giving as much as they could to their friend, their…“Kid, that’s not stupid. You know how hard it is to get close to people? You did it and now that connection is just gone. That would hurt the strongest of people. Hell, I—” Their hand continued to show their affection and they secretly hoped he’d let them continue. “I would be pretty devastated if you left after we built this connection. You’re one of the few people I can stand, and one of the very few people I can trust. So no, Milo, it’s not stupid.”

Metzli looked concerned for Milo, wishing they could mend whatever wound was laying deeply and heavily on his heart. “Do you wanna say it? What he made you doubt?” The way he trailed off and seemed to dismiss his own feelings didn’t sit right with them. Though they knew what it was like to be in that position. A part of them understood the need to try to push it off, believe it wasn’t really there. Accepting the pain made it more real, and made it inescapable.

Milo stared down into his mug, tapping his fingers against it as he listened to what Metzli had to say. He felt ridiculous for being comforted by the hand in his hair, but he was. And he made no effort to move away from his friend. “Part of it is just… we were friends before, but we became real friends like, a month after I died. It was all so overwhelming and he just wanted me to be okay. I didn’t realise until after he left that I…” He swallowed, taking a sip of his drink so that he could avoid stating the painfully obvious. “I’m just mad at myself, I guess. For not kissing him when I had the chance.” It was the first time he had admitted anything close, even to himself, but there was no weight lifted from his shoulders. He didn’t feel any better for the admission, even if acknowledging it was somehow a relief. He had been confused for so long, maybe going forward he could be a little less so. “You mean it?” He caught Metzli’s eye, a frown creasing his brow as he stared at them. “That you can trust me?” Even his own parents didn’t trust him. And he knew there were a handful of people in his life dedicated to seeing the good in him, but it still didn’t feel real sometimes. It still felt incredible to hear.

Taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he considered his options, he leaned into Metzli’s touch. Not only did it give him the assurance he needed, it meant he had no choice but to move closer to them. With his cheek resting against their shoulder, they could no longer see his expression. “He made me doubt whether I really want to be alone. And for a moment I wasn’t… even Alex was someone. But when Alex kissed my neck it was like- like being back there. Like being attacked all over again, and I panicked. What if sex just isn’t a part of my life now? I don’t know what to think about that… I don’t know how to feel.” He knew sex wasn’t the only way of sharing intimacy with a partner, but it was something he had relied on for so long. The excitement, the rush, the physical pleasure… he didn’t want to lose that. And to begin to want more when he couldn’t even handle the bare minimum was so difficult. It caused his chest to ache with longing. “I never even tried… having a boyfriend, I mean. I never wanted that. And now I’m wondering whether I left it too late. What if I have? What if I wasted my opportunities and now I’m just… alone forever?”

“I mean it.” Metzli scooted closer, letting their legs touch and draping their arm a little more over Milo. They longed to comfort him, to take his pain and just feel it for him instead. He didn’t just lose a friend, he lost more than that when he was bit. A part of his innocence was stripped away, and made him feel scared and lost. “Milo, you have forever to live. This pain is something to grow from, and there is no set time line when it comes to healing. I know that doesn’t make it less real, though.” A firm grip rested at his shoulder, gradually pulling him in, letting him know he wasn’t alone. He never had to be alone again. Not if Metzli could help it. Even though they couldn’t fill that romantic gap, they could do their best to fill in the rest, and they knew Bex would do the same.

Milo’s hair moved around their hand as they doted on him and did what they could to appease the beast of longing and loss. “We’re kind of opposite. I think I’m gonna be alone forever, yet I fuck whatever woman will say yes. When all I really want is someone to be with in that way. It’s hard to be that vulnerable. It feels nearly impossible. Especially at the beginning, especially after you’ve been turned.” Metzli raised the mug to their lips and took a moment to pause and drink. A ball was forming in their throat, and this was the best way to push it back down and remain composed. “You’re thinking of everything in such finality when you haven’t even given yourself the chance to experience grace. Not from others, but yourself. You’re expecting to be okay, but that’s not how it works. You’re not going to be okay for a while, and that’s okay.”

Metzli placed the empty mug on the coffee table, breaking contact completely and not returning to it when they faced Milo. “You’re a catch. You have a big heart. And you just started your forever. Let yourself begin before you settle on an ending.”

Milo faltered, reminded suddenly of the way his mom used to wrap her arms around him. She would sit with him on the couch like this, or curl up beside him in bed just to help him feel safe. He blinked away tears, shrinking in on himself as he allowed Metzli to comfort him. They were right, of course. He did have forever, but that was an equally terrifying thought. He couldn’t imagine outliving his friends and family, he couldn’t imagine existing in a world without them. But one day he wouldn’t have to imagine, one day that would be his reality. Struck by a sudden urge to call his parents, he buried the feeling, focusing on what Metzli was telling him. “No, I know…” He murmured, a frown creasing his brow. Why did he have to heal, and grow? Why couldn’t he just be okay? It felt so unfair that he was struggling due to the actions of another person, another vampire. None of this was his fault. “We’re not opposites.” He added, still clutching his mug to his chest. He couldn’t drink from it without jostling Metzli, but the smell of the blood was enough to relax him. “I used to do that because I didn’t want anything more… and it was so easy.” Falling silent again, surprised by his friend’s honesty, he took a deep breath, mulling over the new information.

“You want to be with someone?” He echoed. “Really?” He wasn’t sure being vulnerable was the issue. He couldn’t let somebody near his neck without being transported back to his final moments, but that wasn’t about vulnerability. Was it? “It’s been seven months, Metzli. I should know what I’m doing by now.” As if they could hear what he was thinking, they continued, telling him he was valid in his frustrations, complimenting him in a way that he was far from used to. “Why, though? Why can’t I just work my shit out already? So many people I know aren’t struggling… I mean, I don’t think they are.” He knew everybody had parts of their life that weren’t necessarily easy to navigate. But he also knew more than a few people, supernatural people, who didn’t seem to let what they were get in the way of their lives. It was natural to them. They almost embraced it. “I’m not settling on anything.” He let out a quiet huff of breath. “I just- I don’t know what I want. I thought I did and now… everything feels so screwed up.”

“Here’s the thing, Milo. No one knows what the fuck they’re doing. All you can do, is try.” Metzli’s voice trembled slightly, knowing all too well what Milo is going through. “Everyone sews together masks with their heartstrings, the most vulnerable and delicate things. All in hopes that trying is enough. And it is. It’s akin to success.” The words felt almost preachy, but they were exactly how Metzli felt, what they wished someone had told them when they were sitting on the highway of loneliness. Thousands of cars drove past, but somehow it still felt so empty. When all they needed was someone to sit next to them, buy them time with nothing in their wallet. The time they needed to figure it all out. And since they didn’t have that, they had to settle for scarring their heart with all the blood they had to sell to pay down the debt of loss and misery. Milo didn’t have to do that. Not while they were around.

With a single nod, they smiled and pulled Milo into their chest to hold him tightly. “Yeah, I do. After over a fucking century, I do. And it doesn’t have to take that long for you. ‘Cause you don’t have to be alone in figuring all this shit out. I won’t let you.” Metzli chuckled for no other reason than the surprise of them uttering those words. It wasn’t one of amusement or humor, it was one of joy in being able to love a friend. “Everything is so screwed up now, and everything feels like a bandaid or wrong answer, but I can be your best guess. Bex can too. We can lay in the mess and clean it up together ‘cause doing it alone sucks. You’ll heal. Little by little. God that sounds so preachy and lame, but fuck it.” Tears fell down their face and they had to rush and wipe them. They couldn’t help but wonder when the fuck they got so sappy.

“I knew what I was doing before somebody decided to murder me.” Milo muttered, his voice quiet, and petulant. Things had been easier, yes, but he wasn’t entirely sure his words were true. His lifestyle hadn’t been sustainable. He lived each day to the next, never knowing where he was going to sleep, or how he was going to pay for the hit he was craving. His life plan had simply been to keep going until he inevitably burned himself out. Maybe that was why he felt so lost, because he actually had a future now. A vast one that stretched out impossibly before him. A begrudging smile tugging at his lips as he registered Metzli’s words, he hummed to let them know he was still listening. “Hm… you sound like a Hallmark card.” He made no effort to hide his affection for them, sincerely hoping they might be right. If trying could be considered enough, then maybe he was enough. He was trying for quite possibly the first time in his life and that had to count for something.

Allowing himself to be pulled closer against his friend, even if he wanted to withdraw he knew he wouldn’t be able to. He felt like a child again, transferring his worries and his pain over to an adult, somebody who could hold him and tell him everything was going to be fine. “I didn’t realise you wanted… is that why you’re so close with Macleod?” He asked, unable to stop the words from escaping him. He was curious to know, and it was a good distraction from his own thoughts. Eventually slipping out from under his friend’s arm, he missed the contact almost immediately. Vampires didn’t offer a lot of warmth, but the comfort of an embrace was still very much the same. He pulled his knees up to his chest, watching them to see if they were crying. He strongly suspected they might be, it was the only reason he had moved away from them, but they had already erased any evidence of their tears.

“I think it sounded nice.” He left no room for them to argue, taking a long drink from his mug so that they wouldn’t be able to counter his statement. No longer preoccupied by the feeling of his fangs pressing down against his lower lip, he realised it would feel far more strange to drink without them present. Yet another way he was growing used to his life now. “I’m really glad I have you, Metzli. And Bex, and Macleod and everyone else who cares… but especially you.”

“Did you, though? If you’re lost now, you were definitely lost before. It was just simpler then.” Metzli retorted quietly, smiling wryly and letting Milo put some space between them. At first they thought they had done something wrong, pushed too far, said too much, but no. Milo was checking on them. Soft eyes clung onto him and they continued on to begrudgingly answer Milo’s question. Not even they knew the answer, but maybe they’d find it along the way. “Not sure how close Macleod feels to me. I have feelings. And god, we connect. But…not sure she’d ever feel something for me, or if anyone could. But I think—sometimes—I…” It was so difficult to say it aloud. Once it was out there, there was no taking it back. “Sometimes I feel like I want to be with Bex. I know it’ll never happen. And I won’t act on it. But I love her. More than I’d like to. I think a lot of it has to do with how similar we are and how strong our connection is.” Metzli swallowed, but continued. “And if I’m that fucking nuts to possibly be in love with—I don’t know. Maybe it’s fine. Means I’m capable of it. Of loving. But I have no idea what I am, if I’m being honest. Maybe this is just strong platonic love and I don’t know how to decipher it.”

Knees met chest, making them so small as they uttered their truth. All Metzli could hope for is that Milo never mentioned it to Bex. “Wait what? Why especially me? Aren’t I like, the worst parent of the year or something?”

Milo wanted to deny what Metzli was telling him, he could already feel the beginnings of defensive anger. But it wasn’t fair to fight back, not when he himself had been thinking the very same. “Maybe.” He admitted, finishing what was left of his drink. Setting the empty mug down on the coffee table, he moved to rest his chin on top of his knees, holding his friend’s gaze as they answered his question. Their expression was so gentle, it was difficult to imagine anybody reserving that look for him. Maybe it was for Macleod, even before they clarified he had been so sure they shared a connection with her. But there was a chance it wasn’t quite as strong as he first assumed. Metzli didn’t seem to be in love with her. Feelings could mean almost anything. “Are you still seeing her?” He asked, curious to know whether their adventures were a thing of the past. If that was the case, he should be glad he was no longer going to be subjected to stories about what they got up to when they were together. But the idea actually made him sad. It was fun to feign disgust, but he had secretly been enjoying the idea of the two people he looked up to becoming romantically involved.

“Wait-” He blinked, his brain taking more than a moment to catch up with what Metzli had said. Bex? Surely they couldn’t mean Bex Bex. He could feel the illusion of a familial unit shattering, rearranging itself to fit this new piece of the puzzle, a piece that didn’t connect to any of the others. “You’re in love… with Bex?” Confusion was written across his features, and he stared at his friend, a million questions running through his head. “I thought not having a soul… can you love somebody like that?” It sounded insensitive, and that hadn’t been his intention, but his desire to know far surpassed his desire to tread lightly. Metzli certainly wasn’t treading lightly. “I mean, do you think it could be? I’ve never been in love, I only know how people talk about it… can you confuse romantic love with platonic love?”

Noticing the shift in Metzli’s body language, the way they seemed to be making themself as small as possible, he swallowed, inching closer to where they were sitting. “It’s okay, I’m not about to tell anyone. It’s for you to figure out.” He assured them. It was the least he could do after they had listened to him. “And no, obviously not.” He added, a smile tugging at his lips. “Organise a couple of interventions and maybe you’ll be getting there. You’re actually pretty great, y’know.”

Despair filled Metzli’s eyes and they felt a pang of embarrassment as they were asked if they could even feel anything. It was a good question, one they didn’t know the answer to. For all they knew, this was just an infatuation gone incredibly wrong. “I haven’t seen Macleod since coming back. I’ve reached out, but there’s been no response. I want to see her. She’s…wonderful. She’s so fierce and aggressive, but can be so kind and sweet. There’s no one like her, but l don’t even know if she’d be interested in something more.” Their hand reached for the pendant around their neck, the one Macleod had given to them. They hadn’t even taken it off except for when they thought it might get damaged.

“I don’t know what this is honestly, Milo. I just know that I love her. Intensely. In my own, soulless way, I love her. But of course, I need to ask you to not say anything. I’m still trying to figure it out.” Metzli sighed and shut their eyes tightly to string another sentence together. “I’ve tried researching ‘cause I’ve never felt it either. So many things point to platonic while others say romantic. I don’t know anymore. But the only thing that matters is that I let myself figure it out. Sorry.” Eyes avoided Milo’s ashamedly and they sighed again.

Metzli grew sad at the thought of Milo thinking his parents were bad because of what they tried to do to help him. Interventions were scary, but they were ultimately for the betterment of the person receiving them. They came from a place of love. Anger bubbled but they pushed it back down. He was lost, and forcing him to find the path wasn’t going to help. “I’ll have to tell you about this werewolf and then you’ll think differently.” The mood shifted a little more positively and Metzli ran with it. “Let’s pop a movie in and just…forget shit for a while. How does that sound?”

Milo smiled when Metzli began to talk about Macleod. He felt a sense of pride that he couldn’t really understand. Macleod wasn’t any relation to him, and she was far older than he was. He had no right to feel proud of her simply because somebody else saw the same spark, and yet, he definitely did. “Huh…” He knew Macleod had accompanied Metzli to confront the vampires sent by Eloy. Had it been too much for her? Was it possible she was distancing herself? “I haven’t spoken to her in a while, actually… maybe I should message her.” Glancing down at the pendant Metzli wore, he wondered whether it had been given to them by Macleod. He couldn’t remember ever seeing it before. He thought back to the first time he had seen Metzli after their journey, the awful open wound that had been ominously wrapped around their throat. Macleod was the reason they were still alive, probably the reason their head was still attached to their body. A truly terrifying thought. “I’m not going to say anything, Metzli.” It was in his nature to stay out of other people’s drama, especially when there was potential for him to get dragged into it. He knew when to keep his mouth shut, both for somebody else’s sake, and for his own.

“Hey…” He prompted them to look back up, hoping to dispel any of the awkward embarrassment they were obviously struggling with. It was weird, and confusing, but nothing for Metzli to be ashamed of. “Don’t apologise, okay? It’ll work out… everything will.” He knew he couldn’t promise that, but he so badly wanted his words to be true. Saying them out loud felt good, even if the statement was undeniably shallow. “Oh, Jeez-” A laugh escaped him at the sudden shift in conversation, and he shot his friend an easy grin. “I don’t want to hear it, okay?” He pretended to be horrified by the prospect. “That sounds perfect. Anything to get you to keep your mouth shut.” Climbing off of the couch, he pointedly swiped Twilight from the coffee table, making his way over to the Playstation so that he could slip the disc into the disc drive. He could hear Metzli behind him, getting more comfortable with their blankets, he could hear Yuca padding about the apartment, no doubt planning to join them the moment the movie began. And he could still smell what was left of the blood, the scent thick, and warm, and familiar. Things were complicated, he was beginning to realise they were always going to be complicated. But Metzli was right, the past wasn’t easier just because his problems were different now. He had so many things to be grateful for. As long as he had bad movies, a reliable source of blood, and Yuca, and Metzli, and every other person in his life that he cared for, then things were okay... Things were okay because he was okay.

#c:metzli #metzli and milo #addiction tw

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moonlightstars16 · 4 years

Text

‘Only Hope’

Years before a certain shy book lover and friendly part-gem sweetheart met Connie Maheswaran did a lot of things her parents told her to do. One of the many activities/hobbies was singing. At first in her schools choir, then she got solos. Her vocals were beautiful and something you might a-kin to a classic musical like 'My Fair Lady' or 'The Sound Of Music'. However it wasn't something Connie felt okay doing in that particular setting. But she did so anyways with hardly any complaint. Thankfully she had her violin lessons to replace it. That was something she did find enjoyment in, but the constant mom-over-her-shoulder about practicing was getting tiresome. Until they sorted things out year later...among other things.

Besides the arts she was dedicated to her studies. At first it was difficult to keep up. Then she began to do nothing but study and practice and soon, learning all different types of things became second nature. When it came to astrology and space, she was enthralled. Even more so when Steven came into her life. He was right, being to space multiple times was not something to just gloss over. Those memories where kept close in her heart. Still space camp was something she wanted to experience as well. A part of her wanted to see the differences and similarities of all she gathered already.

One of the things she loved most about were the stars. As cliched was it sounds, Connie loved every aspect of the stars. The scientific and the more ethereal essence they each seemed to hold. One of them was a comet she had dreamed of seeming again since she was a child. It was coming around to earth that evening and, with the help of a few gem friends, they had planned to watch it together with a huge telescope and with Steven's old warp/greenhouse room roof pulled back it was going to be a perfect night. Well it would've been a perfect night.

While they had discussed things post the whole 'corruption' ordeal and his therapy visits, about their relationship. They knew they were more than just best friends. Connie felt it for a long time. But when cram school and other aspects of her life began, worry set in. Questions of 'What if's?' and others about the future flowed through her mind. Asking Garnet would be nice but unpredictabilities were possible and the future could change so she didn't feel like asking. When she realized how much Steven was holding in and going through, that's when things began to shift more clearer. Yes she had school, but she called to check up on him every single day. Yes she had other friends, but he was still on her mind whether its concern about his physical or mental health or just because he makes her smile.

Life is chaotic and odd but she knew, or rather hoped, that Steven would always be in her life in one form or another. It was increasingly obvious with each passing day that her feelings for him grew bigger and bigger. It was love. In love. Of course she wasn't going to rush things, I mean besides both being still young and neither ready for commitment like that of any kind. Well they both now know. It was the hope of someday that kept them going. Tonight was going to be the night she would finally confess all that she was holding back(because of fear and for making sure he was in a stable place to handle any sort of new emotional truth bombs). However she didn't expect things to turn out so unexpectedly.

Upon arriving at a specific time, she let herself in per Steven's request (which took a lot of convincing), and headed up to the roof. However he wasn't there. Everything was set up and ready, including hot tea, some snacks, a few blankets and pillows, the huge telescope and speakers for music. Even the telescope was set up in just the right direction. Connie sighed with a smile briefly before returning to a confused look on her face. It wasn't like him to be this late, even now. Her phone buzzed and she looked down to see a text from her best friend.

'Hey sorry I got caught up in some gem related stuff. Don't think I'll be able to make it. :'( But please enjoy the comet and your welcome to stay for however long you like. :)'

Her heart sank a bit. She understood things happened and he loved to help. Of course being careful in that area. However she desperately wished he was here with her and not anywhere else. After a thoughtful moment she decided to stay. Thinking it was best to not be rude after all he did to set things up. Pearl probably got involved with the telescope positioning but other than that Steven did go through all that trouble. Putting her bag down she pulled up her music and connected it to the speaker. Laying down as her favorite songs rang throughout the echoed walls, even though the roof was open.

It was a nice evening, many stars filled the night sky, the temperatures were great, it was a beautiful night. Still, she was lonely. Checking her phone for the time, noting how much closer the time was for seeing the comet, she wished that he was here. Hoping he would make it after all. Then it occurred to her that she didn't text back. quickly she typed up her reply.

'Aww man! Well maybe another time. :)'

It was a small reply but it was all she could say in the current moment. Afterwords she set her phone to the side and looked above at the stars. Her thoughts only around one person. Steven. He brought out a side of her that she never thought was possible at the time. Maybe she would've discovered it later in life, but he made it more special. With a hand over her heart she closed her eyes and sat up. Listening, humming and soon singing along to her music. Specifically one certain song she adored.

There's a song that's inside of my soul It's the one that I've tried to write over and over again I'm awake in the infinite cold But you sing to me over and over and over again So I lay my head back down And I lift my hands And pray to be only yours I pray to be only yours I know now you're my only hope

Standing up she walked over to the telescope, leaning against it slightly as her eyes, glazed over with tears looked up towards the twinkling evening sky. Sing to me the song of the stars Of your galaxy dancing And laughing and laughing again When it feels like my dreams are so far Sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again

Stepping away towards a bush filled with flowers, she picked one up and held it close to her heart. Glancing upwards once again. So I lay my head back down And I lift my hands and pray To be only yours I pray to be only yours I know now you're my only hope

Her skirt flowed with her slight twirl and the slight cool breeze that brushed passed her as she aimlessly walked by the table. One hand gliding across the smooth surface. I give you my destiny I'm giving you all of me I want your symphony Singing in all that I am At the top of my lungs I'm giving it back

Stepping towards the room she poured out everything she felt inside. Lifting her arms up, entwining her hands together as she hoped so desperately that he would soon know this about her. The love she felt for him. He had a symphony and she wanted to be apart of it. Apart of his life, forever. So I lay my head back down And I lift my hands and pray To be only yours I pray to be only yours I pray to be only yours I know now you're my only hope

Sitting back down she leaned forward and hunched over slightly. Clutching the sweet flower to her chest. Trying to ignore how ridiculous she was being in the moment. Still her heart felt heavy and she needed to let it out. Even if it was silly because it was just one night their will be others and she will tell him one day. But still it was hard to ignore a few tears staining her cheeks as they fell. Her breathing was deep as she tried to contain herself. Suddenly, she felt two arms wrapped around her and she gasped at the familiar sensation.

"Connie..."

"I thought-"

"I got out of it when I realized I rather be here. Besides it turned out to be not that important anyways."

"Oh.....How much did you hear?"

"I heard it all of it. In fact I was surprised that text I sent was just given to you now and not like two hours prior." Steven slightly laughed as he breathed out air. Connie giggled under her breathe slightly, though her cheeks were probably prominently red by now. Steven reached up with one hand and gently placed it under her chin. Encouraging her to match his gaze. "Is this why you were so eager to come here tonight?"

"I-...I do want to see the comet with you of course. But...I also wanted to tell you all that I was feeling since you told me a bit ago that you felt okay for anything. I mean since you were talking with your therapist and all about it. The emotional stuff I mean." Making a mental note of her bad word choices didn't make this much easier. He sucked in her breath sharply upon hearing those words.

"How long?"

"I-....about two months...." Her face fell once more hearing herself say the timeline out loud. Perhaps this was too soon.

"Connie I-....I'm glad you finally told me."

"Inadvertently so." She mumbled as he chuckled a bit more loudly.

"Either way I'm glad you did....Because now I need to tell you this properly." Pulling back he turned to her back and draped a beautiful heart shaped locket over her neck. "I once knew this girl I was trying to impress. When really all I needed to be was myself. We became the best of friends and now I don't want to be apart from her ever. I screwed up on a certain relationship concept and my own insecurities didn't help things. But through it all she stayed and still held her feelings for me. One I want to give back properly. " Clasping the chain he turned her around, seeing one hand over the beautiful pendant as her eyes locked with his own.

"What is it?" He took both her hands in his and pulled it to his chest. Laying them both over his beating heart. Letting the position linger before letting them go and slipping his hands around her backside. Pulling her close as she leaned against him. Both sitting on their knees and not caring for the pain that they felt. A smile spread across both of them. First Steven then Connie as he told her something wonderful.

"I love you"

"I love you too"

It was a magical moment as their lips touched and the kiss grew. Later they could be found laying on the blankets, holding onto one another as her head rested against his shoulder and his arm wrapped around hers and her waist. Looking up and reminiscing everything and nothing. Including the beautiful and colorful comet.

It was a moment where their hopes finally had an answer.

They relished in it deep in their hearts.

#steven universe future #steven universe #steven and connie #stevenxconnie #connie maheswaran #connverse #connverse one shot #only hope #mandy moore

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lestatslestits · 4 years

Text

Phantom of the Opera/Sherlock Holmes Crossover Masterpost

@wheel-of-fish and @jennyfair7 requested a master post of all of the Sherlock Holmes and Phantom of the Opera crossovers that I know of, so after a few days of compiling, here it is! These books range from the (fairly) well known to the rather obsessively obscure, and include any books I know of where the Holmes and Phantom universes overlap. I’ve taken this as a chance to review the ones I’ve read, and I’ll hopefully be able to update this post with more info on the others once I finish them. All opinions expressed in this post are my own.

Note: this is only a list of crossovers published and available for purchase, and of which I am aware. If anyone else knows of more, please let me know!

The Angel of the Opera by Sam Siciliano

This is the first Phantom/Sherlock crossover I ever read. For me it’s a bit hit or miss. The author decided to forgo including Watson, and instead included a character named Doctor Henry Vernier, a cousin of Holmes’, as the narrator. I believe that Henry Vernier is most likely a reference to Doctor Verner, Holmes’ cousin who ended up buying Watson’s medical practice after the death of Mary Watson. Which is to say, it’s a book written by a person who seemingly remembered a single line from a single Sherlock Holmes story about Holmes having a physician cousin named Verner (presumably made into Vernier for the purposes of the book’s French setting, and to reflect Holmes’ French heritage), but still managed to confuse the Grasshopper and the Scorpion, and occasionally spell Erik as “Eric.” It makes some sense, though, as Siciliano is mostly a Sherlockian, with several other pastiches under his belt. For my money, he’s not my favorite interpreter of Holmes as a character, although it could be that his choice of narrators impacts how Holmes is portrayed. Although it does tend to fall into some Phantom-centric tropes that I don’t care for, overall The Angel of the Opera is long enough to flesh out the story more fully than some Holmes/Phantom crossovers manage, and in general the style feels consistent with what you would expect from a Holmes story. It absolutely pulled me in when I read it at a young age, and I’m hoping to have the chance to revisit it soon.

The Canary Trainer by Nicholas Meyer

The Canary Trainer is the second book (chronologically) in a trio of Holmes novels that take place during The Great Hiatus, the years between “The Final Problem” and “The Empty House,” during which time Holmes is assumed dead. The first book, The Seven-Per-Cent Solution, involves Holmes meeting Sigmund Freud and undergoing psychotherapy to cope with his drug addiction. The Canary Trainer finds Holmes in France, taking a violinist position at the Opera House and coming face to face (so to speak) with Erik. Nicholas Meyer is perhaps best known for directing Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan. The Seven-Per-Cent Solution is a well-known Holmes pastiche (which I will admit I’ve never read). The Canary Trainer is a bit more obscure.

The Canary Trainer takes on a lot of cool concepts (a story that takes place during The Great Hiatus, perspective on Erik’s time as an architect and builder, etc.), but it also makes a lot of baffling choices, such as having Gaston Leroux show up as a character, and including Irene Adler only to under-utilize her as little more than a love interest for Holmes (her lukewarm friendship with Christine is one of the most disappointing parts of the book, in my opinion). It also barely allows Erik and Holmes to interact. Erik is such a profoundly sympathetic antagonist and Holmes is capable of such extreme empathy that it’s a shame to not let them engage with each other.

Rendezvous at the Populaire and I Will Find the Answer by Kate Workman

While most Holmes/Phantom crossovers focus on Leroux’s novel, Rendezvous at the Populaire, as its name suggests, pulls heavily from the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. So heavily, in fact, that a major chunk of the dialogue and descriptions comes directly from lyrics, which can be distracting. Stylistically, Rendezvous at the Populaire reads differently than your typical Holmes pastiche, drawing from multiple points of view instead of one narrator. It can feel rather rough around the edges, but I ultimately found it a fun read. It’s nice to read a crossover that features Watson, and Holmes and Erik have a nice dynamic. This book prompted a sequel, I Will Find the Answer, in which Holmes, Watson, and Erik join forces to solve the Strange Case of Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde. In the same way that Rendezvous at the Populaire draws primarily from the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, I Will Find the Answer draws more heavily from Jekyll and Hyde than from Robert Louis Stevenson’s book. Workman’s style progresses nicely between books, making I Will Find the Answer a bit easier of a read, less reliant on song lyrics for its text. If she ever decides to publish her proposed third book featuring Holmes and Erik solving the Jack the Ripper murders, I’ll be interested to read it.

Sherlock Holmes: The Adventure of the Opera Ghost by Steven Philip Jones and Aldin Baroza

This is two part comic is part of a series pitting Holmes against various gothic literary icons and monsters. It draws heavily from Leroux and Kay. The comic takes place after The Great Hiatus and the death of Mary Watson. The story had to be pretty heavily condensed to fit the two issue format, but it accomplishes a lot in a short space, hitting high points in the story. There is a subplot that heavily focuses on Watson mourning Mary’s death, which leads to a unique twist on the end of the story. The art style is cool and has a nice vintage black and white look. I would love to see this concept extended into a longer series, but as it stands it’s a nice, quick read. Due to its brevity it does get a little confusing at times, including a point where Mary appears to call Watson “James” instead of John (although it’s hard to fault the comics for a mistake Doyle himself occasionally made), but it’s a lot of fun and definitely worth checking out.

Angels of Music by Kim Newman

This is a crossover that breaks the mold! Instead of pitting Holmes against Erik, this book features Irene Adler (among other fictional woman, including Christine Daaé and some of Newman’s own characters from other books) working with Erik as a sort of spy. It’s Charlie’s Angels by way of The Phantom of the Opera, and I’m only a few pages into it, but I’m certainly excited to read more. In some ways Irene Adler is a more natural fit into Phantom than Holmes himself is, so I’m always interested to find crossovers that include her. I’ll likely update this post once I’ve finished the book.

The Phantom of the Opera Carmen by Regina Goncalves

I had to do a lot of digging to find any information about this book and I’m still not entirely sure what it’s about, but I wanted to include it for the sake of thoroughness. Hopefully I’ll be able to read it and provide an update later.

The Phantom of the Opera Carmen is one story in a series of educational books for young readers. The stories focus on a time traveler named Caius Zip who travels and learns about the connection between art and science. This story features Caius teaming up with Sherlock Holmes and H.G. Wells to solve the mystery of our favorite ghost while the opera house attempts to mount a production of Carmen. There also seems to be a story about Caius and Sherlock meeting some of the masters of Impressionism and learning about their art. How, if at all, this ties in with the Phantom plot isn’t clear. This book is on my list once I finish Angels of Music, so I hope to be able to report back later.

Sherlock Holmes contro il Fantasma dell’Opera by Antonella Mecenero

Sherlock Holmes contro il Fantasma dell’Opera is an e-book short story/novella in which Sherlock Holmes once again takes a position as a violinist at the opera house in order to solve the mystery of the Phantom. I know very little about this book as it exclusively available in Italian, which I don’t read or speak. Special thanks to @letyourfantasiesunwind1981 for pointing out this story to me!

#the phantom of the opera #poto #sherlock holmes #irene adler #jekyll and hyde #arthur conan doyle #gaston leroux #phandom #phantom history #long post

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theonyxpath · 4 years

Link

Demi? Meaning partial? No, quite the opposite, actually.

The Kickstarter campaign for Scion: Demigod starts on this Thursday, September the 3rd, at 2pm Eastern US time! And unlike the Kickstarter for Scion: Hero and Scion: Origin, the writing for this book is finished before the KS.

There are actually a fair number of important differences, so, as promised last week, here’s a rundown of how this KS is different from the first one for Scion: Origin and Scion: Hero, since we have indeed learned a lot since then (the first Scion KS was our 22nd and we’ve done 24 more KSs since then):

1- Like I said above, the writing is done. In fact, it is at the stage where the writing is over and the heavy lifting for the developer is over. All those words are now “the text” and any changes are going to be tweaks and minor fixes. Errata stuff. More on that later. The writing that was ready when we did the Scion: Origin/Hero KS was at the Redlines stage, as stated on the KS page at the time, and we have learned that we need more finalized text before we go live on a Kickstarter.

2- The rules are done. Well, of course the rules are done if the text is done, Rich! Sure, yet the fact that during Scion: Origin/Hero‘s KS the Storypath System was still being heavily playtested by our teams, and was being developed for two different creative teams (for Scion and the Trinity Continuum) so that design decisions were still happening is actually very different than now. Storypath has been “battle-tested” in numberless games of Scion, as well as the Trinity Continuum, Dystopia Rising: Evolution, and the They Came From…! game lines.

3- The text will be previewed to backers in sections throughout the KS, you’ll have it all by the end, and can back out before we deliver. Almost exclusively, this is how we handle our Kickstarters now. It eliminates a lot of the fear that the game will develop differently as the writing and developing stages progress. And we get pretty solid discussions going about the text all during the KS, which can be a lot of fun for backers.

4- Our average track record (not including Dark Eras 2 which was structured very differently) for delivery of the Kickstarters after Scion: Origin/Hero‘s KS has been 1.6 months earlier than estimated. Part of that has been because we extended out our estimated delivery date, but the rest has been better internal systems, like:

5- James Bell runs our Kickstarters now. We call him the Kickstarter Concierge because his entire focus is managing our KSs and helping out our backers. He does a phenomenal job with getting folks answers and enabling fun conversations in the Comments.

Titanomachy art by Sam Denmark

6- One of our new processes is a set phase to contract and receive art for the KS, which then rolls right into getting art for rest of the book. This practice is also helpful in getting the art for the Stretch Goal rewards.

7- We have at least one Errata phase after the Backer PDF goes out, although in some cases, and possibly this one, other Errata phases can be included at the developers’ discretion. Rather than having backers write in to us on the forums or via Kickstarter, we now have an Errata system that includes a new form administered by one of our in-house development overseers. Not the developer themselves. In fact, the Text to Editing to Layout to Done process contains more than three times the number of eyes reviewing and confirming changes than it did when we were pulling together Scion: Origin and Scion: Hero.

8- There are more devs understanding the game and rules, with Neall as the lead dev as opposed to having to be deeply involved in every phase like for Scion: Origin/Hero because only he saw how all the pieces needed to come together. Meghan Fitzgerald, who developed Mysteries of the World: The Scion Companion that released recently, and Monica Speca, developer of Titanomachy (the Advance PDF of which releases on Wednesday), are just two of the devs who are able to develop Scion books now that the first two main books are available. Danielle Lauzon is able to bring her unmatched knowledge of how the Storypath System works if needed. This means that while Neall directly developed Scion: Demigod, he has other devs he can run ideas past or who can jump in now if real-life issues impact his work on Scion.

9- One book, not two. More focus, less stress on creators. Also, you’re only pledging for one book (although feel free to pledge for as many as you want!) so your pledge amount will likely be less for this KS, as will likely be our total amount.

10- Scion: Demigod presents concepts which are not just the next “levels” of power for our Heroes, but which expand on what happens once a Scion is more than a hero, but not yet a god.

I’m thinking there may be more differences, but let’s stick with these as we get a Top Ten List sort of thing going. We’re going to have a fun Kickstarter with Scion: Demigod, and we’re hoping all of you can join us for it.

Also, we’ll be including links to Scion: Demigod Actual Play sessions all throughout the KS if you want to get an idea of how great it plays!

Sunken Bones art by Pat Loboyko

And Was There More In the Monday Meeting?

Sure, there really was. And I can’t tell you more than that we looked at a list of future projects that the team was extremely excited about, and we had to only hit the highlights of our weekly reports as the energized creative discussion over the new projects took up so much time.

Yep, we sure love creating:

Many Worlds, One Path!

Blurbs!

Kickstarter!

Scion Demigod Second Edition! Coming this Thursday, September 3rd at 2pm EDT! See all my blathering above for more info!

Onyx Path Media!

This week: What’s Up With The Scarred Lands? Featuring an update and interview with SL major-domo Travis Legge!

As always, this Friday’s Onyx Pathcast will be on Podbean or your favorite podcast venue! https://onyxpathcast.podbean.com/

Vorpal Tales begin their Scion: Demigod actual play from 21:00 EST on the 8th September! It’ll be hosted on our Twitch channel, but please give them a follow too: https://www.twitch.tv/vorpaltales

We’ve got lots of Scion: Demigod interviews and actual plays coming in the next few weeks, so keep watching this section!

For anyone new to our media section, you can find us running and playing games over on twitch.tv/theonyxpath pretty much every day of the week!

Plus, if you’d like your games hosted there, just get in touch with Matthew Dawkins using the contact link on matthewdawkins.com.

Please give our Twitch channel a follow, as you can find a huge number of videos of all kinds of games being run!

This week on Twitch, expect to see these games and streams running:

Scarred Lands – A Family Affair

Technocracy Reloaded – Vorpal Tales

Scion – Behind the Screen

Danielle’s RPG Development Workshop

Hunter: The Vigil – Cold Cases Forsaken Spaces

Changeling: The Dreaming – The Last Faerie Tale

Mage: The Awakening – Occultists Anonymous

Vampire: The Masquerade – Boston by Night

Get watching for some fantastic insight into how to run these wonderful games and subscribe to us on Twitch, over at twitch.tv/theonyxpath

Come take a look at our YouTube channel, youtube.com/user/theonyxpath, where you can find a whole load of videos of actual plays, dissections of our games, and more, including:

Hunter: The Vigil – Hometown Heroes Episode 4 – https://youtu.be/QDwQXsSiGZ0

Scarred Lands – Purge of the Serpentholds S1E13 – https://youtu.be/PNUTWl3eJq8

They Came from Beneath the Sea! – They Came from Devil’s Reef 2/2 – https://youtu.be/hoyYsRLc6Jo

Hunter: The Vigil – Uptown Shadows Episode 3 – https://youtu.be/DWfboQk46RQ

Realms of Pugmire – Paws and Claws S2E13 – https://youtu.be/ARCZGvOKIpc

Subscribe to our channel and click the bell icon if you want to be notified whenever new news videos and uploads come online!

Tom Murr continues with his amazing They Came from Beneath the Sea! audio drama over on his YouTube channel! Radio ReScience Episode 2: Military Entanglement, can be found right here: https://youtu.be/qiTprIriV7Y and Episode 3: Spycraft is here: https://youtu.be/qqS5rM3GA5A

Systematic Understanding of Everything is a new Exalted Explainer Podcast by Exalted Dev Monica Speca and Exalted Writer Chazz Kellner that is breaking down Creation in 45 minute chunks in preparation for Exalted Essence.

Their most recent episodes are available over on https://www.exaltcast.com/, with their newest covering the stunning Sidereals!

The Story Told Podcast continues their Fall of Jiara Exalted chronicle, and you can find their newest episode right here: https://thestorytold.libsyn.com/fall-of-jiara-25

Chris Allen continues his excellent chronicle of Werewolf: The Forsaken over on Paleo Gaming‘s Twitch channel. Do check out Very Angry Dogs!

https://www.twitch.tv/paleo_gaming

Two new Occultists Anonymous episodes for you fans of Mage: The Awakening! Find them right here:

Episode 124: Vibe Check The cabal travel to Seattle with the intent of hunting down Mr. Graves, behind enemy lines, and with little local support. https://youtu.be/kHJ8BVcqDd0

Episode 125: Not Enough… With a single lead from Wyrd, the cabal works to see who they’ve even made contact with. Unsure of their intel, behind Seer lines, they’re given a task to complete. https://youtu.be/w8iEpJoVJUo

Windy City Kindred kicks off their Vampire: The Masquerade Chicago by Night chronicle right here for you: https://youtu.be/nlaJfpABsE0

If you’re a fan of Dread Names, Red List for Vampire: The Masquerade, check out our friend The Primogen‘s video on the Red List! https://youtu.be/_6hEtPIyBs4

GMS Magazine produced a review of Dystopia Rising: Evolution over on their channel! https://youtu.be/Q0Ih1KkUhS0

Please check these out and let us know if you find or produce any actual plays of our games! We’d love to feature you!

Electronic Gaming!

As we find ways to enable our community to more easily play our games, the Onyx Dice Rolling App is live! Our dev team has been doing updates since we launched based on the excellent use-case comments by our community, and this thing is awesome! (Seriously, you need to roll 100 dice for Exalted? This app has you covered.)

We’re told that the App Dev is currently creating an updated version for the latest devices, so keep an eye open for those!

Virtual TableTop!

Introducing a Virtual Tabletop adventure: the Gauntlet of Spiragos for Scarred Lands on Astral TableTop!

Scars of the Divine War, which ended less than 200 years ago, have still not healed. One such scar is the Chasm of Flies, a rent in the earth created when the titan Spiragos the Ambusher was smote down by one of the young gods, Vangal the Ravager. Now, the Chasm is inhabited by spider-eye goblins and their spider allies, but it is also thought to be the resting place of powerful artifacts from that elder age.

Gauntlet of Spiragos is a Scarred Lands adventure designed for 1st level characters, although it can be easily modified for characters of up to 5th level.

Astral TableTop is the easiest way to play any tabletop RPG online, free. Astral already supports popular systems like D&D and Pathfinder, and Astral can support virtually any tabletop roleplaying game. Get started quickly with built-in support for most popular game systems. Whether you’re brand new to TTRPGs or a veteran tabletop gamer, Astral‘s ease-of-use and built in automation is designed to streamline gameplay.

Astral is browser-based and uses the latest technology to streamline your storytelling experience. Connect with your party online and run your campaigns however you like. Astral offers tools optimized for phone, tablet, and desktop devices, no installation required.

Build epic battlemaps using Astral‘s enormous collection of scenery, props, and tokens or upload your own. Pro users gain access to over 12,000+ assets and fresh new packs every month. Add weather, visual effects, triggers, and so much more with easy-to-use tools

Build your own adventure, or choose from pre-generated game kits like Gauntlet of Spiragos. Create character sheets, craft maps, or just jump right in to connect with your friends and start your adventures!

On Amazon and Barnes & Noble!

You can now read our fiction from the comfort and convenience of your Kindle (from Amazon) and Nook (from Barnes & Noble).

If you enjoy these or any other of our books, please help us by writing reviews on the site of the sales venue from which you bought it. Reviews really, really help us get folks interested in our amazing fiction!

Our selection includes these latest fiction books:

Our Sales Partners!

We’re working with Studio2 to provide our traditionally printed books out into your local game stores. Game stores can order via their usual distributors, and can also contact Studio2 directly. And individuals can check out our projects via the links below!

You can pick up the traditionally printed Pugmire and Monarchies of Mau main books, screens, and the official dice through our friends there! https://studio2publishing.com/search?q=pugmire

Now, we’ve added Chronicles of Darkness books such as Changeling: The Lost Second Edition products to Studio2‘s store! See them here: https://studio2publishing.com/collections/all-products/changeling-the-lost

Scion 2e books and other products are available now at Studio2: https://studio2publishing.com/blogs/new-releases/scion-second-edition-book-one-origin-now-available-at-your-local-retailer-or-online

Our Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition books are also available from Studio2 in the US: https://studio2publishing.com/products/vampire-the-masquerade-chicago-by-night-sourcebook

Looking for our Deluxe or Prestige Edition books? Try this link! http://www.indiepressrevolution.com/xcart/Onyx-Path-Publishing/

And you can order Pugmire, Monarchies of Mau, Cavaliers of Mars, and Changeling: The Lost 2e at the same link! And now Scion Origin and Scion Hero and Trinity Continuum Core and Trinity Continuum: Aeon are available to order

It’s the LAST DAY of the DOG DAYS OF SUMMER SALE!

As always, you can find Onyx Path’s titles at DriveThruRPG.com!

The Cthulhu Mythos sale at DriveThruRPG finishes this week, and we’ll have some God-Machine PDFs included in the sale!

On Sale This Week!

This Wednesday, the Titans grab the attention in the Titanomachy book for Scion! Advance PDF on sale on DTRPG!

Scion: Titanomachy has everything a Storyguide needs to bring the Second Titanomachy — a phase in the eternal cold war against the Gods — to their Scion Second Edition games.

It presents new threats from the Titans to their servants, plus their fell powers and Birthrights — ripe for use as antagonists or as new material for players’ characters. It also provides adventure hooks to springboard Storyguides into the action.

Scion: Origin and Scion: Hero are required to use this book.

This book includes:

Titans for each of the core pantheons, to be used as enemies or strange allies.

Three adventure hooks to help Storyguides run epic games involving the Second Titanomachy.

Dozens of all-new antagonists from enemy Scions to fearsome monsters.

New, Titan-themed Birthrights and Knacks for players to discover and use.

Note: This is the Advance PDF version. We’re collecting errata feedback before preparing the final PDF and Print versions of the book. Everyone who purchases the Advance PDF will automatically get the final PDF added to their Library on DriveThruRPG, plus they will receive a discount link for the Print version taking into account that they purchased the PDF.

Also this Wednesday, we open up the They Came From Beneath the Sea! Community Content part of the Storypath Nexus! Now you too can design scenarios featuring the terrifying, tentacular, terrors of the seven seas! And even get paid for it!

Conventions!

Though dates for physical conventions are subject to change due to the current COVID-19 outbreak, here’s what’s left of our current list of upcoming conventions (and really, we’re just waiting for this last one to be cancelled even though it’s Nov/Dec). Instead, keep an eye out here for more virtual conventions we’re going to be involved with:

PAX Unplugged: https://unplugged.paxsite.com/

And now, the new project status updates!

Development Status from Eddy Webb! (Projects in bold have changed status since last week.):

First Draft (The first phase of a project that is about the work being done by writers, not dev prep.)

Exalted Essay Collection (Exalted)

The Devoted Companion (Deviant: The Renegades)

Prometheus Unbound (was Psi Orders) (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

No Gods, No Masters (Scion 2nd Edition)

Scion Fiction Anthology (Scion 2nd Edition)

TC: Aeon Novella: Dawn (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

TC: Aeon Novella: Meridian (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Legacies of Earth (Legendlore)

Redlines

Dragon-Blooded Novella #2 (Exalted 3rd Edition)

CtL 2e Novella Collection: Hollow Courts (Changeling: The Lost 2e)

Adversaries of the Righteous (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Squeaks In The Deep (Realms of Pugmire)

Trinity Continuum: Anima

Second Draft

Many-Faced Strangers – Lunars Companion (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Hundred Devil’s Night Parade (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Novas Worldwide (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Exalted Essence Edition (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Saints and Monsters (Scion 2nd Edition)

M20 Technocracy Operative’s Dossier (Mage: The Ascension 20th Anniversary)

Wild Hunt (Scion 2nd Edition)

Development

TC: Aberrant Reference Screen (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Across the Eight Directions (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Contagion Chronicle: Global Outbreaks (Chronicles of Darkness)

Exigents (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Assassins (Trinity Continuum Core)

Kith and Kin (Changeling: The Lost 2e)

V5 Forbidden Religions (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Trinity Continuum: Adventure! core (Trinity Continuum: Adventure!)

M20 Rich Bastard’s Guide To Magick (Mage: The Ascension 20th Anniversary)

Manuscript Approval

Crucible of Legends (Exalted 3rd Edition)

V5 Trails of Ash and Bone (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Dystopia Rising: Evolution Fiction Anthology (Dystopia Rising: Evolution)

Contagion Chronicle Ready-Made Characters (Chronicles of Darkness)

The Clades Companion (Deviant: The Renegades)

V5 Children of the Blood (was The Faithful Undead) (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Post-Approval Development

M20 Victorian Mage (Mage: the Ascension 20th Anniversary Edition)

Mission Statements (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Editing

Lunars Novella (Rosenberg) (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition core rulebook (Mummy: The Curse 2nd Edition)

Player’s Guide to the Contagion Chronicle (Chronicles of Darkness)

TC: Aberrant Jumpstart (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

LARP Rules (Scion 2nd Edition)

The Book of Lasting Death (Mummy: The Curse 2e)

Scion: Dragon (Scion 2nd Edition)

Scion: Demigod (Scion 2nd Edition)

Dearly Bleak – Novella (Deviant: The Renegades)

N!ternational Wrestling Entertainment (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Under Alien Skies (Trinity Continuum: Aeon)

Dead Man’s Rust (Scarred Lands)

Post-Editing Development

W20 Shattered Dreams Gift Cards (Werewolf: The Apocalypse 20th)

Cults of the Blood Gods (Vampire: The Masquerade 5th Edition)

Hunter: The Vigil 2e core (Hunter: The Vigil 2nd Edition)

Trinity Continuum: Aberrant core (Trinity Continuum: Aberrant)

Deviant: The Renegades (Deviant: The Renegades)

Legendlore core book (Legendlore)

One Foot in the Grave Jumpstart (Geist: The Sin-Eaters 2e)

Masks of the Mythos (Scion 2nd Edition)

They Came From Beyond the Grave! (They Came From!)

Heirs to the Shogunate (Exalted 3rd Edition)

Indexing

Art Direction from Mike Chaney!

In Art Direction

Tales of Aquatic Terror – LeBlanc art in and getting fulls.

WoD Ghost Hunters (KS) – KS page to Paradox for approval.

Hunter: The Vigil 2e

Mummy 2

Deviant – AD’d.

Legendlore

Technocracy Reloaded

Cults of the Blood God

Scion: Dragon (KS)

Masks of the Mythos (KS)

Scion: Demigod (KS) – Ready for Thursday.

They Came From Beyond the Grave! (KS)

TC: Adventure! (KS)

Geist: One Foot In the Grave – Artists are working.

Contagion Chronicle Jumpstart (Chronicles of Darkness) – Sending art buy sheet to Dixie for notes.

In Layout

Yugman’s Guide to Ghelspad

Vigil Watch

Trinity Core Jumpstart

Aberrant – Gonna start layout with the power section

Proofing

Cavaliers of Mars: City of the Towered Tombs

Yugman’s Guide Support Decks (Scarred Lands)

TC Aeon Terra Firma – Sent back to Josh, looking good.

V5 Let the Streets Run Red – Inputting corrections.

Pugmire Adventure – Need map finished.

At Press

TCFBTS Screen and Booklet – Files at press.

They Came from Beneath the Sea! – Shipping from printer to KS fulfiller.

Pirates of Pugmire – Shipping from printer to KS fulfiller.

Pirates of Pugmire Screen – Files at press.

Dark Eras 2 – Files printing.

Dark Eras 2 Screen and booklet – Files at press.

Contagion Chronicle – Press prep.

Contagion Chronicle Screen and Booklet – Files at press.

Lunars Wall Scroll Map – Shipping to KS fulfiller from printer.

Lunars Screen and Booklet – Files at press.

Lunars: Fangs at the Gate – Prepping files for PoD and press.

Scarred Lands Creature Collection – Shipping from printer to KS fulfiller.

Magic Item Decks 1-3 (Scarred Lands) – PoD proof decks ordered.

Scion Titanomachy – Advance PDF on sale Weds on DTRPG!

Today’s Reason to Celebrate!

Over the weekend we learned of the unexpected and sad death of Chadwick Boseman, the actor best known for portraying King T’Challa of Wakanda, the Black Panther, although in his relatively short career he also played several great and inspirational historical figures. The impact of his work portraying a comic book hero far outweighed the basic idea; we celebrate that his Black Panther embodied an ideal and inspirational place needed by many people around the world. As stated by former President Obama: “To be young, gifted, and Black; to use that power to give them heroes to look up to; to do it all while in pain – what a use of his years.”

#Onyx Path Publishing

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witnesstruesorcery · 3 years

Text

A VERY IMPORTANT UPDATE!!

I have fixed some pretty obvious mistakes in the text of my book, and in the back of the cover. I have also changed some of the fonts and size in the main title and added a few details here and there in the cover. Some positioning of the titles, logos, images, photos and the text were also very much improved in this upated version of the cover art as a whole. The most important thing I did, is to LOWER THE PRICE substantially. I decreased it from $ 11.00 to $ 8.99 (pretty reasonable I think for such book) and in the UK that would be, £ 6.66 (yes, I know what you’re thinking). The Euro equivalent all around the other Amazon markets in Europe is now about 7.00 Euros. So in other words, it's dirt cheap and super affordable! Can't argue with that, eh? You have no possible excuse now, but to get it for Christmas! :) Oh yeah, and I have also added a few paragraphs and images in the text of the book, and now the pages have increased from 163 to 165. That's all I can give for the moment. My eyes are not detecting any other major mistakes after re-reading the text and checking the cover. If you find any after you read it, please feel free to report them to me so that I can fix them. As I said in my previous comment, I will definitely make a detailed flick through on every single page (from start to finish) and show how the cover looks, the actual binding and all the rest of these things when I receive a copy of my book. I may even read you a bed time story if you like. So thank you all again folks and I do hope you a nice trip with the book! It really, really, really, really means a lot to hear from you. Cheers lads and lasses!

Synopsis:

In his book, HERESY & METAPHYSICS, Borislav Vakinov explores and discusses; philosophical, anthropological, occult, existential, mythological and polytheistic themes and concepts. Thematically, the core of the book deals with pre-Christian, Pagan practices and beliefs and also delves into Fortean topics such as; the paranormal, the super natural, ritual magic and mysticism which roots and foundations are firmly based in prehistory, classical antiquity, as well as in more current times. HERESY & METAPHYSICS rides on the towering wave of probability, chaos magic and high weirdness. With these tools in hand, the author aims at the highest target in order to unravel and “excavate” the mystical, the paranormal and the super natural, and to present them in a quite different perspective. A more down-to-earth snap shot, free of “new age” or materialist types of dogma and sugar-coated in mainstream and academic phraseology; in other words—THE HYPER UPDATE OF THE DECADE! HERESY & METAPHYSICS taps into archetypes, metaphors and subconscious models that hadn’t been properly discussed, developed and explored since the so-called “truth movement” began in Europe and North America in the early part of the decade after the events of 9/11. The book fuels the engine of creativity and peels off layer after layer of lies, deceit and fake promises of a better tomorrow, in a world where the mass media, the politicians, the world governments (the so-called “elites” behind the curtains), and the global corporations dictate how or whether we should have an authentic experience. Whether we should look for answers beyond the five-sense reality, or express ourselves as normal human beings. The time has come to embark on a solo magical journey through the fields, forests, mountains, suburban alleys and dark corners of our towns and native lands and put on the Wizard cloak of invisibility and grip in both hands the staff and the mighty sword of power in order to achieve highly concentrated and well-structured models for improving our lives.With the writing and the publication of Heresy & Metaphysics, the author’s inner most wish and desire is to take the reader on that lone ship in the middle of the ocean, where the captain strives to pull up the anchor and lift it up towards the unknown. In a completely unpretentious and unapologetic way, the book tries to push further ahead into new territories and break the thick blocks of stagnation and outdated spiritual and secular ideals, while steering the ship back into well-established grounds and visit old and familiar places. At the same time, the main quest of HERESY & METAPHYSICS is to deliver something deeply profound, practical, weird and authentic. Much of Borislav’s work concentrates on the world that is ignored by the mainstream and pop culture. Sometimes forgotten, obsolete or simply marginalized, it is a world of the unseen, of the hidden and of the unknown, that doesn’t fit into a thirty-second news media bite or a Facebook and Twitter feed.Borislav has spent the last ten years traveling across Europe and his native land, taking notes and documenting this world and now has a story to share. This is the beginning of his quest into the world of mystery & magic. THIS IS HIS FIRST PUBLISHED BOOK.

AmazonUS:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08NF1RD3W

AmazonUK:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B08NF1RD3W/ref=ox_sc_act_title_4?smid=A3P5ROKL5A1OLE&psc=1

AmazonEU

https://www.amazon.de/dp/B08NF1RD3W

#heresy & metaphysics #borislav vakinov #magick #occult #philosophy #existentialism #books #kdp publishing #amazon #book update #bulgaria #magic

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tartxglia · 5 years

Text

Heaven's Sin - Chapter 3

Pairing: Felix x Reader

Genre: Fallen Angel AU

Words: 4,906

Warnings: bit of sexual tension

Summary: You didn’t mean your declaration of major as Mythology in college to be an invitation for the supernatural to enter your life, but here you were. In just the first year of college alone, you’re knee deep in the drama of the Dark and Light sides of the supernatural world, and falling head first in love with Lee Felix, an enigmatic fallen angel."

« previous // next »

You saved me that night. You're that angel I saw–my angel with the beautiful white wings. Aren't you?”

Fuck. So you had seen him that night. He had thought it was just a coincidence–meeting your eyes like that when humans can’t see Guardian Angels–but he supposed he shouldn’t be surprised about it. Not anymore, not when he now knew things he didn’t used to know back then. But these things he has to keep to himself–for now at least. And he’d be damned if he told you everything now. It was time, the other boys always told him and he agreed, but it wasn’t time for this. Not yet. The longer you remained in the dark about stuff like this; concerning you, him, and every dangerous baggage that he dragged with him, the safer you’d be.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Felix finally replies, his voice just loud enough to be heard by the two of you. He opens his eyes to see your form bent over his, hands resting on the armrests of the single leather couch he sat on, and your face positioned right above his. He lifts his head up, the motion bringing his face closer to yours and despite the racing hearts that both of you had–yes he could hear it, he's always heard the way your heart stutters and breath hitches around him–neither of you backed down first. “I’ve never met you before, you must be mistaken.”

Your face scrunches up, your eyebrows furrowed together and your mouth in a frown, as you watch this guy spout lie after lie. Did he really think you were dumb enough to believe his words? That you’d fall for his charms and words like every other student in this school?

“No.” You barely catch the flicker of surprise that passes through his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly and his confident demeanour returns. He cocks an eyebrow and holy fuck he looks really hot and this minimal distance doesn’t help but god damn it Y/N don’t get distracted. “No, you don’t get to dictate what I see is real, and what isn't. Who do you think you are telling me that what I saw was a lie? I know for a fact that it was you who saved me that night, from–from whatever that was chasing me in the dark. And I also know for a fact that you had wings."

Felix's features morph into a jeering smirk and you think that's probably the closest to a smile you'll see on his face. "Are you hearing yourself right now?" He scoffs and you're so close to him that you feel the breeze of his exhaled breath. "It was dark, you didn't see clearly."

“No, I know what I saw," your voice is unwavering and at this point, you're borderline irritated by Felix's stubbornness, but you continue softly. "Listen, Felix, I'm a Mythology major. All this Gods, Angels, Demons bullshit? I study them, I believe in them thanks to you who I saw that night. So you can confide in me, yeah? You don't have to worry about me running off thinking you're crazy or something. Trust me–"

You stop mid-sentence in shock as Felix suddenly gets up from the couch, instinctively making you back up to keep some distance. A gasp gets caught in your throat as he switches your positions, and before you know it, he's pushed you down onto the couch instead. The impact forces out a breath of shock from you while Felix leans forward, using the armrests to support his weight just as you did. You shrink back into the couch in submission to the intimidating aura he now exuded, your eyes meeting his to find that they were a shimmering golden.

"Y/N,” the sound of his gruff voice saying your name sends a chill down your spine and you don’t know whether to find it intimidating, attractive or both. “Leave me alone. You’re better off keeping your associations with me to a minimum. So, mind your own business because as far as I’m concerned, what I am is none of your business.”

His eyes are narrowed as he looks down at you who is entranced by the gorgeous gleam of his golden eyes. Neither of you are talking but the sound of light panting is deafening as both you and Felix feel jittery from the small space between the two of you. Your heart thunders in your chest, the beating sound travelling all the way up to your own ears, as you stare back at Felix who seems to be getting closer. Felix hears the synchronised thrumming of his own and your hearts and he can’t help but feel drawn towards his soulmate.

God, you were so alluring. Everything about you drove him crazy–the way your heart seemed to beat in sync with his, the soft tingles every time he touched you, the natural scent of you that wrapped around him and made him crave you. Seeing your innocent doe eyes stare up at him like that had him feeling all sorts of things. Of course it was you, his soulmate, who stood up to him. But seeing you submissive to the fallen angel aura he exuded in dominance gave him all the satisfaction and more. He hid it well, but you had him wrapped around your finger and it pained him to distance himself from you. To push you away despite every opportunity he has to get closer to you, to see you so close yet still so far. He knows it’s his own doing but if he’s endured two whole years then he can endure a few more until that inevitable day finally comes around when he can no longer keep you in the dark.

He watches you in a trance, drowning in your eyes, the scent of you, the thrill of having you mere centimetres away from him. He sees your eyes flicker downward for a moment as they steal a glance of his lips and it breaks the spell. Suddenly he’s aware of the diminishing space between the two of you, the hazy look in your eyes as you’re drawn to him just as he was to you. In the blink of an eye, he’s pulled away from you and straightened himself up. He watches you blink away the haze of being close to your soulmate, registering his form now standing tall over you and the way his eyes narrowed into a final glare before he walked away in long, fast strides.

The sound of the dance studio door slamming shut makes you jump in shock, your head feeling a lot clearer now that Felix wasn’t around to make your thoughts run a mile a minute. You come to your senses and realise the mess Felix had made of you simply by being so close to you; your racing heartbeat, your panting, the fading tingling of your birthmark, and the haze lifting from your mind. Had he just nearly kissed you? Was he moving towards you or were you moving towards him? You didn’t know. You stay sitting on the couch as you collect yourself, thinking over what just happened when something Felix said jumps out at you. "What I am is none of your business." He had worded it as though he's something other than a human–"What I am". Intentional or not, Lee Felix had just let it slip to you that he might just not be a regular human.

You only had one class after lunch, and that passed by in the blink of an eye, so your day ended a lot earlier than Hyejin who still had a 4pm class. With it still being just past two in the afternoon, you decided to head to the library–to do your readings or to procrastinate you’d find out soon. The college library had a very aesthetic look of browns and beige or anything that would match with wood. There were open study spaces with chairs, tables and couches, as well as group study rooms. The library always had the AC on–something about preventing humidity damage to the books–but they always made it borderline freezing. The chilled temperature of the library raises goosebumps all over your arms but you pay no mind, looking for an empty space in the sea of heads.

It doesn’t take long for you to get settled in; you found a comfy spot nestled deep in the mass of studying students, pulled out your laptop and pair of earphones and you were set. You started off doing readings for your other classes but the clacking as you typed up your notes slowly faded away as you found yourself getting lost in your own thoughts. Ever since lunch and all throughout your second and last class of the day you’d been thinking about Felix. The close proximity, the way he’d make your heart race without failure, and what he said to you. Before you knew it, your fingers were automatically gliding over the keyboard and you were looking into angels, demons, anything both heavenly and sinful.

The concept of Gods, Angels, Fallen Angels, and Demons have existed in every culture with some variation. Usually linked with religion, they’ve been depicted in all forms ranging from literary texts like the bible or fictional novels to visual modes like art and movies. It’s hard to find someone who doesn’t know what an Angel is–for good reason. These mythological beings seem to have existed since mankind has been able to deal with abstract concepts, and the history of them is a long one. You’d know–being a Mythology major and all–and this wasn't your first time doing research on such creatures either. The whole time, two memories ran through your head; the glimpse of Felix with white wings during high school summer and your lunchtime memory of the sunlight painting a dark wing silhouette on Felix. Yes, he could be any mythological winged creature but you had almost full confidence that he was an Angel. Why his wing seemed dark you didn’t know, but you’d find out. And for that, despite his warnings, you needed to get close to him and what better way than the Mythology class assignment?

You were so engrossed into your laptop, reading up on the history and anthropology of Angels, that you didn’t notice a figure who briefly paused behind you before walking away. Changbin had also finished all his classes for the day and had been spending his time productively as he waited for the rest of his friends to finish their classes. On his way out the library, he walked past your table and peeked over your shoulder. He saw your many tabs on Angels on the laptop, the notebook sprawled open with additional notes on your table. His eyebrows naturally arched as he observed your curiosity and dedication to your major, but he moved on quickly so as to not appear suspicious nor get caught peeking by you.

Outside the library, he headed over to the decided meeting spot at the cafe located within the campus. He could hear Minho from a whole corridor away, preaching about the cute photos of the new kitten he’d recently adopted. Turning the corner, he could see everyone already there–Felix, Woojin, and Minho–but his focus was only on one.

“She knows, doesn’t she?” Changbin raises the vague question once he’s close enough and it has the whole group quieten their chatter to focus on him. They all turn to face him, especially Felix who tensed at the question.

“Who is this ‘she’?” Woojin asks in response, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. He traces Changbin’s gaze over to Felix who stares back expressionless.

“She suspects it, yeah,” Felix shrugs.

“And you don’t wanna tell her?”

“Look–”

“No, Felix, this is the perfect opportunity.” Minho jumps into the conversation. “I’ve spent two whole years with her, she’s been obsessed with all this Angels stuff ever since she saw you. Now that she suspects it isn’t it easier to break the ice?”

Felix sighs in exasperation, he couldn’t explain how many times he’s had this conversation with the boys before. “I’ve told you before, I wanna keep her as safe as possible,” Changbin opens his mouth to interject but Felix rushes his response knowing what his older friend would say. “I am the danger. We are the danger. You can’t argue with that. Even if it’s only a matter of a few more weeks, I want to postpone this as much as possible.” The boys fall into silence, thinking over Felix’s valid point that they refused to wholly accept.

“What if we train her?” It doesn’t take much for Woojin’s voice to be heard in the silence, each of his friends looking over at him strangely. “We train her to be ready for the danger–whatever you feel this danger is.”

Minho jumps at Woojin��s suggestion, a metaphorical lightbulb going off on top of his head as he excitedly nods, “That could work–“

“No.” Felix is adamant with his refusal.

“Felix, she’s a fighter. It would be second nature to her. Think about it, we know a bit about what she is, we can train her to use her–“

“God dammit Minho don’t you want to keep her safe too?!” Felix’s exclamation is powerful given the deep bass nature of his voice, “You spent two years being friends–no, best friends–with her, don’t you care about her? Want to keep her as far away from any danger as possible?”

Minho has a hurt expression as he stares back at Felix in shock of his accusation. The innocent meet-up had quickly turned the atmosphere tense and all of the four present Fallen Angels could sense it.

“We just want to help you, Felix, that’s all we’ve ever done–it’s why we came all this way right?” Woojin runs a hand through his hair in frustration but his voice remains calm. The rest of the boys had confronted Felix about this many times. Felix always opposed, he didn’t want these things touching you even with a 10-foot pole. And though every part of him craved to be with you, he learnt to distance himself from you to keep you safe. Meanwhile, the other boys firmly believed in telling you everything, all the fucked up situations that lead them to this mess and all the secrets people had been keeping from you. You and Felix were soulmates for fuck’s sake, as much as they’d hate to admit it, they’d rather the two of you be playing tonsil hockey or something rather than hating each other.

“You don’t get it,” Felix is shaking his head in denial, standing strong with his stance on this argument.

“Damn right, I don’t get it.” Minho’s voice has a sudden fit of anger behind it, and Changbin is quick to place a firm grip on his shoulder. “If I were you, and if that was my soulmate right there, I would have long since confessed everything. To hell if there’s some looming danger, I’d spend every moment with my soulmate. I’d protect them and I’d train them–have faith that they can handle it.”

“This is my way of protecting Y/N,” the aura is tense as Felix and Minho both take on their supernatural demeanours as a natural grapple for domination. “Y/N is my soulmate, I’ll tell her when I want to. You can do whatever the fuck you want with your soulmate–if you even find them that is.” Felix snarls the last sentence in Minho’s face, the harsh reality of the situation being a trigger as Minho prepares to lunge at his younger friend only to be held back by Changbin.

“That was uncalled for, Felix.” A hand is placed on Felix’s chest in warning and he traces it back to find Woojin’s stern expression. “We’re happy that you’ve found your soulmate–we really are–and regardless of how we argue now, we’ll always have your back. But that’s crossing the line and you know it.”

Minho relaxes in Changbin’s hold, his body free of the previous tension. Similarly, Felix also takes a deep breath and tones down his aura, the air thinning out as a result. Realisation hits and Felix’s shoulders droop in disappointment as it finally registers to him what he had just said.

“Oh god, Minho I’m so sorry,” Felix groans, his voice a lot softer to convey his sincere feelings. “Guys, you know I don’t mean it like that. I love all of you, I really do, and I can’t explain how thankful I am that you guys are helping me and my soulmate through this. I’m sorry.” His head drops, his gaze now focused on the concrete floor of the cafe. His figure suddenly seems to shrink, his aura much smaller compared to just minutes ago and his older friends are quick to soften up and accept the apology. A pat on the back has Felix looking, his eyes meeting with Changbin and Minho’s who have now moved closer to him and Woojin. A look is passed, especially between Minho and Felix, and the boys know that whatever tension they had just minutes ago was nonexistent.

“Let’s go home?” Changbin says with a final pat on Felix's back as he helps his younger friend gather his bags.

“Let’s go home. I have another Mario Kart race to win against Felix,” Minho’s voice is light and teasing as he quickly slips away outside of Felix’s range. Changbin and Woojin can only laugh, as they watch Felix chase down Minho down the hallway.

You woke up to the blaring sound of your alarm the next day, unwillingly dragging yourself out of bed to get ready. It was only the second day of college and you already felt dead, great. You used to get up at super early in the morning for high school for five days a week, now even getting up for a 9 AM class every other day seemed like torture–this is what your sleep schedule has come to. Nonetheless, you begrudgingly drag yourself to your 9 AM lecture like a brain-dead zombie with the latest bop playing through your earphones. Surprisingly, even despite your earphones blasting an upbeat EDM tune into your ears, you can hear it–the constant chattering and fawning. Over who? The Big Four boys of course, you could see the back of Felix’s blonde hair bounce with every step he took as he walked across the pathway cutting through the campus garden. He walked without care, as if he didn’t have girls fawning over him, just making the trek towards his first class of the day with his head lightly bopping to the tune his wireless Beats earphones played.

Seeing him brought you back to yesterday afternoon at the library as you hunched over the table, like every other student sitting beside you, researching myths and legends of Angels and all such affiliated creatures. He looked as ethereal as always, the sun rays hitting every sharp angle of his face perfectly, painting him in the most sinfully ethereal way. It was a wonder how everybody else hadn’t noticed it yet, they all just seemed to accept that men as gorgeous as Woojin, Minho, Changbin, and Felix were human. But you knew better. You were sure Felix was an Angel of some sorts, and considering the close friendship he shared with Woojin, Minho, and Changbin, you presumed it was safe to assume that they were like him.

You had spent the whole night thinking about this, connecting all the dots and rethinking every moment you’d spent with Minho. Logically, it made sense. Minho had always been the kind of guy to be extra careful as if he was always hyperaware of his surroundings, constantly keeping a look out. He had also willingly approached you and Hyejin as if he had a purpose, sparking up a conversation and a soon-to-be deeper relationship. What his purpose was remained a mystery to you but you’d find out. It had taken a while for everything to sink in, to consider the fact that one of your best friends was hiding a big part of him from you and you wondered if anything was ever real to Minho. But you’d deal with Minho later because first you had to deal with Felix. You had a point to prove, and you also had a boy to chase down.

You hurried along the same path that Felix took just moments ago, your footsteps not as calm as his were as you attempted to catch up with him. You took the same stairs up, turning a corner and coming to a stop just a few steps away from the campus cafe. Surprisingly, a select brave few of those who admired Felix from afar had approached him. You took a few more steps forward, pretending as though you were heading to the display case full of various sandwiches, salads, and muffins.

"--same Mythology class, right?" The girl standing in front of Felix could barely hold eye contact with him, her eyes would constantly flutter around his face and her hands kept moving in nervous gestures. "I uh was wondering if you wanted to do the Myth assignment together? Prof said we could work in pairs or groups and I thought maybe we could work together? Over a cup of coffee or something?" She flashes Felix a shy smile, her body naturally leaning forward towards him. Meanwhile Felix didn't stray from his usual controlled expression; his face didn't twitch, his eyes never faltered, frankly you were impressed that this girl could still smile with Felix looking at her like that. You'd give her credit for that at least.

Finally, you hear Felix let out a sigh–not the exasperated one but also not the bored one. It kind of lingered in between, a vague grey area, and it had even you leaning towards the two of them in anticipation. “Sorry, I already started working on it on my own.” For a moment there, the side of your mouth naturally twitched up, a brief feeling of satisfaction filling you before you pushed it away. What was that about?

Continuing to stand in front of the display case, you side-eyed the girl who now seemed to shrink in size at his response. She stammers out an “it’s okay” and “don’t worry about it” before she hurries off.

“He always does that,” the familiar sound of Hyejin’s voice beside you makes you jump in shock and you face her with a hand on your chest. At your look of disturbance, she continues, “Reject group work invitations, that is.”

“I wasn’t wondering.”

“Of course you weren’t.” Hyejin shuffles past you, talking with the cafe cashier to order a cup of coffee and a blueberry muffin. “He tends to just stick with his own circle of friends, won’t work with just anyone else.”

You follow Hyejin as she moves to the counter, your body turns opposite to her and you lean on the countertop. “You sure know a lot even though you’re just a freshman, huh?”

Hyejin just shrugs, giving you a side glance before smirking. You’d make a bitchy comment but your eyes catch another girl walking up to Felix. She was different, she was confident in her walk as she approached Felix who in turn seemed to hold her gaze. Her aura held a certain power, part of which stemmed from the confidence she held. Hands down, she was gorgeous. Her long hair fell in perfect waves, seemingly air brushed to frame her small face in the most alluring way. Every feature of her seemed to be crafted by God’s hand himself as you failed to find even the slightest flaw in her. Since you had followed Hyejin to the counter, you now stood too far to hear the conversation between Felix and the new girl. You could only see her lips move, as she talked, and Felix’s head bobbing in response. Wait–he was responding?!

“What about her?” You direct Hyejin’s attention to the girl now conversing with Felix with a nod of your head.

“That’s Minji,” Hyejin stands beside you now with her coffee in her hand. “The Big Four don’t just stay within themselves, there have a few other friends too.”

You can only watch from afar as Minji and Felix engage in a conversation, both mutually responsive and invested in each other. You had yet to see Felix interacting with anyone outside of his close-knit group of three other boys. Now he was chatting it up with a girl? You were shocked to say the least, this was the last thing you expected to see first thing in the morning.

Your line of vision is blocked off by a blueberry muffin placed right in front of your face. Your eyes find Hyejin who is extending the muffin to you in a silent solace. By the look on your face, Hyejin already knew how you were feeling. But did you?

The previously silent bathroom was suddenly filled with the sound of giggling and light chatter when a groups of girls walked in. You were in one of the cubicles, doing your own business, when they walked in. They were loud and seemed to be excitedly discussing something–probably gossip–and you can only roll your eyes. Just when you had decided to exit the cubicle and make your presence known, one of the girl speaks up.

"So Minji, we saw you chatting it up with Felix this morning, what was that about?" The query ends with some light giggling and teasing before Minji finally responds.

"Ah you know, we were just catching up." Wow, even her voice was the perfect mixture of soft and seductive.

"I heard a lot of the girls were thinking of asking Felix to work with them for the Myth assignment." The first voice speaks again.

"Are you gonna ask him to work with you, Minji?" A second voice makes itself known. So there were three of them–you nearly snort out loud at the cliche.

"Of course," Minji's voice is as confident as ever, and your mind practically imagines her flipping her long curls as she responded. "I'm the one he's most likely to work with, he's not gonna partner up with any of them."

"Ooh~ Minji's getting ready for battle. Felix is one lucky boy huh?" One of her two sidekicks sing-songs. You hear a hum of approval–from Minji probably–before all three burst into cheeky giggles again.

God, does this girl not have an end to her self-confidence? She'd crossed the line into narcissistic a long time ago but this was a new low. You felt a burning anger grow in your chest as you heard the three of them chatter on, every other sentence an innuendo that pushed you to your limit. You couldn't allow Minji to pounce onto Felix, you wouldn't let that happen. You had your own plans with him, you had a whole mythological identity of is to uncover you didn't have time for some flirty bimbo to get in the way.

You slammed the cubicle door open as you stomped out, heading to the sink where the three girls stood. They shuffled over to one end but didn't give you a second look after that and it had you fuming even more. After quickly washing your hands, you left the bathroom in a hurry as you headed over to your second class of the day–Mythology.

Seeing as it was only a few minutes before class began, you weren't surprised to find the class already half full. People were shuffling in and out the door, moving up and down to find their seats. Pushing the thought of the many peering eyes away, you continued on your way towards Felix. Since your seat was next to him, it seemed convenient enough that you'd approach his direction. You were still a good stretch away from him but he had already made you nervous–your heart fluttering, your breaths quickened, your mind a mess. All your mind could do was keep replaying that moment in the dance studi; the two of you practically a hair's width away, so close you could feel the other's breath fan across your faces, your lips about to graze. It didn't help that Felix looked so good. Again. He had on a thin grey hoodie underneath with a brown leather jacket on top and black jeans. It was a casual look but oh the things it made you feel should be illegal.

Your brief moment of distraction is cut short when you finally find yourself standing in front of Felix instead of sliding into your seat next to him. You get a sense of deja-vu as you place your hands on his table, a light smack sounding from the hit. It's loud enough to get his attention and a few others around the two of you but not loud enough to disrupt the whole class. You lean forward when Felix looks up at you, meeting your gaze head-on. His face as controlled as ever but his eyes, you could see them shine in hidden excitement as he waited for your next move.

"Felix, be my partner for the Myth assignment."

Your voice is clear and confident, and Felix's expression cracks to let slip a small smirk.

Taglist: @cheriehyuck @xnxxdlesx @minhos-boo @ooppssiiee

#zyawrites #Heaven's Sin #Stray Kids #SKZ #Stray Kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids Felix fanfic #sray kids Felix x reader #skz Felix x reader #stray kids Lee Felix #Lee Felix #felix #lee #yongbok #lee yongbok #stray kids felix

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zeldauniverse · 5 years

Text

If you played The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, you know that one of the game’s vital features is cooking. The possibilities felt endless; you can cook many combinations of food and get a seemingly endless number of results.

Have you ever wanted to taste some of the cooked food you cooked in Breath of the Wild? The Legend’s Cookbook is the gateway to those fantasies. The Legend’s Cookbook is a Legend of Zelda inspired cookbook featuring recreations of the amazing dishes from games we enjoy so much.

We sat down with three of the team members behind The Legend’s Cookbook, and they shared their thoughts about the cookbook and what readers (and eaters!) can look forward to.

Zelda Universe: What made you decide to create a Legend of Zelda inspired cookbook?

Peter Abreu, Lead Chef: There were a lot of factors that went into us wanting to do this. People are spending more money eating out than cooking at home, and we can start to change that trend. We figure if we make cooking something fun, uncomplicated and interesting, we can really change people’s lives.

We love the Zelda series, we’re huge fans. We are in love with the stories, characters and art style. Do you know what is at the very core of that series? Being a hero and saving the world. All of us on the team want to do something like that. The absolute goal here is that one of the recipes in this book becomes a staple in someone’s diet, that it changes the way they go about their dietary lifestyle and their life improves from that change. If we manage to do that, then we’ve done it.

We want everyone to cook like a hero, what better place to draw inspiration from than a series that brought that concept so near and dear to our hearts?

Matt Mannheimer, Producer: It’s one of those things where you play something and you’re like “what if that was real?” That was some of our mindsets when wanting to make some of these inspired recipes from the games. From there we poured our heart into it. With our passion for gaming and the [Zelda] series in general, it made us do our research and figure out what will be the perfect fit for these recipes.

ZU: What types of recipes and foods from the Zelda series are you taking inspiration from?

Peter: The recipes in this cookbook are original, real world recipes inspired by The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild. We have baked goods, breakfast foods, dinner items, healthy snacks, sweet desserts and so much more! We’re starting with 50 recipes and we want to add even more as stretch goals. For those stretch goals, we are going to add things like cocktails, more creative dishes, and even recipes inspired by the other games in the Zelda series.

Matt: This whole cookbook is from the perspective of the hero. The hero recollecting his time from his adventure, writing down these recipes, fighting monsters, going through dungeons. You know the whole drill! That’s what makes it special; it’s a cookbook that has a story behind it. Not just in the gaming world, but also in real life. If you have enjoyed Mother’s Cookbook or Batter’s Almanac, you’re probably going to enjoy this one.

ZU: Will this cookbook be enjoyed by those who may not know the Zelda franchise?

Peter: Absolutely, we like to keep cooking simple and accessible. This is not going to be a cookbook only for Zelda fans. This cookbook is not going to bash people over the head with references and in-jokes but there will be several subtle allusions and (literal) Easter eggs. We want this to be a guide for everyone, newcomers and veterans to the kitchen and the Zelda series.

The ultimate compliment is for someone to fall in love with the recipes, art, and photos in our cookbook, first, and then realize it draws a lot of inspiration from their favorite series, second.

Matt: You don’t have to know everything about the [Zelda] series to get into this book. I feel its for everyone. I definitely don’t know everything about the [Zelda] series, but whenever I look at these recipes, and the pictures, I’m drawn into it. There are recipes that range from easy to difficult, but they’re so much fun to make. They’re fun to make and are all delicious.

Patrick Deasy, Photographer: I’m probably the biggest normie of the bunch, I’m not much of a gamer. I’ve been able to try out these recipes and I can tell you from an outsiders perspective that this is definitely a cookbook first and a piece of nerd memorabilia later.

ZU: If you had to recommend a recipe to somebody who may be new to cooking, what would it be?

Peter: The rock-hard candy. Our rock candy recipe is simple and delicious. You can do it at home, it’s super easy and very enjoyable. This is for all those with a sweet tooth. Here, I’ll share it with you:

Rock Hard Candy

Ingredients:

2 Cups of White Sugar

1 Cup of Water

3/4 Cup of Light Corn Syrup

1/4 Cup of Pomegranate Juice

Powdered Sugar for Dusting

Directions:

In a saucepan, combine sugar, water, and corn syrup.

Heat up the pan over medium heat, stirring constantly, until the white sugar is dissolved completely with the water and corn syrup. It is important to stir gently after sugar has dissolved to prevent burning, Use a candy thermometer to watch the temperature of the mixture and let it hit to the hard crack stage of 300F (149C).

Once there, remove from it from heat and add in the pomegranate juice, slowly. Mix it in.

Then, pour the hot candy into a 9”x9” baking pan covered in parchment paper that’s been dusted with powdered sugar, so the candy doesn’t stick. Leave it out in the open air uncovered and let the candy harden and cool completely.

Then the fun part, break into chunks with a hammer and then enjoy.

Matt: The Legends Cookbook is here to give you a culinary adventure: just go for it. If there’s a recipe you really wanna make, just do it. Even if it doesn’t turn out the way you want it the first time, just keep trying. With these recipes, we just want you to become a better chef.

ZU: Which recipe from this cookbook are you most excited about?

In The Legend’s Cookbook, the Dubious Food tastes really good; a lot more than you would expect. It’s even pixilated, like in Breath of the Wild!

Peter: The recipe I am most excited for is the one inspired by Dubious Food. It was the very first item I wanted to try and make in the kitchen. It was something just so disgusting yet edible, it was a fun idea and I wanted to make it. It was hard but I really enjoyed all different ways to make the food turn purple and look gross yet taste amazing. The final product just came out so great and it tasted delicious.

I pulled heavily from learning how to cook coq au vin from Anthony Bourdain and his show Parts Unknown. He was a was a huge inspiration for me as a chef. I really resonated with him because, like him, I spent a lot of my traveling the world, learning different cultures and food. I wanted to bring that same spirit of travel and exploration, a concept also very core to the Zelda series, to this cookbook as well as honor him with one of my favorite dishes he made. Hours upon hours in the kitchen later, I’ve created a questionable but inviting twist on coq au vin that you will all enjoy.

Matt: The meaty rice balls. I couldn’t stop eating them! They were so good! I don’t know how Peter does it, but that meat was the most delicious thing I ever tasted. It’s sweet, it’s GOOD.

Patrick: This is pretty basic, but I was pretty amazed when I got to see Peter make the fried rice for a couple of the dishes. I’ve never been able to do it right, so knowing that it’s in the cookbook is pretty exciting for me. Also the Rock Hard Food is pretty rad. It’s like a hard candy that’s flavored with pomegranate juice and it’s great. Meaty Rice balls are fantastic. It’s spicy and sweet and wonderful. I almost forgot about the Dubious Food, that one is awesome. That one is definitely my favorite.

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ZU: How will this cookbook stand out from other video game inspired cookbooks?

Peter: Our cookbook stands out from other cookbooks because it has a unique style and page layout. Have you opened a modern cookbook recently? Go to your local Target and find your way to the book section and look for their book section. Find a cookbook on the shelf and pick it up, look at it. You see beautiful food and a recipe. That’s usually it.

Our cookbook stands out because from the very inception, we are designing it like a field guide. In the margins are little watercolor drawings of stunning vistas, charcoal studies of various herbs and plants, little notes tucked in here or there. Our cookbook is rough around the edges and that’s the point, we want it to feel like you’ve found something personal and real when you pick it up. We want you to bust out your own pen and inks and add to it, there’s space! This may be our cookbook but we want you to make it your cookbook.

Matt: This project consists of a group of best friends; we’re all working on this together; we’re on the same wavelength. But were also big fans of the [Zelda] series and gaming in general. Were putting time into each and every recipe. I know Peter has done countless hours of research on every single recipe.

Everyone on our team is professional; we have several animation students. We have someone who worked on the Archer (the TV show), we have someone who worked from SEGA, that’s me! This team has come from different sides of the gaming, animation and art community. I feel like our relationships show from this cookbook.

Patrick: The thing that really separates this cookbook, I know I’ve been saying this a lot, but most video game cookbook’s I’ve seen have been very novelty, and most of them are just decoration guides for baked goods. This is not just a novelty decoration guide, we are not internet celebrities, we are a bunch of people who just really care about cooking.

ZU: A Kickstarter for this cookbook is coming up (May 2019); why should people support and back this project?

Peter: We hope, we really do hope, that people support our project. This is going to be something you’ll want to show other people and it is going to inspire you to cook for them as well. If you like cooking, if you like games or you want to just have a real piece of art to hang out on your bookshelf, this is for you.

Matt: The Kickstarter were hoping to have that up in May. We’re working really hard on this, we’re trying to make recipes that everyone can enjoy; a culinary adventure. This is one of my favorite projects I got to work on my entire life. The food is SO good. I’m serious about those meaty rice balls! I feel like with the team, partnering with TheYetee and the recipes, this will make for an amazing product.

We’re also working with The Yetee on this project! They will help with distribution, fulfillment, back rewards. I think partnering with TheYetee was amazing, and you’re gonna see a lot of stuff in the future that we’re excited to show off.

Patrick: If you wanted to know what the foods tasted like in Breath of the Wild, this is pretty much the closest you’re gonna get.

ZU: Anything else you want to share about the Zelda cookbook project?

Peter: We have so much more to tell but we want to save a few secrets. I’ll tell you what is no secret, we’ve partnered with The Yetee to help fulfill backer rewards and also produce a few of them. They are an amazing company and we are so happy to work with them. They’re gonna be a big help.

Here’s something that is a secret, but I’ll share it with you. We have a discord server that people can join and hang out in. People are invited to join, cook with us, and go on a culinary adventure! Here’s the invite: discord.gg/wGznSn9. It’s a secret, tell everyone.

Matt: We’re opening our public discord right now! If you wanna chat with the team, look at behind the scenes content, talk about the cookbook, join up in our server! We’ll also have a Twitter and Instagram open to check out. We really wanna hear from everyone.

Patrick: We’re trustworthy dudes and definitely Not A Scam ™ :^) Our discord is neat :^)

Thanks to Peter, Matt, and Patrick for taking time out of their schedule for the interview. We hope you’re looking forward to their upcoming cookbook project. A Kickstarter for The Legend’s Cookbook is launching mid-May; we will continue to share new details as they are announced. We will update with a link to the Kickstarter campaign after it begins.

If you’d like to communicate with the people behind the cookbook project, you can follow them on Twitter or join their Discord server. The team is always looking to engage with patrons, food lovers and Zelda fans alike.

Cook like a Hero: An interview with the team behind The Legend’s Cookbook If you played The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, you know that one of the game’s vital features is cooking.

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bluewatsons · 5 years

Text

Imogen Tyler, Against Abjection: violent disgust and the maternal, 10 Feminist Theory 77 (2009)

He locked me in a dog‘s cage when I was pregnant .... He jumped me in the kitchen window and pulled a knife to my throat. ... Um you know he would do so many things – like its sort of hard. He punched me. –You know like just – just normal things that um you know like made me have an abortion.... [The violence was] more or less every day (`Toni‘ in Kaye, Stubbs and Tolmie 2003: 41)

Why not develop a certain degree of rage against the history that has written such an abject script for you? (Spivak 1990: 62).

This article is about the theoretical life of `the abject‘. It focuses on the ways in which Anglo-American and Australian1 feminist theoretical accounts of maternal bodies and identities have utilised Julia Kristeva‘s theory of abjection. Whilst the abject has proved a compelling and productive concept for feminist theory, this article cautions against the reiteration of the maternal (as) abject within theoretical writing and questions the effects of what Rosalind Krauss terms ̳the insistent spread of ―abjection‖ as an expressive mode‘ (1999:235). It contends that employing Kristeva‘s abject paradigm risks reproducing histories of violent disgust towards maternal bodies. In place of the Kristevan model of the abject, it argues for a more thoroughly social and political account of abjection. This would entail a critical shift from the current feminist preoccupation with the `transgressive potentiality` of ̳encounters with the abject‘, to a consideration of consequences of being abject within specific social locations. By asking what it might mean to be `against abjection‘, the central aim of this article is to make an intervention into feminist debates about abjection and thus clear the way for alternative understandings and applications of this important concept to emerge..

The article begins with a critical account of Kristeva‘s theory of abjection, interrogating the matricidal premise on which it is grounded. The second part of the article details the characteristic features of the genre of feminist writing that I term ̳abject criticism‘, focusing on how the abject has been taken up and developed as a way of addressing the disparagement of the maternal within particular theoretical traditions. It argues that the emphasis within this criticism on the subversive potential of `abject parody` fails to address either the troubling premises of Kristeva‘s theory or the social consequences of living as a body that is identified as maternal and abject. Drawing on reports, interview data and testimonies of battered pregnant women from an Internet chat room, the final section considers how disgust for the maternal body materialises in acts of daily violence against pregnant women. In the conclusion, this article calls on feminist theory to resist the compulsion to abject, in Kristeva‘s words ̳to vomit the mother‘ (1982: 47) and instead suggests that feminism might imagine ways of theorising maternal subjectivity that vigorously contest the dehumanising effects of abjection. Toril Moi and Iris Marion-Young have called for a re-centering of `lived bodily experience` within feminist theory (Moi 2001, Marion-Young 2005). Following Moi and Young this article deploys accounts of lived maternal abjection in order to expose the limitations of the Kristevan model.

The Kristevan Abject

In Disgust: Theory and History of a Strong Sensation, Winfred Menninghaus notes that:

In the 1980s, a new buzzword entered political and ... critical discourse... The word is `abjection,` and it represents the newest mutation in the theory of disgust. Oscillating, in its usage, between serving as a theoretical concept and precisely defying the order of concentual language altogether, the term `abjection` also commonly appears as both adjective (`abject women,` `abject art`) and adjective turned into a substantive (`the abject`) (2003: 365).

The emergence of the concept and theories of abjection within theoretical writing in the 1980s was driven by the publication of an English translation of Pouvoirs de l'horreur (1980) in 1982. Whilst Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection is a theoretically demanding book that assumes familiarity with psychoanalysis and philosophy, it has had an extraordinarily wide impact. Indeed, rarely has the publication of a single book been so influential across both an immense range of academic disciplines and within wider spheres of cultural production, such art curatorship and practice. One cannot underestimate the sheer amount of Anglophone academic scholarship which uses and cites Kristeva‘s theory of abjection. As Menninghaus notes, `an adequate account of the academic career of the abjection paradigm could easily fill a whole book in itself‘ (2003: 393). Whilst Kristeva‘s influence on Western thought is by no means limited to feminist theory and whilst the term `abject criticism` could be used to describe a diverse body of theoretical writing, my analysis focuses on a specific body of feminist theoretical writing (which I shall introduce shortly). The influence of Powers of Horror was largely a consequence of the way in which feminist theorists in the 1980s and 1990s appropriated the Kristevan abject, hailing it as an enabling concept for feminist research. Whilst many readers will be familiar with Kristeva‘s theory of abjection, its mass citation and oscillating usage requires that we return to her original account. This return to Kristeva is essential because it is Kristeva‘s premise of matricide (the structural requirement that the maternal functions as the primary abject) that is at the heart of my critique. For whilst Kristeva‘s theory of abjection is adapted and transformed within feminist applications, this fundamental premise is accepted and reproduced almost without question.

Powers of Horror is a theoretical account of the psychic origins and mechanisms of revulsion and disgust. Kristeva develops the concept of the abject to describe and account for temporal and spatial disruptions within the life of the subject and in particular those moments when the subject experiences a frightening loss of distinction between themselves and objects/others. The abject describes those forces, practices and things which are opposed to and unsettle the conscious ego, the ̳I‘. It is the zone between being and non-being, `the border of my condition as a living being` (1982: 3). Kristeva also suggests that abjection can explain the structural and political acts of inclusion/exclusion which establish the foundations of social existence. She asserts that the abject has a double presence, it is both within `us` and within ̳culture‘ and it is through both individual and group rituals of exclusion that abjection is `acted out‘. Abjection thus generates the borders of the individual and the social body. Kristeva writes of encounters with the abject: `On the edge of non-existence and hallucination of a reality that, if I acknowledge it, annihilates me. There, abject and abjection are my safe-guards. The primers of my culture`(1982: 2). As this passage suggests, for Kristeva the abject is a force which both disrupts social order and (in doing) operates as a necessary psychological ̳safe-guard, abjection...settles the subject within a socially justified illusion—[it] is a security blanket‘ (1982: 136- 7).

Through a series of evocative accounts of abject encounters, Kristeva demonstrates that abject experiences are common within our everyday lives: you might experience an abject response when the skin that forms on top of warm milk unexpectedly touches your lips, or when you see blood, vomit or a corpse. As these examples suggest, Kristeva theorises abjection in distinctly phenomenological terms, associating the abject with all that is repulsive and fascinating about bodies and, in particular, those aspects of bodily experience which unsettle singular bodily integrity: death, decay, fluids, orifices, sex, defecation, vomiting, illness, menstruation, pregnancy and childbirth. Indeed, Kristeva primarily understands experiences of abjection in terms of bodily affect, moments of physical revulsion and disgust that result in `a discharge, a convulsion, a crying out‘ (1982: 1). What fascinates Kristeva is the jouissance of abject encounters, the exhilarating fall inwards into the monstrous depths of the narcissistic self: ̳The sublime point at which the abject collapses in a burst of beauty that overwhelms us—and ―that cancels our existence‖‘ (1982: 210). For Kristeva, it is the act of writing and in particular the poetic texts of the avant-garde, which are most productive of abject encounters.2 The suggestive possibilities that arise from the ways in which Kristeva employs abjection as a methodological approach—an interpretive lens—for analysing cultural texts is central to the subsequent development of abject criticism.

In terms of the psychoanalytic cannon, Powers of Horror can be read as an attempt to challenge the increasing predominance of Jacques Lacan‘s work in the post-war period. Indeed, Kristeva‘s extensive work on the semiotic and the pre-symbolic stages of psycho-sexual development sets out to ̳correct‘ Lacanian accounts by forcing attention onto the role of the maternal in the development of subjectivity. Indeed, Kristeva‘s introduction of the abject can be read as an attempt to problematize Lacan‘s famous mirror-stage theory—a startlingly ̳mother free‘ account of the subject‘s birth into the symbolic domain. For Kristeva, the abjection of the maternal is the precondition of the narcissism of the mirror- stage. Moreover, like the mirror-stage, abjection is not a stage ̳passed through‘ but a perpetual process that plays a central role within the project of subjectivity. Just as within Lacanian ontology all subjects are fundamentally narcissistic, so in Kristeva‘s account all subjects are fundamentally `abjecting subjects`.3 Kristeva draws heavily upon her earlier account of the semiotic when she links abjection to the earliest affective relations with the maternal body (in utero and post utero). Within the model of subjectivity she proposes, the infant‘s bodily and psychic attachment to his/her maternal origins must be successfully and violently abjected in order for an independent and cogent speaking human subject to ̳be born‘. Any subsequent `abjections` must therefore be understood as repetitions that contain within an echo of this earlier cathartic event—the first and primary abject(ion)—birth and the human infant‘s separation from the maternal body/home. For Kristeva, abjection is thus always a reminder (and the irreducible remainder) of this primary repudiation of the maternal. As she notes, `abjection preserves what existed in the archaism of pre-objectal relationship, in the immemorial violence with which a body becomes separated from another body in order to be` (1982:10). This memory of maternal dependency is deeply etched within the bodily and psychic lives of each of us: This primary abjection is the ultimate secret violence at the heart of all human existence. As she writes, `[f]or man and for woman the loss of the mother is a biological and psychic necessity, the first step on the way to autonomy. Matricide is our vital necessity, the sine qua non condition of our individuation` (1989: 38). So whilst the abject becomes attached to different objects, bodies and things at different times and in different locations, Kristeva nevertheless makes clear that all abjections are re-enactments of this primary matricide, an act that haunts the subject `unflaggingly, like an inescapable boomerang‘ (1982: 1).

On a meta-theoretical level, Kristeva mobilizes the abject to enact the return of the maternal upon psychoanalysis. Indeed this focus on the role of maternal in the formation of subjectivity is one of the reasons why the abject has such a strong conceptual draw for feminist theory. However, it is crucial to note that whilst Kristeva grants the maternal a central and formative role within her theory of subjectivity—a role that not only rivals but sequentially pre-empts the Lacanian Paternal/Phallic function—she uncouples `the maternal` from any specific `maternal subjects` or from motherhood. Whilst I have employed Kristeva‘s term, `the maternal`, in my account of her theory of abjection, within her work this term has an oblique and deeply ambiguous status. Indeed, her account of the development of subjectivity is in many ways as `mother free` as Lacan‘s.

The concept of the maternal evoked in Kristeva's writing is akin to a `subtext`, the fleshy underside of the phallic symbolic, as the Australian philosopher Michelle Boulous Walker states it/she barely surfaces `to the level of critical thought‘ (1998: 113). It remains patently unclear what, if any, relationship there is between this abstract maternal and actual maternal subjects. As Boulous Walker argues `even though much of her work focuses on the maternal `it is not clear that Kristeva‘s maternal is a category that has much to do with women‘ (1998: 125). Indeed the fundamental premise of the Kristevan abject is that there is and can be no maternal subject. She argues for example, that although women undoubtedly experience pregnancy, there is no pregnant subject: ̳no one is present [...] to signify what is going on. ―It happens, but I‘m not there.‖ ―I cannot realise it, but it goes on.‖ Motherhood‘s impossible syllogism‘ (1993: 237). This claim begs the question of which (and whose) interests are served through loyal adherence to the argument that matricide and the accompanying taboo on maternal subjectivity is the ̳primary mytheme‘ of culture (Jacqueline Rose, 1993: 52). Might we question this foundational matricide, at least in this universalistic formulation?4 For, as Judith Butler states: `what Kristeva claims to discover in the prediscursive maternal body is itself a production of a given historical discourse, an effect of culture rather than its secret and primary cause‘ (1999: 103). Feminist theory needs to ascertain what the structural and conceptual limits of the Kristevan abject are and the extent to which the abject is an enabling concept for theorising maternal subjectivity.

Abject Criticism

Kristeva‘s theory of abjection has had an extraordinary influence on feminist theory. However, it is important to note that whilst Kristeva is frequently introduced in Anglo-feminist theoretical writing as a `French Feminist` she is neither French in origin nor a feminist. Not only has Kristeva never identified herself as a feminist, she has never aligned her work with any larger feminist theoretical or philosophical project, on the contrary, she has repeatedly distanced herself from feminism. As Christine Delphy argues, it is Anglo-feminist theorists who invented ―French feminism‖ (1995). The fact that Kristeva is still frequently celebrated as one of the leading feminist theorists of our time is perplexing. Whilst many philosophical and psychoanalytic concepts have been developed by feminist theorists in ways that are distinct from and even work against their original context and/or intention, rarely has a concept as influential as abjection been consistently misrecognised as feminist in origin. This raises questions about how we should interpret Kristeva‘s theory of abjection. If ―French feminism‖ is an Anglo-feminist invention then in what senses is ̳the abject‘, as it circulates within feminist theory, similarly an Anglo-feminist concept/invention? Certainly the idea that the abject is something that can be represented (or even deliberately created, as in ̳abject art‘) would be nonsensical in Kristeva‘s account, where the abject is resolutely prior to and in excess of language and meaning. However, whilst there is significant deviation from Kristeva in feminist revisions of abjection, with a few notable exceptions5, Anglo-feminists not only consistently promotes Kristeva‘s theory of abjection as `a feminist theory` but have remained peculiarly obedient to the matricidal logic of her account.

The Anglo-feminist theory that advances the abject maternal falls into two main genres: theoretical and philosophical exegesis of Kristeva‘s theory of abjection and a body of literature that applies her theory of abjection to specific areas of cultural production. I shall focus on the latter and, in particular, on the development of the abject as an interpretive approach to the analysis of popular culture, art and cinema. As abject criticism developed in the 1990s, theories of the `maternal abject` began to appear in a series of conceptual guises: `the abject mother‘ (Oliver 1993, Bousfield 2000), ̳the monstrous feminine‘ (Creed 1993, Braidotti 1994, Constable 1999, Gear 2001, Betterton 1996 and 2006, Shildrich 2002) `the monstrous womb` (Creed 1993), `the archaic mother` (Creed 1993) and ̳the female grotesque‘ (Tamblyn 1990, Yaegar 1992, Russo 1994). What characterizes these feminist mobilisations of Kristeva‘s abject maternal is a concern with theorising and identifying the maternal (and feminine) body as primary site/sight of cultural disgust. Whilst Kristeva analysed the social and cathartic function of art and literature in order to ascertain what it reveals about human psychic development per se, this criticism is motivated by more immediate socio-political questions. In particular, it seeks out instances of the abject maternal within culture in order to explore, challenge, and in some instances, ̳reclaim‘ misogynistic depictions of women as abject. What makes the `abject paradigm` particularly compelling for feminist theorists is the promise that `reading for the abject` within specific cultural domains can challenge and/or displace the disciplinary norms that frame dominant representations of gender. Indeed, what this theory shares is a political hope that ̳cultural representations of abjection‘ (Covino, 2004:4) can be read against the grain in ways that will destabilise and/or subvert misogynistic representations of women. In contradistinction to Kristeva, for whom the abject is formless, pre-symbolic and un-representable, feminist theorists thus imagine the practice of abject criticism as variously exposing, disrupting and/or transcoding the historical and cultural associations between women‘s bodies, reproduction and the abject.

One of the most influential texts of abject criticism is Creed‘s The Monstrous-Feminine: Film, Feminism and Psychoanalysis (1993). Indeed, The Monstrous-Feminine is frequently cited as evidence of the purchase of Kristeva‘s theory of abjection. This book analyses a genre which repeatedly produces maternal bodies as abject—horror film—and employs close analysis to expose the violent gendered codes of abjection. In a chapter entitled, ̳Woman as Monstrous Womb‘ Creed cites Kristeva to argue that `the womb represents the utmost in abjection‘ (1993:49). To support this claim, she offers examples from a cycle of Hollywood horror films, such as The Brood (dir., David Cronenberg 1979) in which the sight/site of horror is a massive womb on the outside of the woman‘s body, The Manitou (dir., William Girdler 1978), in which a womb `appears as a displaced tumour growing on a woman‘s neck‘ and Aliens (dir., James Cameron 1986) in which the spectator is confronted with the site of an Alien womb, externalised in the form of a deathly birth chamber of awe-inspiring proportions. Echoing Kristeva‘s claim that every encounter with the abject is a re-enactment of a primary maternal abjection, Creed‘s central thesis is that ̳every encounter with horror, in the cinema, is an encounter with the maternal body‘ (1993: 166). The narrative structure of these films, in which the maternal other is variously expelled/destroyed/punished, thus enables the audience to pleasurably and safely ̳act-out‘ abjection. Indeed, Creed suggests that horror films offer their audiences psychic relief/resolution in the form of an intense ̳abject fix‘ which temporarily sates the raging primal need to endlessly destroy the maternal other to whom we are in bondage. She writes:

The central ideological project of the popular horror film [is] purification of the abject through a ̳descent into the foundations of the symbolic construct‘. The horror film attempts to bring about a confrontation with the abject ... in order finally to eject the abject and redraw the boundaries between the human and non-human. As a modern form of defilement rite, the horror film attempts to separate out the symbolic order from all that threatens its stability, particularly the mother and all that her universe signifies. In this sense signifying horror involves a representation of, and reconciliation with, the maternal body (15).

Creed understands horror film as akin to the purification rituals described by anthropologists such Mary Douglas (1966), whose study of the social role of defilement rituals is central to Kristeva‘s account of the cathartic function of art and religion. Creed thus not only employs Kristeva‘s account but furnishes her theory of maternal abjection with new cultural evidence. Creed proposes that the primary value of this application of abject theory is that it enables ̳a more accurate picture of the fears and fantasies that dominate our cultural imaginary‘ (166). Indeed, she argues that the exposure of the monstrous-feminine at the dark heart of film, ̳art, poetry, pornography and other popular fictions‘ unveils ̳the origins of patriarchy‘ (1993: 164). Creed also suggests that the abject representations of the maternal as alien and monstrous can be redeployed to communicate ̳real‘ maternal desire.

Kristeva argues that the abject is a force which disrupts the social world in order to secure social norms, including those of gender. Any ̳transgression‘ functions to reinstate those norms: for example, by providing opportunities for punishment and the enforcement of psychic and social laws. Creed similarly acknowledges that ̳images which seek to define woman as monstrous in relation to her reproductive functions‘ ultimately work `to reinforce the phallocratic notion that female sexuality is abject‘ (151). Indeed, Creed‘s analysis reveals that the exhilarating encounters with the abject maternal proffered by horror cinema function to secure and authorise the (male) spectator through the violent punishment of the maternal other—therein lies the central pleasures of this genre. However, in a reversal of Kristeva‘s argument, Creed further suggests that mapping the pejorative associations between the maternal and the abject can offer feminism resources with which to challenge the misogyny which underlies these cultural inscriptions Menninghaus argues that this genre of abject criticism is underpinned by an affirmative logic in which what is ̳officially considered abject‘ is provocatively embraced as a ̳positive alterity‘ in order to challenge the legitimacy of discrimination (2003: 366) He quotes art theorist and curator Simon Taylor who states that: ̳I do not claim that the abject gives us access to radical exteriority, merely that its invocation, under certain historical circumstances, can be used to renegotiate social relations in a contestary fashion‘ (Taylor in Menninghaus, 200: 389). This affirmative logic, and specifically the idea that the maternal abject can be positively embraced as a means of challenging ̳the inadequacy‘ of psychoanalysis is central to Creed‘s project. However, throughout The Monstrous-Feminine it is assumed that Kristeva‘s theory of abjection poses a useful feminist challenge to psychoanalytic orthodoxy. Creed fails to critically engage with Kristeva or question her account of maternal abjection. Indeed, Creed‘s repetition and application of Kristeva‘s claims risks affirming the universalism of this deeply problematic psychoanalytic account by furnishing the theory with empirical evidence—the maternal is monstrous.

In The Female Grotesque: Risk, Excess and Modernity (1994), literary theorist Mary Russo warns that the risk of this affirmative abjection is precisely that it might reproduce rather than challenge the cultural production of women as abject. However, Russo, like Creed, Taylor and many others, is also hopeful about the political potential of abject criticism. As she notes, ` [the] extreme difficulty of producing social change does not diminish the usefulness of these symbolic models of transgression‘ (1994: 58). This argument depends upon a belief in the transformative potential of parody and Russo draws on the work of Russian philosopher and literary theorist Mikhail Bakhtin to support her claim that parody can effect social change. In ̳Abject Criticism‘ (2000) Deborah Caslav Covino summarises this belief in the transgressive potential of `abject parody`. She argues that within abject criticism:

the abject woman becomes a subversive trope of female liberation: she speaks an alternative, disruptive language, immersing herself in the significances of the flesh, becoming wilfully monstrous as she defies the symbolic order (2000)

Covino defines abject criticism as `a movement that marks a departure from ̳traditional aesthetics‘ which has informed `significant feminist typologies` and has proved `a triumph for women`. This representation of the work of mapping abjection as feminist work is a recurrent theme within this genre of criticism to the extent that being for the abject is imagined as a form of political practice. As Covino writes:

A focus on shared abjection [...] allows us to continue to historicize and confront constructions of woman as objectified, mortified flesh, as well as to qualify our inspired hopes of throwing off such flesh; it allows us to read the burden of women's greater share of abjection [and] the subversive woman's desire to inhabit alternative bodies and spaces (2000).

I want to question the transformative potential of abject criticism, namely, the idea that affirming representations of abjection `can be used to renegotiate social relations in a contestary fashion‘ (Taylor in Menninghaus, 2006: 389). Not all theorists of abjection are as effusive as Covino in embracing the logic of `affirmative abjection`, nevertheless many have been persuaded by the feminist possibilities of abject criticism. The following quotation from art theorist and performance artist Joanna Frueh details the ways in which a typology of the abject maternal has taken root within feminist theory in the way Covino suggests:

Julia Kristeva‘s Powers of Horror ... has greatly influenced feminist theorizing of the body. Here the mother (-to-be) epitomizes abjectness: she enlarges, looks swollen, produces afterbirth, lactates, and shrinks; she is beyond the bounds of even normal female flesh and bleeding; she is breakdown, dissolution, ooze, and magnificent grossness. The mother is perfectly grotesque, a psychic monument to the queasy slipperiness that is the liminal reality of human embodiment (2001: 133).

Freuh‘s description highlights how abject criticism plunders and exaggerates the abject characteristics associated with maternal bodies in order to challenge the negativity of being aligned with the abject. The mother is now ̳magnificent‘ in her ̳grossness‘. However, whilst this strategic repetition and mimicry focuses on the ̳disruptive authority‘ of the `monstrous maternal‘, the feminist theorists engaged in this critical work reproduce some of the most repulsive, pornographic, obscene and violent representations of the maternal. These accounts rarely question the underlying premises of Kristeva‘s theory: Namely that this ̳mother‘ cannot exist as a subject in her own right but only as the subjects perpetual other, that ̳liminal reality of human embodiment‘. We need to consider what the risks of this strategic repetition are in terms of cementing phantasies of the maternal as necessarily abject and think about what impact this figuration of the maternal has on those subsequently interpellated as that abject. As Frueh argues, ̳the abject mother is an imaginary figure, but as such she assumes an iconic presence that women may use against themselves‘ in forms of ―intergenerational corporeal warfare‖‘ (2001: 133).

Interestingly it is not individual maternal bodies and beings per se that are most often identified as abject within feminist analysis of literature, art and film. For example, in the films cited by Creed, it is not the maternal body per se but rather the representation of dismembered reproductive body parts (and in particular the disembodied womb), which are imagined as `the scene of horror‘ (1993: 49). As queer theorist Judith Halberstam argues, it is the deconstruction of women into her messiest and most slippery parts, images of the reproductive body grotesquely unravelled, which constitute the maternal (as) monstrous (1995: 52). As Halberstam notes: ̳The female monster is a pile of remains, the leftover material ... she does not signify in her own body the power of horror‘(52). In other words, it is only `once a woman has ... been stripped of all signs of identity` that she is reduced to a shapeless, bloody abject mass (47). It is when the maternal is no longer recognisable as a body and thus as a subject that it/she becomes abject. It is a subject-less maternal that is the sight/site of collective psycho-social disgust. What is crucial about this insight is that it reveals how maternal bodies are made disgusting through violent disassembling. The maternal can only be produced as a site of horror through representational practices which figure `her` as in excess of a singular body/identity. Indeed, Creed‘s analysis of the abject maternal in horror cinema reveals that it is precisely the uncoupling of the maternal from maternal subjects that enables the production of ̳her‘ as a thing of horror— a bloody mess of signs. This analysis echoes the story of (masculine) identity acquisition narrated by Kristeva in which the maternal is the ̳constitutive outside‘ or as Butler puts it ̳the unspeakable, the unviable, the nonnarrativizable that secures ...the very borders of materiality‘ (1993: 188). What these theoretical and cultural fantasies of `fleshy maternal horror` depend on is a radical dismembering and/or disavowal of maternal subjectivity.

As Butler argues, the limits set by theory are problematic ̳not only because there is always a question of what constitutes the authority of the one who writes the limits but because the setting of those limits is linked to the contingent regulation of what will and will not qualify as a discursively intelligible way of being‘ (1993: 190). Since the premise of the Kristevan abject is that the maternal cannot qualify as ̳intelligible being‘, it is a strikingly affirmative translation of this concept that is cited, circulated and reproduced within these feminist theoretical accounts. Kristeva‘s theory of abjection is founded on the premise that the maternal cannot be, cannot speak and cannot take up a subject position which raises a series of unresolved questions for Anglo-feminist adoption of an abject paradigm to theorise maternal subjectivity. Moreover, as I shall argue, the myopic focus within feminist abject criticism on the transformative potential of excavating `the cultural abject`, particularly those accounts which celebrate the abject maternal as marking a feminist challenge, risk marginalising lived experiences of being the thing deemed abject. Furthermore, representations of maternal abjection are not simply a ritual playing out of the violent unconscious phantasies that underpin Patriarchal society, but are constitutive of the desire for maternal abjection. There is a failure to understand theory and criticism as productive fields within which the abject maternal is not simply described but more fundamentally reconstituted as a foundational norm of psychic and social life. As Butler notes, ̳the production of the unsymbolisable, the unspeakable, the illegible is ...always a strategy of social abjection‘ (1993: 190). Abject criticism risks becoming another site in which a narrative of acceptable violence is endlessly rehearsed until we find ourselves not only colluding with, but more fundamentally believing in, our own abjection.

Donna Haraway notes that, ̳Overwhelmingly theory is bodily, and theory is literal. Theory is not about matters distant from the lived body; quite the opposite. Theory is anything but disembodied‘ (1992: 299). Perhaps this is why Kristeva‘s sentence `Matricide is our vital necessity, the sine-qua-non condition of our individuation‘ takes my breath away each time I read it. Does this theory describe a murderous hatred for the mother that we are compelled to live? In repeatedly insisting that the maternal is pre-symbolic, Kristeva‘s theory of abjection not only reiterates the taboo on maternal subjectivity but also legitimates the abjection of maternal subjects. Kristeva does not enable a new ethics of the maternal to emerge as some feminist philosopher have argued (see, for example, Harrington 1998: 139). On the contrary, her speechless maternal disavows the very possibility of vocalising lived accounts of maternity. The abjection of the maternal is not just a theoretical fiction, but speaks to living histories of violence towards maternal bodies.

Abjection, as any dictionary definition states, not only describes the action of casting down, but the condition of one cast down, that is the condition of being abject. Abjection is not just a psychic process but a social experience. Disgust reactions, hate speech, acts of physical violence and the dehumanising effects of law are integral to processes of abjection. Indeed, abjection should be understood as a concept that describes the violent exclusionary forces operating within modern states: forces that strip people of their human dignity and reproduce them as dehumanised waste, the dregs and refuse of social life (Krauss 1999: 236). The problem, as Butler states, is to imagine how `such socially saturated domains of exclusion be recast from their status as ―constitutive‖ to beings who might be said to matter (1993: 189). The final section of this article thus shifts its focus from the theoretical violence of abject criticism to a consideration of lived accounts of maternal abjection.

Lived Abjection

Pregnancy has traditionally been understood as a reified and protected time in women‘s lives but new research that reveals the scale of intimate partner male violence against pregnant women has exposed this to be an idealised myth. There have been over one hundred studies focused on intimate partner violence in pregnancy in the last decade (see for Jana Jasinski Jana 2004 and`Rebecca O‘Reilly 2007 for overview of literature). These vary considerably in terms of the size of the sample and methodology employed, but there is consistency in terms of the percentage of pregnant women reporting violence in a range of different national studies. Whilst interpretations of statistical data, methodologies and the implications of this research are inevitably contested and debated, the fact that battery during pregnancy is widespread is uncontested. Researchers in the United States have estimated that 332,000 pregnant women are battered each year by their male partners (in the context of 4 million life births each year) (de Bruyn 2003). A questionnaire survey involving 500 women in the North of England found that the prevalence of violence against pregnant women was 17% (with 10% of this group experiencing forced sexual activity as part of their battery) (Johnson, Haider, Ellis, Hay, Lindow 2003). Recent statistical research has revealed that pregnant women are more likely to be murdered than to die of any other

cause (Decker, Martin and Moracco 2004: 500 and Chang, Berg, Saltzman and Herndon 2005) and analysis of mortality figures in the United States and the United Kingdom has exposed that up to 25% of deaths among pregnant women are a result of partner homicide (Campell, Garćia- Moreno, Sharps 2004: 776). Since the first research findings were published in the 1990s, attitudes have shifted to the extent that is now widely acknowledged that is more common than conditions for which women are routinely screened (such as pregnancy induced hypertension and diabetes). As violence against pregnant women has emerged as serious public health issue it has begun to impact on governmental health policies. The World Health Organization now includes guidelines on tackling intimate partner violence within its `Making Pregnancy Safer` initiative. Many European and North American medical organizations now advocate routinely asking pregnant women about abuse, although debate continues about the most useful strategies for implementing screening.

Whilst pre-existing violence within an intimate relationship is a strong predictor of battery during pregnancy, Michele Decker, Sandra Martin, and Kathryn Moracco argue that pregnancy is a trigger for new instances of violence (2004: 498). Indeed, their research suggests that 30% of women experience their first physical assault by a male partner when they become pregnant for the first time and that when intimate partner violence already exists in a relationship the ferocity of the violence intensifies. As they state, `partner violence that occurs during pregnancy may be a marker of increased risk of severe and potentially lethal danger for some women‘ (2004: 500). Physical assaults that begin or escalate during pregnancy often have a different pattern of violence, with pregnant women more likely to suffer multiple sites of bodily injury. Maria de Bruyn supports this analysis arguing that `instead of receiving strikes against the head [pregnant women] suffer beatings directed towards the abdomen and chest‘ and in one North American study she cites, `pregnant women were hit in the abdomen twice as often as non-pregnant women‘ (2003: 26). De Bruyn (2003) quotes an Australian woman, who states:

I was subjected to constant physical abuse throughout the marriage. But pregnancy was the worst time for me. I had five miscarriages. Every time I fell pregnant he would target the belly whenever he gets violent (2003: 25).

A British report quotes `Mary` a 36 year old women `whose partner would sit on her belly saying he was trying to squeeze the baby out after he had hit and punched her`( Moorhead, 2004).

This suggests that the sight and meaning of the pregnant body invokes a specific and targeted physically violent response. This claim is supported by many midwives and healthcare workers. As Sandra Horley, chief executive of Refuge, a British charitable organisation which provides support for women who have endured violence, notes:

I've seen some appalling cases, including a woman six-and-a-half- months' pregnant who had been kicked so repeatedly in the abdomen that her baby was stillborn. Another woman had a baby who was born with three fractured limbs. It's often the breasts and abdominal area that the men go for when women are pregnant - they're the focus of their anger.

Under what social and cultural conditions does the pregnant body become a trigger for disgust, aggression, hatred and violence? Can violence that is targeted against the visibly pregnant body, be understood as a materialisation of the cultural disgust for the maternal body explored within abject criticism? Reviewing current research, US based medical anthropologist de Bruyn offers a number of speculative reasons why physical and sexual abuse might intensify or be triggered during pregnancy. She suggests, for example, that the battery of pregnant women by a male partner may be a way of forcing miscarriage for economic reasons, i.e. not wanting to bear the cost and responsibility of a child. Certainly, as Gillian Mezley and Susan Bewley (1997) document, violence against pregnant women is associated with increased rates of miscarriage, premature birth, low birth weight, fetal injury (including broken bones and stab wounds) and fetal death. However, research on domestic violence has demonstrated that contrary to popular belief, intimate partner violence is not bound by economic class: educated, successful and wealthy men batter too. De Bruyn further suggests that male partners may feel jealous `when the pregnant woman is perceived to devote less attention to his needs and wishes` (2003: 22). In other words, the intensified nature of male violence against their pregnant partners may be a consequence of a desire to destroy the presence of the other, the child or imagined child who is occupying the space and body of the woman that `belongs to him‘. This hypothesis suggests that the pregnancy inspires rage because men feel left out, are jealous or suffer from ̳frustrated sexual desire‘ when their partners are pregnant. What these speculative explanations for male violence against pregnant women ignore are the violent histories of disgust which frame the meaning of the maternal body. If abject criticism fails to consider the implications of lived experiences of abjection, medical and health research doesn‘t engage with psycho-social literature on the maternal, and the ways in which the reiteration of maternal as abject structures ways of seeing, feeling and acting towards maternal bodies. As one reports notes, ̳although cultural attitudes about pregnancy would seem to be relevant to abuse during pregnancy, they have not been measured‘ (Campbell, Garćia-Moreno, Sharps, 2004: 776).The accumulation of sociological data and testimonial accounts of violence targeted towards pregnant women is of crucial significance for feminist theoretical research in the area of maternal subjectivity. Indeed, this previously hidden aspect of pregnant experience compels feminist theory to think about how histories of violent disgust for the maternal body, the disgust that abject criticism has been re- describing since the publication of Powers of Horror in the 1980s, materialises in women‘s lived experiences. Abjection has effects on real bodies; abjection hurts.

The violent male partner attempts to exert his control over the pregnant subject through acts of repeated verbal and physical abuse, which dehumanise his victim. Australian researchers, Miranda Kaye, Julie Stubbs and Julia Tolmie (2003) detail some of the ways in which the psychological violence, which always accompanies brute physical violence, manifests itself. They argue that psychological violence is always geared towards control mechanisms which aim to limit women‘s autonomy such as `isolating women within their homes and removing other forms of support‘ (2003:43). Being called derogatory names, being told over and again that you are worthless, being subjected to racist or sexist abuse along with death threats and the ever present threat of physical violence, erodes a subject‘s fundamental sense of who they are. In their Australian ethnography, Kaye, Stubbs, Tolmie explore the material forms of control which diminished women‘s agency. These included having to hand over wages: not being given any or enough money; being told what to wear; not being allowed to have an own opinion or finish a sentence; being locked in the bedroom at night; having to ask permission to watch a television show; all the windows in the house being bolted shut and sleep deprivation‘ (2003: 42-44). All of these acts constitute attempts to disable women of their ability to act as independent subjects. One interviewee noted that as time passes, identity is effaced through these control mechanisms so that: `you don‘t know who you are. You just follow ... the order so you just follow what he say because ... you don‘t think you are a person or human being‘ (2003: 44). Battered women‘s idea of themselves as individuals is gradually obliterated, they are literally pushed `toward the place where meaning collapses‘ (Kristeva 1982: 2). One battered woman in Kaye, Stubbs and Tolmie‘s ethnography notes, `you reach to the point [at] which you lose completely your identity. You don‘t know who you are.[...] you don‘t think you are a person or human being‘ (2003: 41). For these women, repeatedly dehumanised and objectified, violence is experienced as banal. Indeed, what is truly horrific about these testimonies is that violence is ̳every day‘. This is being on the edge of non-existence. This is maternal abjection lived.

Kristeva argues that the abject emerges into sight when ̳man strays on the territories of the animal‘ (1982: 12). This phrase is telling, for Kristeva thinks and writes abjection from the perspective of `the man who strays‘ rather than the perspective of the subject who finds themselves interpellated as abject animal (less than human). Nevertheless, it is clear that if a person and their bodily appearance is designated the abject thing, that `magnet of fascination and repulsion‘ they are subject to dehumanising violence (Kristeva 1995:118). The figuring of abject beings as animalistic (less than human) is part of the process of dehumanisation that routinely takes place in experiences of being abjected. The theme of being (made) animal repeatedly surfaces in women‘s accounts of intimate partner violence in pregnancy. In the quotation from Kaye, Stubbs, Tolmie‘s ethnography, with which I began this article, ̳Toni‘ recalls,:

He locked me in a dog‘s cage when I was pregnant .... He jumped me in the kitchen window and pulled a knife to my throat. ... Um you know he would do so many things—like its sort of hard. He punched me.—You know like just—just normal things that um you know like made me have an abortion.... [The violence was] more or less every day (2003: 41).

These `normal things`, the vicious punch of the real, the brutal and sadistic slap, slap, thump, shuts ̳Toni‘ up, turns her into an animal, a dog, a maternal aborting Thing.

What is at stake in acts of violence against pregnant women is control over the maternal body and control of sex and reproduction. The powerful story of abjection that Kristeva (and feminist theorists of abjection) narrates is one in which we are ̳born‘ through a violent struggle over identity, a struggle which takes place over and through the bloodied and bruised maternal body. Kristeva‘s account of abjection can be usefully drawn upon in theorising the psycho-social mechanisms at play in lived accounts of maternal abjection. Her work is potentially useful, for example, in developing better understandings of why the visibly pregnant body is a trigger for violence. However, the deeply engrained psycho-social association between the maternal and the abject is an historical condition and not an unchangeable fact. Maternal abjection, in theory and practice, is that which feminism needs to articulate itself against

Whilst feminist theorists have demonstrated that war is waged over the reproductive body, the violence committed against pregnant women has remained largely unspoken within feminist accounts of reproductive politics. The social taboos surrounding intimate partner violence make it extremely difficult for pregnant women to speak about being battered, tortured and controlled. Given that pregnant bodies are so routinely monitored by the medical gaze, it is perhaps surprising that widespread violence has remained so invisible. However, as Brewer and Mezey note:

Changes in midwifery and obstetric practice designed to `empower` women and demedicalise childbirth may have reduced the possibility of [speaking about violence]. The traditional refuge of woman-only space in antenatal wards and labour wards is disappearing. The milieu of the antenatal clinic is not particularly conducive to facilitating disclosure of domestic violence, which women find difficult, shameful, and risky. Men often accompany their partners to clinics and in labour, and hand held notes mean that confidential documentation is no longer in the safe keeping of the hospital (1997: 1295).

Ironically the opening up of ante-natal spaces, such as clinics and hospitals, to men has potentially limited women‘s ability to speak out, whilst the marks of physical and psychological violence can be hard to detect: women disguise bruised skin and men often deliberately batter women on parts of their body that others will not see. If maternal subjectivity is impossible to conceive, intimate partner violence against maternal bodies was, until recently, unheeded and unheard.

Communities of the abject

One of the few places in which women are able to share their experiences of violence without fear of retaliation is in Internet chat rooms. The Internet (and the imaginary promise of anonymity if offers) has the potential to be a safe(r) space for battered women to speak out. On the Internet site, BabyCenter.com, I found a discussion thread in which pregnant women discussed the violence they where enduring at the hands of their partners. BabyCenter.com is a website which offers ̳expert‘ information and advice to pregnant women. It is a magazine style site that hosts reviews of consumer goods and is sponsored by links to on-line shops. However, behind this bright shopping façade, BabyCenter offers another perspective that penetrates the happy familial myths about maternity. Whilst the abused women who speak out in chat rooms must learn to ̳cover their tracks‘ so their partners cannot trace their web histories, they have created on-line communities, founded in their shared abjection.6 These women in chat rooms form `communities of the abject` who, through the act of sharing and speaking their abjection, refuse their constitution as `abject object`.

In a BabyCenter chat room pregnant women post accounts of the daily violence they are enduring at the hands of their partners. One woman calling herself ̳worried mom‘ writes in a breezy chatty tone, which belies the content of her post:

Hi. I have a question. Since I found out I was pregnant, my husband and I haven't been getting along well. We used to call each other names, but I stopped. He still calls me stupid and a bad parent and he pushes me sometimes. The other day he slapped me across the face. I yelled at him before he did it. He sometimes pushes me so hard that I fall. Is that harmful to my baby? I'm a little over 7 months pregnant. What should I do? Please email me.7 (Anonymous post 2004)

Women on this discussion site respond to each others with messages of recognition, solidarity and support: ̳Amanda‘ writes, ̳I'm almost eight months pregnant, and I left my husband two months ago. He was abusive emotionally before pregnancy, and became sexually and physically abusive after I became pregnant ... life is much better without the constant fear of your husband‘. Some of the women write about approaching the police, telling friends, family or neighbours, but others warn of their experiences of failure when they sought outside intervention. As one woman notes, `[t]he police where no help, they told me that since I hit him first I would be the one to go to jail`. However, very little of the discussion on this site focuses on the practical means by which women can leave their violent partners. Perhaps because, as Angela Moe and Myrtle Bell argue, in their article `Abject Economics‘(2004) battered women are often caught in a vicious cycle of economic dependence on their abusers. Repeated physical and psychological violence undermines women‘s ability to work and maintain steady employment and this cycle of dependency is even more acute when the women is pregnant or a mother. One woman in the Babycenter chat room supports this in her description of the poverty she endured when she left her abusive husband. Moreover, research has consistently shown that women often endanger their lives when they attempt to leave the men battering them. Many simply cannot imagine leaving and express a deep ambivalence about their partners, writing about them with love and tenderness in the same sentences as they depict gut-wrenching scenes of psychological torture and physical violence. Reading through these posts, I felt that there central purpose was witness and visibility, a desire to reclaim a semblance of agency through sharing their abjection.

The Babycenter chat room operates as a means for women to acknowledge (to themselves and others) their shame at what is happening to them. More complexly, it is a means through which women attempt to re-humanise themselves, to identify with themselves as the subjects of violence, rather than the abject Thing that violence produces them as. In the following post, we can see how the writer begins, hesitantly, to acknowledge, through imagining the previous poster reading her words, `that something has to be done‘.

I just want to share my thoughts w you because reading what you said made me feel not so alone. I love my husband very much too and he started to become more physical ever since I became pregnant. ...He has pulled my hair, kicked, and pushed me. He has grabbed my arm so tightly that his thumb print was left on my arm. ...I know what others might think reading this. I am embarrassed to even talk about it. It makes me so sad and disappointed that I dont have the relationship that I thought I did. I dont think what he does is okay but I havent done anything to make my situation better. I was thinking getting a therapist but I dont even know myself (Anonymous post 2004).

The words, ̳I don‘t even know myself‘ speak so much of being abject. In order for injury to be recognised, these women need to be recognised as subjects by another- as an ̳I‘ that has experienced this violence. However, whilst these posts do enable these women‘s to narrate lived accounts of their experience, this is a tiny fragment of `anonymous visibility` hidden in the margins of an website and produced by subjects whose very sense of being is fragile in the extreme. These posts are weighted down with guilt, shame and blame, and express dazed and battered identities. ̳He is battering my soul, my self-esteem, my identity‘ writes one woman. In the most disturbing post in the chat room, one woman signs her message with the words ̳crying for help‘:

While I was pregnant he would hit me and throw me around. I don‘t know what to do, he does it even worse now. ...He kicked me with steel toe boots on and now I have a bruise the size of a softball, not to mention the rug burns on my elbows and the jaw pain and my sprained ankle. I don‘t know what to do. It just gets worse. The night before I had my daughter he threw an apple at me and it hit my belly. It left a bruise that you couldn‘t see but I could feel. The next morning I woke up with broken water. I don‘t know what to do anymore. When he gets mad he tells me he wants to kill me. He covers my mouth and nose so I can‘t breath. I am afraid I won‘t be around much longer. I am afraid one day he will go that far. And then say it was an accident. But I know it‘s not an accident. I just want someone to know before it does happen and no one knows who did it (Anonymous post 2004).

This post and its repetition of despair is heart breaking to read: `I don‘t know what to do‘, `I don‘t know what to do anymore‘, `I am afraid I won‘t be around much longer‘. What sort of recognition can a reader of these posts possibly grant to this anonymous woman and her plea, ̳I just want someone to know before it does happen and no one knows who did it‘? These women express what it feels like to be cast down, humiliated, debased, pushed to the point where you are no longer know yourself`. What these posts communicate is experiences of being made abject— experiences which, in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, they manage to communicate.

Social Abjection

For Kristeva, abjection does not signify living an unbearable life on the margins of social visibility, but something more akin to the writer‘s quest, the holy grail of the avant-garde. In the after-word to Powers of Horror she muses:

Does one write under any other condition than being possessed by abjection, in an indefinite catharsis? Leaving aside adherents of a feminism that is jealous of conserving its power — the last of the power-seeking ideologies — none will accuse of being a usurper the artist who, even if he does not know it is an undoer of narcissism and of all imaginary identity as well, sexual included (1982: 208).

These oblique comments are revealing of Kristeva‘s politics. Only the male artist `possessed by abjection` can communicate the abject maternal at the limits of identity. The experience of abjection enjoyed in the work of these writers is unavailable to women writers and artists due to the different structure of their subjectivity, in particular their incomplete separation from their mothers, an unwillingness perhaps to participate in matricide (see Kristeva, 1989). Whilst the implications of this argument, and the contradictions it exposes, are beyond the reach of this article, it is important to note that here, in the afterword to Powers of Horror, Kristeva makes clear she has nothing but contempt for a feminism which would question maternal abjection.

Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak asks: `What are the cultural politics of application of the diagnostic taxonomy of the abject?`(1992: 55). Following Spivak‘s cue, this article has focused on the sexual politics of Kristeva‘s theory of abjection — it has questioned the constitutive matricide in which theories and accounts of abjection are grounded, explored what it means to diagnose something or someone as abject and considered what the effects of such a diagnosis might be. It has examined the feminist strategy of invoking a powerful tradition of disgust for the maternal body and questioned whether this `affirmative abjection` can transform abject representational codes. It has argued that whilst feminist abject criticism has proved useful in mapping the ways in which abjection is communicated and transmitted, it has largely failed to consider the effects of abjection on embodied subjects and in this respect has been complicit with psychoanalytic and philosophical accounts which repeatedly disavow lived accounts of maternal subjectivity. For whilst Kristeva‘s account of abjection is compelling (at an explanatory level) what is completely absent from her account is any discussion of what it might mean to be that maternal abject, to be the one who repeatedly finds themselves the object of the others violent objectifying disgust. As I have suggested, Kristeva‘s account is dependent upon her ambiguous use of the term maternal. This article has troubled the distinction between the maternal as abstract concept and the maternal as lived and embodied by insisting that we take theory at its word. The maternal abject (and the matricide it assumes) is not a pre-historic, unchangeable fact but is a disciplinary norm which has been established through processes of reiteration and has taken on the appearance of a universal truth. However, the repeated framing of the maternal as abject shapes the appearance and experience of maternal bodies in the social world. Feminist theory needs to shift its focus away from `observational reiteration` of maternal abjection as it manifests within cultural realms. This doesn‘t mean abandoning the concept of abjection, which is perhaps unique in its ability to articulate the psycho-social dimensions of violence. However, we need new theories of social abjection to wrench this concept from a purely Kristevan paradigm. Specifically, we need to document the role the maternal abject plays within intimate, inter-subjective, generational and social relations and challenge the forms and processes of abjection that are central to the social exclusion and marginalisation of women. As Spivak suggests: `Why not develop a certain degree of rage against the history that has written such an abject script for you?‘

Footnotes

From this point onwards I will use the term `Anglo-Feminism` for brevity.

Kristeva repeatedly returns to the work of male avant-garde writers such as Céline, Joyce, Aragon, Sartre, Baudelaire, Lautreamont, who, in her estimation, immerse themselves in abjection through their writing practice.

Whilst Kristeva‘s formulation of the abject challenges Lacan‘s distinction between the imaginary and symbolic realms it resembles his concept of `the Real` and the related concept of `jouissance`.

This is precisely Amber Jacob's project in On Matricide 2007, which is a brilliant attempt to re- theorize matricide through feminist revision of Greek Myth.

Judith Butler's account in Bodies That Matter is the most thorough feminist challenge to the universalism of Kristeva's account.

See http://thesafetyzone.org/security.html for advice given to battered women on how to reduce the chances that net travels will be traced.

I have refrained from giving specific dates or url links due to concerns about the participants safety and also a concern that the site administrators may desire to censure this use of chat spaces.

References

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Bousfield, C.(2000) `The Abject Space: its Gifts and Complaints`, Journal of Gender Studies 9 (3): 329-346.

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#julia kristeva #abjection #experience #embodiedness #body horror #motherhood #violence against women #domestic violence #transgression #interpersonal relationships #critique #frameworks #human reproduction #family #feminism #marginalization

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dailybestiary · 5 years

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Patch Has Issues: Dungeon #2

Issue: Dungeon #2

Date: November/December 1986 (Pretty sure my Christmas haul that year was full of dope toys from The Transformers movie/show.)

The Cover:

(Use of cover for review purposes only and should not be taken as a challenge to status. Credit and copyright remain with their respective holders.)

Ah, Clyde Caldwell. He, Larry Elmore, Jeff Easley, and last issue’s Keith Parkinson were the mainstays of TSR’s amazing stable of artists. I have a soft spot for Caldwell. He did the covers for the D&D Gazetteer series, which means his work emblazoned some of my absolute favorite books from my middle school years. (At the time I had the whole series except the two island books, GAZ 4 & GAZ 9 (which I’ve since collected), plus the Dawn of the Emperors box set. My favorites, for the record, were GAZ 3, 5, 10, and 13. I...may like elves...a little too much.) And even as I sit here, other covers demand to be named. The very first Dragonlance adventure, the iconic Dragons of Despair? The Finder’s Stone trilogy? The first Ravenloft box? Dragon #147? Yep, he did those covers too. He was amazing.

But hoo-boy, we also have to talk about the not-amazing parts. Once Caldwell settled on a way of doing things, that’s how he did them. Points for consistency, but man, he had tropes. Even his tropes had tropes. He had a way of painting dragon’s wings. He had a way of painting swords and boots. He had a way of painting jewelry, and belts and coins—ovals upon ovals upon ovals.

And his way of painting women was with as few clothes as possible. Everything I said about Parkinson last entry? Yeah, that goes double for Caldwell. He never paints pants when a thong will do. His take on the reserved and regal Goldmoon—thighs as long as a dwarf and bronzed buttcheeks exposed—reportedly left Margaret Weis in tears. Magic-users (God, I hate that term) famously couldn’t use armor in D&D and AD&D, but Caldwell’s sorceresses pretty much stick to gauze just to be safe. And the Finder’s Stone trilogy I mentioned above? Yeah, the authors of Azure Bonds took one look at Caldwell’s cover art and literally had to come up with in-text reasons why the heroine Alias—one of the most surly woman sellswords in existence—would wear armor with a Caldwell boob hole.

Don’t get me wrong, I love cheesecake as much as the next dude. (Actually that’s not true; I came up in the grunge ’90s—our version of cheesecake was an Olympia brunette in three layers of thrift store sweaters reading Sandman while eating a cheesecake. Hell, that’s still my jam.) But context matters. The sorceress from “White Magic,” Dragon #147’s cover, may barely be wearing a negligee, but she’s also in the seat of her power and probably magically warded to the hilt—she can wear whatever she damn wants; it’s her tower. So no complaints there. But this cover’s pirate queen Porky Piggin’ it seems like an unwise choice. (The friction burns alone from clambering around the rigging…)

It’s clear from reading The Art of the Dragonlance Saga that TSR was trying to turn the ship around when it came to portrayals of women in fantasy, however slowly. And in Caldwell’s defense and to his credit, he definitely delivered women with agency—in nearly every image, they are nearly always doing something active and essential. They just tend to be doing it half-dressed.

Which is all a way of saying I dig this cover—the explosion, the churning sea (even if it does more look like snow drifts than waves), the sailors all running to the rail to look—but yeah, that pirate captain needs to put on some damn pants.

The Adventures: Before we get started, I have to note that though we’re only an issue in, already the magazine feels more noticeably like the work of editor Roger Moore. This is 100% a guess, but it really feels to me like Dungeon #1 was made of adventures that the Dragon office already had laying around, whereas Dungeon #2 was composed of adventures that Roger Moore and the new Dungeon team had more of a hand in sifting through. (He also has an assistant editor this time in Robin Jenkins, which had to have helped.) Even the cartography looks better. Again, I have zero confirmation of this, but the feeling is strong.

“The Titan’s Dream” by W. Todo Todorsky, AD&D, Levels 5–9

PCs visiting an oracle accidentally walk right into a titan’s dream and must solve some conundrums to escape. What an awesome concept this is! (Spoilers for “Best Concept” section below.) It’s a shame I don’t like this more.

First of all, dreamworld adventures are really hard to do well. And for them to work, there usually need to be real stakes—and not just “If you die in the dream, you die in real life!”—and/or a real connection to the PCs in your campaign. The latter, especially, is really hard to pull off in a published adventure; typically it’s only achieved through tactics that critics deride as railroading. (For instance, @wesschneider’s excellent In Search of Sanity does a great job of connecting the characters to their dream adventures...but it does that by a) forging the connection at 1st level, and b) pretty strongly dictating how the adventure begins and how the characters are affiliated. It works, but that’s high-wire-act adventure writing.)

Being a magazine adventure, “The Titan’s Dream” doesn’t have that luxury—it’s got to be for a general audience and work for most campaigns. That unfortunately means the default “Why” of the adventure—a lord with a child, a wedding, and an alliance at stake hires the PCs to chat with a wise titan—is little more than that: a default.

On top of that...I cannot get excited about anything Greek mythology-related. To me, just the fact I’m seeing it is a red flag.

Look, Greek mythology is why I got into this hobby. Hell, it’s why I got into fiction, period. (For some reason I somehow decided I had no use for fiction books targeted to my age, with the exception of Beverly Cleary. Then in 4th(?) grade, I got a copy of Alice Low’s Greek Gods and Heroes, and the rest is history.) But Greek mythology is often the only mythology anyone knows. When people think polytheism, that’s where most people’s minds go. Which is why, if you ever played D&D in the ’80s, I pretty much guarantee your first deity was from that pantheon. (In my first game, my first-level cleric pretty much met Ares and got bitch-slapped by him, because that’s what 4th-grade DMs do.)

So to me, putting Greek deities or titans in your adventure is the equivalent of putting dudes riding sandworms into your desert adventures—you can do it, but you better blow me away, because that is ground so well trod it’s mud. And this one doesn’t do the job.

The format is three dreams, each with five scenes. Parties will move randomly—a mechanic meant to represent dream logic (or lack thereof)—through these scenes, until all the scenes from one dream have been resolved. This is actually kind of fascinating, and I wonder how it would play at the table—I have a feeling observant players will dig it, but others may find the mechanism’s charm wears off quickly, especially if they have difficulty solving the scenes or get frustrated with the achronicity of events. I also like that every scene has a number of possible resolutions, so the PCs aren’t locked into achieving a single specific objective like they were stuck in a computer game.

But...I can’t shake the feeling of weak planning and execution (or even laziness?) that stayed with me throughout the adventure. Like, okay, the first adventure is a cyclops encounter out of the Odyssey. Cool! But then...why does the Titan follow it up with pseudo-Norse/Arthurian encounter? Did the Odyssey not hold the author’s attention? (Nor the Iliad, the Aeneid, or Metamorphosis? Really?) And then why is the third dream “drawn from the realm of pure fairy tale”? Like, were you out of pantheons? Horus didn’t return your calls? Or be more specific—why not German fairy tales, or Danish, or French Court, or Elizabethan? It feels like a class project where one group was on point, one group got the assignment a little wrong, and one didn’t even try.

Again, it’s not even that this adventure is bad—I honestly can’t tell if it is or not; I’m sure a lot of its success is determined at the table. And I could totally see throwing this at a party if I was out of inspiration that week or we needed a low-stakes breather before our next big arc. But the instant I think about it for more than a second, it all falls apart for me.

Have any of you tried this one? Let me know what you thought. And for a similar exploration into dream logic/fairy tale scenarios, I recommend Crystal Frasier’s The Harrowing for Pathfinder.

“In The Dwarven King’s Court” by Willie Walsh, AD&D, Levels 3–5

Willie Walsh is a name we’re going to see a lot more in issues to come—he’s a legendarily prolific Dungeon contributor, delivering quality, typically low-level, and often light-hearted or humorous adventurers issue after issue after issue. His first entry is a mystery with a time limit: A dwarf king is supposed to make a gift of a ceremonial sword to seal a treaty, but the sword has vanished. Brought to the king’s court courtesy of a dream, adventurers must find the sword and the surprising identity of the culprit before the rival power’s delegation arrives.

At first I was going to ding this adventure for its “What, even more dreams this issue?” hook...but here’s the thing with Walsh—never judge his modules until you reach the final page. Nearly every time I’m tempted to dismiss one of his sillier or more random adventure elements, it turns out that it makes sense and works just fine. In this case, the cause of the dream is haunt connected to the mystery, and I feel dumb for being all judgy.

So anyway, the PCs are given leave to search for the stolen object and the thief, but of course it turns out there is a whole lot of light-fingeredness going around. As Bryce (see below) puts it, “It’s like a Poirot mystery: everyone has something to hide.” This castle has as much upstairs-downstairs drama as any British farce, with nearly every NPC having either a fun personality and/or a fun secret (and with the major players illustrated by some equally fun portraits) that should make them memorable friends and foils for PCs to interact with. Not to mention the actual culprit is definitely a twist that will be hard explaining to the king...

GMs should be ready to adjust on the fly, though—a) it’s a lot of characters to juggle, and b) since the PCs are 3rd–5th level, the right spells or some lucky secret door searches could prematurely end the adventure as written. You may want to have some last-minute showdowns, betrayals, or other political intrigue outlined and in your back pocket if what’s on the page resolves too quickly.

Overall though, I’m a big fan of this adventure, and look forward to the rest of Walsh’s output. Also, given the dwarven focus and the geography of the land, this adventure could be a very nice sequel to last issue’s “Assault on Eddistone Point.”

“Caermor” by Nigel D. Findley, AD&D, Levels 2–4

Look at this author’s list of writing credits! Findley was amazingly prolific, and his work was pretty high-quality across the board, as far as I know. I particularly loved the original Draconomicon, one of the first and only 2e AD&D books I ever bought as a kid. I also loved his “Ecology of the Gibbering Mouther” from the excellent Dragon #160, and some of his Spelljammer supplements are currently sitting upstairs in my to-read pile, recently purchased but as yet shamefully untouched.

Now look at his age at the time of his death. Life is not always fair or kind.

(Speaking of unkind, man is the bio in this issue unfortunate in retrospect: “[H]e write for DRAGON® Magazine, enjoys windsurfing, plays in a jazz band, and manages a computer software company in the little time he has left.” As Archer would say, “Phrasing!”)

Anyway, this adventure is simple: An otherworldly force has been murdering the locals. The locals have pinned the blame on a handsome bard from out of town, and their own prejudices and general obstinacy are sure to get in the way of the investigation—that is, if the true culprits, some devil-worshipping culprits and and an abishai devil, don’t get in the way first.

All in all, this is a tight, well-written adventure, so I don’t have much to say about it, other than that if you like the idea of sending your party to help out some young lovers and save some faux-Scots/Yorkshiremen too stubborn to save themselves (and maybe slip in a valuable lesson about prejudice and xenophobia as well), this is the adventure for you.

One thing that does jump out to a contemporary reader, though, is the comically overpowered nature of the baddie pulling the strings in this adventure: Baalphegor, Princess of Hell (emphasis mine). Overpowered, you-won’t-really-fight-this-NPC happens with a lot of low-level adventures, when the writers want a story more epic than characters at the table can handle or are trying to plot the seeds for future evils. But still, any princess of Hell would already be a bit much...but an 18-Hit Dice, “supra-genius”, the Princess of Hell? Like, what the f—er, I mean, Hell?

If you use the adventure as written, the only way to have Baalphegor’s presence make sense is to eventually reveal that the area is an epicenter of some major badness. (Maybe that explains the lost nation of evil dwarves in the adventure background.) For a good model on how to seed early adventures in this matter, Dungeon’s Age of Worms Adventure Path and Pathfinder Adventure Path’s Rise of the Runelords AP, both from Paizo, are exemplars of small-town disturbances that eventually have world-shaking implications.

It’s also fascinating in retrospect to note Ed Greenwood’s massive impact in the hobby. Any article that appears in Dragon has the sheen of being at least semi-official, but it’s clear that Greenwood’s content was a cut above even that. In this case, an NPC from a three-year-old article of his is not just treated as canon, but also supplies the mastermind behind the adventure! It’s no surprise that in the following year his home campaign, the Forgotten Realms, would soon become AD&D’s newest and then its default setting.

Two final thoughts: 1) There’s some fascinating anti-dwarf prejudice in this article. Nearly every mention of dwarves paints them as exceptionally greedy and/or villains. And 2) how did one even begin to balance adventures in those days? This adventure is for “4–8 characters of 2nd–4th level.” There are a lot of difference at the extreme ends of those power scales…

“The Keep at Koralgesh,” by Robert Giacomozzi & Jonathan Simmons, D&D, Levels 1–3

One of the problems of BECMI D&D being known as “basic D&D” is that writers often assumed the players to be basic (that is, younger/new) as well. Which probably accounts for some of the early suggestions to the DM we get at the beginning of this adventure—like some pretty patronizing advice along the lines of not immediately announcing to PCs what the pluses are on their magical swords.

Fortunately, after that the article settles down and gives us Dungeon’s first real D&D adventure. In fact, not just real, but massive: 20 full pages of content—nearly half the issue! It’s a fully fledged dungeon crawl that has the PCs taking advantage of the summer solstice to open a shrine door that will lead them inside a long-ruined keep said to hold great treasure.

Now, I imagine in the coming installments it’s going to seem to many of you like I’m grading D&D adventures on a curve, because of my love for the system and the Known World/Mystara. That’s a fair accusation, but a better way to consider it is that I’m reviewing D&D adventures for what they are—adventures from a separate system, with a more limited rules system and palette of options than AD&D. You don’t go to a performance of Balinese shadow puppetry and compare it against Andrew Lloyd Webber; you look at it for what it achieves in its own medium. Since they appear side-by-side in the same magazine, comparison is going to be inevitable, but that’s with the understanding that AD&D was the kid coloring with the 64-crayon box of Crayola, while D&D was getting by with just eight.

On its own terms then, “The Keep of Korgalesh” is a decent, if not superlative, success. I love that it’s practically module-length and that we get three complete levels—a far cry from the previous issue’s side-trek-at-best, “The Elven Home.” We also get two new monsters, which absolutely fills my inner BECMI D&D player with glee. And I like that what starts as a dungeon crawl/fetch quest evolves into a “kill the big bad thing” and “find out what really happened to this city.”

There are issues, though. If the whole city was destroyed, getting to see some of it besides the keep would have been nice. Some of the ecology for the dungeon inhabitants is questionable. There pretty much wasn’t a single pool or fountain in this era of D&D adventure design that wasn’t magical, and this adventure was no exception. One of the new monster’s names makes no sense except that “tyranna” and “abyss” are cool words (I mean, I guess you could read that as “tyrant of the depths,” but still…) And there are painfully obvious borrowings from other works, especially Tolkien—a door that only opens at solstice, a lake monster, an orc with a split personality that is clearly a Gollum homage, etc.

What this adventure really needs is stakes—just something to give it a bit more oomph beyond the dungeon crawl. (Finding a blacksmith’s lost hammer is the hook offered in the adventure but it’s pretty flimsy.) Perhaps the PCs are some of Kor’s last worshippers, and clearing out the dangers here and resanctifying his temple is one of their first steps toward returning him to prominence. Maybe the PCs’ grandparents were involved in the city’s demise and restoring Koralgesh will restore the families’ honor. Or you could keep it simple and have a band of pirates or a rival adventuring group also trying to clean out the keep, turning it into a race (with the tyrannabyss causing the scales of fate to wobble at appropriately cinematic moments).

So the final analysis is this is a decent dungeon crawl upon which you can build a good adventure. The real reward of this module isn’t treasure; it’s finding out just what happened to Koralgesh. But for that to matter, it needs to tie into the PCs’ pasts, futures, or both.

BONUS CONTENT FOR KNOWN WORLD/MYSTARA NERDS: Kor is almost certainly a local name for the sun god Ixion. The chaotic deity Tram is probably a local version of Alphaks, though Atzanteotl is another strong candidate, especially since deceit was key to the pirates’ success. Koralgesh could be located somewhere on the Isle of Dawn, the northern coast of Davania, or an Ierendi/Minrothad Isle that those nations haven’t made it a priority to rebuild.

Best Read: “Caermor.” Nigel D. Findley was a pro.

Best Adventure I Could Actually Run with Minimal Prep: “The Keep at Koralgesh,” as a well-written, straight-ahead dungeon crawl. Every other adventure here relies on a pretty strong handle of very mobile NPCs and their motivations, or a Titan’s dream mechanics.

Best Concept: “The Titan’s Dream,” as noted above. It’s a great idea very worth exploring, even if I wasn’t about the execution we got in this case.

Best Monster: This was actually a monster-light issue. Despite some awesome art for the tyrannabyss, I have to go with the epadrazzil, a scaly ape from a two-dimensional plane of existence that has to be summoned via a painting. All of those details are just so wonderfully and weirdly specific it has to win. (Extra points for anyone who noticed the thoul—a classic D&D monster (though it did make its way into AD&D’s Mystara setting) born from a typo.)

Best NPC: Since this is a role-playing-heavy issue, there are a bunch of contenders, and the final verdict will go to whoever your party sparks to at the table. Obviously King Baradon the Wise should get the nod for [spoiler-y reasons], but I also really like the opportunity the executioner Tarfa offers, thanks to his incriminating goblet and how it might bring the PCs to the attention of a far-off assassin’s guild at just the right level.

Best Map: All together the maps from “The Keep at Koralgesh” form an extremely appealing whole. But for best single map I have to go for the palace of Mount Diadem—that is a bangin’ dwarven demesne.

Best Thing Worth Stealing: Jim Holloway’s illustrations of dwarves. Good dwarf, gnome, and halfling art is hard to find, and even the good stuff often leans stereotypical. While Holloway’s art is often humorous—I have a feeling he and Roger Moore jibed really well, though that’s totally a guess based purely on what assignments he got handed—his dwarves, especially in this issue, are fresh, specific, and unique. You could identify them by their silhouettes alone—always the sign of good character art. If you need an image of a dwarf NPC to show the players, “In the Dwarven King’s Court” is a great first stop.

Worst Aged: Female thong pirates on magazine covers. Also using the actual names of actual mental illnesses in game materials.

What Bryce Thinks: “This seems to be a stronger issue than #1, although half of the adventures are … unusual.”

Bryce actually almost likes “The Titan’s Dream,” confirming my loathing of it. He in turn loathes “In the Court of the Dwarven King.” Like me, though, he is pro-”Caermor” and sees potential in “The Keep at Koralgesh.” (Also credit where it’s due: I might have missed the condescension at the start if he hadn’t called it out.)

So, Is It Worth It?: If you’re a Clyde Caldwell fan, this issue might be worth searching out in print. So much of Caldwell’s work from this era was dictated by product needs, cropped and boxed up in ads, or shrunk down to fit on a paperback cover. So to get this cover in full magazine size, with only the masthead tucked up top to get in the way—that could be well worth a few bucks to you.

Also, if you’re BECMI/Rules Cyclopedia-era D&D fan (or know someone who is), again, this one might be worth having in print. “The Keep at Koralgesh” is a legit, proper BECMI D&D adventure, spanning 20 whole pages and with two new monsters to boot. I would have practically have cried if someone had given 7th-grade me this.

Beyond that you can probably just rely on the PDF. But both “Caermor” and “In the Dwarven King’s Court” have strong bones worth putting some modern muscle and skin on.

Random Thoughts:

The Caldwell cover painting was also used for the Blackmoor module DA4 The Duchy of Ten. PS: I’m not trying to tell you what to do or anything, but if you do happen to run across a physical copy of The Duchy of Ten or and of the DA modules, holla at ya boy over here.

Since this is our second issue, we now have a “Letters” column. Turns out Dungeon had been announced in Dragon #111 with a really detailed set of writer’s guidelines; most of the correspondence is questions re: those. In the process of answering, we get some surprisingly frank talk about payment. The $900 for a cover seemed low until I converted it to 2018 dollars, and ~$2,000 does seem right to my ignorant eye. I then made the mistake of converting my current salary to 1986 dollars and felt a lot worse about myself and what I’ve achieved.

Apologies this took so long to post. I had the issue read by early October and most of this review written with the next week or two after...but then I got involved in dealing with a 4.5 week hospitalization and aftermath...and then a second still-ongoing hospitalization...and even though I only had about four paragraphs left I just couldn’t find time to put a bow on it.

Notable Ads: The gold Immortals Rules box for D&D. (I also still don’t have that one yet, and Christmas is coming. Just saying, guys, if you happen to find one in your attic.) ;-) Also an ad for subscribing to Dungeon itself, starring “my war dinosaur, Boo-Boo.” No, really.

Over in Dragon: Beneath a glorious cover, Roger Moore is the new editor of Dragon #115, three authors (including Vince Garcia, who I like a lot) share credit on a massive six articles about fantasy thieves, a famous article proposing that clerics get the weapons of their deity (people were still talking about it in the “Forum” column when I was buying my first issues two years later), and a look at harps from the Forgotten Realms (notable because behind the scenes Ed Greenwood’s home setting was being developed for the AD&D game for launch in 1987.) A photographic cover and a 3-D sailing ship are served up in Dragon #116, along with maritime adventures, more Ed Greenwood (rogue stones), and articles for ELFQUEST, Marvel Super Heroes (Crossfire’s gang), and FASA’s Dr. Who game (looking at all six(!) doctors). (Incidentally, I had an Irish babysitter around this time who first mentioned Dr. Who to me—I wish I’d explored more but I was too young to understand what I’d been offered.)

PS: Yes, I’ve heard about the upcoming Tumblr ban. It is a terrible idea that will affect way too many of my readers. It shouldn’t affect me much (and I have all my monster entries backed up at the original site), but I will keep you posted as I learn more, particularly if I find you, my readers, packing up and going elsewhere.

#daily bestiary #patch has issues #pathfinder #paizo #3.5 #dungeons & dragons #dungeons and dragons #d&d #dnd #ad&d #becmi #dungeon #dungeon magazine

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schelluminium · 6 years

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Bad Artist Keith & Rich Shiro AU

Guys, I worked on something for a few days and I'd like to present this concept to you:

• Keith and Shiro meet in college. Shiro is studying IT in his last semester, Keith is studying art in his first semester. In the figure drawing class Shiro often acts as a model and so this semester he does too. He is immediately drawn to the red faced boy with the big eyes and watches him during the session. Keith is just really flustered the whole time, being faced with a naked adonis. He is still very pleased with his drawing though. Very pleased. But in reality it is very very bad. It seems Keith doesn't know anything about anatomy, the proportions are all incorrect and Shiro's dick... just... looks wrong.

• After class Shiro goes over to Keith and asks him to get coffee with him. Keith has already packed his stuff so Shiro doesn't see the drawing of himself until much later and that is probably for the better. The two would most likely not be a couple if he had seen it before.

• In the café Keith talks very excitedly about his life and art. He had first wanted to study music and then modern dance but soon realised both weren't for him. Later Shiro heard he actually hadn't gotten in because he lacked rhythm and basic knowledge of how to read music and the basic dance steps. Shiro is endlessly charmed by Keith's enthusiasm and his sparkling eyes. Keith further tells him he needs to do something creative, all the other jobs in the world would be too dry and make him bitter like everyone else. Shiro tells him he studies IT and Keith is horribly embarrassed and apologizes but Shiro doesn't mind at all and just chuckles.

• They go have dinner together after that. Shiro insists to pay and Keith is again very flustered the whole evening that such a handsome, intelligent gentleman would take out a greasy loser like him. That evening he learns that Shiro is actually rich. Very very rich. His parents were successful owners of a famous publishing company until they died when Shiro had just left the nest and left him wealthy. Also as top of his class once he graduates he has very good chances to get a high position in a company he took an internship at during the summer. Keith is impressed by Shiro's ambitions and feels suddenly very small and his dream now looks so trivial to him. Keith tells Shiro as much, in a joking way, but Shiro sees through him and reassures him that the arts are very important too and that maybe Keith can help prevent Shiro from getting dry and bitter. That sounds kinda dirty to his own ears and Shiro blushes and it's the cutest thing Keith had ever seen.

• Many more dates follow after that. They take it pretty slow, both finding that romantic and nice.

• When Shiro gets invited to Keith's place a few weeks later he sees Keith's art for the first time. He is... a tiny bit surprised. Keith keeps his drawings and sketch books lying around everywhere, seemingly unperturbed. Keith comes back from the toilet to see Shiro stand in the livingroom in front of one of his still lifes. He gets a bit anxious when he sees Shiro's frown. He asks "what do you think?" and Shiro forces out a "it's... good. Your use of colours is interesting" that he himself doesn't find convincing but Keith beams and thanks him for the compliment and Shiro feels So Bad.

• They spend more time in Keith's flat than Shiro's small house as Shiro finds it cozier here. They cook together whenever they have time, something Keith doesn't seem to have a talent for either but that he likes doing as long as it's with Shiro. He seems especially enthusiastic whenever he needs to cut vegetables. Their schedules are pretty full and they mostly meet at weekends, go to the cinema or go out to eat. But both secretly enjoy the times most in which they don't really do anything together but are just in each other's company. Shiro would study or read a book and Keith would work on a new art piece. Their relationship is cozy and domestic.

• The semester ends and Shiro graduates with an outstanding score in all of his exams. He gets offers for a few of the best companies in the country but he chooses the one closest to Keith. Keith himself fails most of his exams and has to leave college. He is devastated. Shiro suggests they drive up to Keith's parents' house and spend a few days there to cheer Keith up a bit. It would be the first time they would meet Shiro and that Shiro seems to want to take that step makes Keith feel better.

• Texas Kogane is a carpenter and Krolia a florist. Their house is small and looks a bit shabby from the outside but inviting and colourful from the inside. They immediately like Shiro. They can see he is a kind guy who sincerely cares for their son. Shiro is really nervous around the two but soon realises that he has nothing to worry about. They are really into him. Krolia jokes that Keith got his good taste in men from her.

• When Keith quietly tells them he dropped out, Texas calmly puts a hand on his shoulder and tells him it's okay to not go to college; he didn't and was alright after all. Krolia though gets a really fierce look and tells him now he has to work even harder and prove these assholes wrong. Over the weeks that they stay at the Koganes' Shiro learns these reactions were very typical for the both of them. Texas is a calm and relaxed person whereas his wife is temperamental and energetic. They complement each other well, he guesses.

• During their stay Keith helps his dad much. He repairs the door of the shed, installs traps for the rats that eat their way through the vegetable patches and feeds their old stallion Barnickle. Shiro mostly stays with Krolia as is her wish. She lets him help with gardening and asks him out about his life and intentions with Keith. She is content with his answers.

• Shiro and Keith stay in Keith's old room. They cuddle at night and kiss gently but don't get any further. Keith doesn't want to in the room of his childhood with his parents so close and Shiro agrees. Some evenings they ride on Barnickle out into the desert to watch the sunset and the stars that come out soon after.

• When they get back from this trip Keith feels much more optimistic. He gets back to drawing (which he had taken a break from) and practises some stuff from his college courses but mostly feels rebellious and works on his own ideas that they wouldn't accept back then. He is determined to be a freelance artist and sell his artworks. Shiro is really worried. He can't even place Keith's style. It's just... bad.

• Shiro is still fully supporting Keith though. He organises a gallery where he can exhibit his work. He has to pay much for that because they fear for their reputation. The vernissage is a disaster. Nobody turns up. Keith is heartbroken and Shiro feels that way too when seeing Keith like this. He reassures Keith they probably published the wrong date and pleads with the gallery to repeat the event. He will take care of everything. The next night the gallery is full. Shiro has pulled strings, making people who owe him something come as well as his and Keith's friends who also try to support their friend although they aren't really convinced of his dream. Keith is overwhelmed and so so happy. Shiro feels horribly guilty but can't bring himself to feel it was the wrong thing to do when Keith looks like this.

• Although to Keith his exhibition seemed like a success, nobody buys his art. Shiro quickly tells Keith he is willing to take care of customers. If someone wants to buy something, Shiro will handle it, he will hand the sold pieces over and bring the money to Keith. Keith is surprised to hear that and objects that Shiro has enough to do with his own job and Keith can do that himself but Shiro insists to do that for his boyfriend. In the next weeks Shiro buys much of Keith's art without him knowing. He hands the money to Keith and brings the pieces over into the cellar of his own house.

• Time goes by and they are happy together and with both of their work. Until one evening. Shiro invited Keith over for a romantic dinner. While Shiro cooks Keith wanders through the rooms and then goes down into the cellar, nosy as he is. What he sees there takes his breath away. At first he doesn't understand but then he realises what that means and he runs up the stairs, shouting at Shiro and crying. He never felt more angry, disappointed and miserable in his life. Shiro didn't have faith in him, that was the worst revelation. He runs out of the house and back to his flat. There he rips apart some of his drawings as he feels like he lost his dream.

• Back at his house Shiro breaks down and cries in front of Keith's art that he bought. He didn't just put them in the cellar like old stuff he didn't use. He had renovated it, the walls were painted, the air properly conditioned and lamps installed so the drawings and paintings wouldn't be ruined and could be seen properly. He had hung them in order in frames with glass to protect the surface and tidied the panes every day. Now he sits on the floor, crying, and studies every single one, trying to find a favourite but he can't. There is Keith's self-portrait, a painting of Barnickle with his parents' shack in the background, various still lifes with the craziest objects, and so many drawings of Shiro. Shiro sleeping, Shiro reading with his glasses on, Shiro smiling, Shiro frowning... Shiro realises just now that he loves Keith. He never said that, none of them had but seeing his face various times on the wall makes him see Keith loves him too. He cries even harder at that revelation. It seems he just lost his love.

• They don't see each other for weeks. Keith doesn't react to Shiro's texts and calls. Shiro calls in sick at work and stays home, drinking too much. One alcoholic night makes him feel determined to go and visit Keith. He will knock on the door until he's let in, if that doesn't work he will sing so loud Keith has to let him in if he doesn't want his neighbours to complain and if this still didn't make Keith surrender he would simply sleep outside his door. So Shiro calls a taxi and drives over to Keith's, knocking and yelling drunkenly. To his surprise Keith opens immediately, looking at him with wide and hopeful eyes. Shiro only now realises he yelled "I love you, Keith!". Keith asks him calmly if he really meant that and Shiro begans to cry saying yes, he really means that like he never did before and then ugly sobs onto Keith's favourite shirt. He quickly lets him in and they silently lie in bed together, Shiro in Keith's arms. Keith doesn't want to hear any more apologies than Shiro already babbled as long as Shiro is in this state and so they just sleep until the next morning.

• Shiro wakes up hung-over and embarrassd about what he did last night. That wasn't how he wanted to confess to Keith who hadn't even forgiven him yet. They have breakfast in silence. Shiro is so anxious as he sits in front of a disappointed Keith. Finally Keith speaks and asks: "now that you're sober, did you mean it?", and Shiro answers immediately with yes, trying to describe how much Keith means to him but Keith interrupts him with: "why did you do it?" and Shiro gulps. Keith needs him to be honest now, he knows that so he tells him everything. How Shiro wanted to always see him happy and excited like that first day they met and how he had doubts Keith would make it. How he tried to help and felt so guilty for it. Keith listens silently and looks so hurt that Shiro feels like crying again. He is sure Keith will now tell him it's over but he doesn't. Instead he says "I love you too." Shiro gawks and Keith continues: "I realised when you said you would take care of the business part. You showed me you cared for me and my dream and believed in me. But you didn't. It was all a lie." Shiro feels desperate. "I did care for you! And I still do! That's why I betrayed you, I wanted you to be successful. I know I was stupid and horrible and I am so sorry. I wish I could change anything now but I can't. I love you Keith and I want to be with you. Please." Keith doesn't react to Shiro's outburst and says: "I got a customer. One week ago Mr. Sendak bought four of my most expansive pieces. And then he ordered a portrait of himself. He's an important business man or something and the painting will hang on the wall of a gallery he sponsored." Keith talks calmly but Shiro feels pride radiating from him. He nods in understanding. "I was such a fool. I am so proud of you Keith, you deserve this. I'm going to go now, I'm sorry for coming over drunk and burdening you, that was inappropriate." He gets up with his head down but Keith stops him. "Where do you think you're going?", he asks, looking a bit angry. "I am still horribly mad at you and I don't know when I'll be able to forgive you and hell if you think I'll sleep with you any time soon. But I love you. And you love me. We just established that and I'm not letting you walk away with your tail between your legs. You'll stay and tonight we'll watch a movie that I choose no matter if you like it or not. You were wrong not believing in my art and I will rub that in for as long as I deem appropriate. We'll be together and live happily ever after. Understood?" Shiro can only nod dumbly and then jumps up to hug Keith really tightly and never let go.

• If you read this far I hope you understood the following things:

• In this au Keith is neither dumb, nor lazy nor vain. He aims to have a very realistic style but fails without seeing that himself. He practises a lot but simply doesn't make progress. Just because his art isn't realistic doesn't mean it isn't innovative, unique or won't find any fans, just look at Mr. Sendak. Keith also knows very much about art. He aced his art history exam as best of his class, just the practical parts were bad. His problem is that he can't objectively judge his own art, he sees it in a different light than others.

• This being said I don't want to offend anyone or any art style by this au. Any art is amazing if you are passionate about it. I know how much time and effort goes into it and I don't mean to underestimate that. I just thought this au sounded fun and was first meant as some kind of crack au. It was inspired by Florence Foster Jenkins.

• I might draw something for this au or write a fic, who knows? If you have ideas for this au and want to draw or write for it, go ahead! Tag me in it so I can see it :)

#bad artist keith and rich shiro au #bad artist keith au #bad artist keith #keith kogane #takashi shirogane #voltron au #sheith au #sheith #voltron

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