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you-did-well-moon · 3 years

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Werewolf!Yunho meeting his mate

Type: Werewolf au, angst, fluff

Pairing: Werewolf!Yunho x HumanFemale!reader

Word count: 2,994

A/n: I know this took a long time, trust me, it felt like a long time for me too. With how I view Yunho, I expected this to be happier than it is. I was having a hard time while writing this, and it reflected on the story. Anyways please enjoy and stay safe!

TW: toxic relationship, financial struggle, deadlines, stressed reader, emotional and verbal pain, toxic masculinity, if I missed anything please tell me.

You sat at the foot of your bed, still not made, staring at the mirror resting against your dull colored wall with lifeless blank eyes. Your posture slouched as you finished tying the laces of your running shoes huffing and letting your arms flop to the ground. Looking at the mirror, you tried smiling, but it was meak and disappeared as soon as it appeared.

You hadn’t smiled a real smile in so long, you forgot what it felt like. To smile. To be happy. The forgotten emotion was one you took for granted when it was easy to to bask in the warmth of it. Now it's just cold. Cold and empty.

You looked away from the mirror with a tight feeling coiling in the base of your chest not being able to bear looking at the stranger staring back at you any longer. Your gaze fell to the laptop, abandoned, due to frustration on your desk in the forgotten corner of the room. The thought of unfinished drafts and incomplete sentences shook violently in your mind. Disappointment in yourself pooling in your gut remembering your editor’s words.

“If you can’t give us at least a first draft by the end of the month, we’ll have to unfortunately let you and your novel go.”

How pathetic was it that you couldn’t even come up with a simple sentence. A description, dialogue, a metaphor. Nothing. Anytime you sat yourself in front of the desk, your mind went blank. The cursor blinking at the top of the page mocked you with the possibility of millions of words. Not one ever made its way onto the page.

The end of the month was in two weeks.

You felt tears of hopelessness stinging the corner of your eyes, and you abruptly stood up grabbing your wireless earbuds, phone, and bag. Making your way into the kitchen you grabbed the water in the fridge and placed it inside your back, nothing but a numb feeling alienating you from reality and its broken expectations. You heard the front door of your little apartment open and slam close shaking the thin walls of the building.

Your heart lurched as you winced immediately feeling like you were walking on eggshells. You were usually quick enough to leave before he got home from work, but you had been a tad bit late this one time. You gripped the strap of your bag tightly hoping for it to ground you through whatever vile words came from the one person you should have been able to trust with your ugliest feelings.

Trying to walk past your boyfriend, eyes trained on the chipped wood of the front door did no good when he kissed his teeth and huffed as soon as he caught sight of you.

“You’re never home when I get home from work, and the one time you are here, you run away not even saying hi to me? Not even a “hey honey how was work today” or maybe a “hi love what would you like for dinner?” and never a “you’ve worked hard would you like a massage?” It's the same shit every day. You treat me like nothing when I'm the reason you even have a roof over your head woman.”

You kept your mouth the whole time he rambled on trying to ignore the clear stench of beer being able to reach you even with all the distance separating you, and the feeling of disgust mixed with desperation pooling at the bottom of your gut at yourself for not speaking up for yourself. Opening your mouth instead of letting your voice be taken from you. A long time ago, you would always say you would rather die than be without your voice. In a sense, you had died a long time ago.

Around three months after you had started dating. That had been two years ago.

Your English degree really did you no good. Not having enough time to be an intern in college really screwed you over when no job would take a bright eyed girl with the same passion in her heart for writing as a Karen’s passion for business that wasn’t hers, but with no experience. Even if the apartment was under your name, you’d probably be kicked out in weeks time.

You hated all of it. Everything that made up both the small and big parts of your life, you hated it. You hated his greasy hair and beady eyes, the nasty rough stubble covering the lower part of his face as a result of his laziness. You hated the hesitation in leaving him because of the fear of the stack of bills piling up next to the fridge. You hated the editors who couldn’t find it in some part of their greedy selves to extend your deadline. You hated the empty drafts sitting in your laptop collecting what could only be dead dreams and despair. You hated the cold emptiness that was always present in the confines of your chest.

You recoiled at the way he said “woman” the same way someone would talk about a bug. Small and insignificant. Patronizing and confident in the worst way. You set your mouth in a tight line not even being able to look at him. Shifting your feet, you crossed your arms and looked up to the sky as if calling out to some unknown being to get you out of this pathetic corner you were trapped in. You cursed under your breath looking at the dying flowers on the coffee table with distaste as they wilted towards you mocking you.

“What was that?” His voice got rougher with the menacing edge of fanned masculinity and control. Something that could put you in a dangerous place in a very fast amount of time. You looked at him with dull eyes poking your cheek with your tongue as a cold feeling settled in your gut.

Your hands fell limply to your side and you chuckled humorlessly.

“Fuck you”.

Those two words were enough to set him off as you slowly blinked and looked at the ground feeling your heart falter when he abruptly got up. You tried to stand your ground, but the surge of confidence was quickly withering away with fear taking its place.

Ethan was bigger than you. Even if he wasn’t that much taller than you, there was a noticeable difference in his frame and yours. Weirdly enough, you didn’t regret your curse at him. The words still burned brilliantly on the tip of your tongue.

It was bittersweet of course. His nose flared, and his eyes bulged as he took large strides over to you knocking the coffee table over on his path to you.

“What did you say to me you-” his words were said through gritted teeth, brash and loud in the silent apartment.

Maybe he was bigger and stronger than you, but you were faster.

You inhaled sharply reacting fast as your hand reached behind you, turning the knob and slipping around it slamming the door close. Your bag bumped against your back while you bolted to the door with the word “stairs” painted in big bold letters across it. You were already at the door when you heard your apartment door open and Ethan angrily called your name. Threatening to break your laptop if you didn’t go back right this instant.

You couldn’t help but snicker at the weak attempt. It’s not like there were much but empty pages anyways.

A heavy feeling soon settled on your chest as you went down the stairs. Your apartment was on the 4th floor, and the stairs weren’t the most taken care of, but it’s not like you had much of a choice anyways. It seemed these days you were always wanting to run away from something.

Your heart felt a little lighter when the warm rays of sun met your skin and the fresh air outside flooded your senses. Your walk to the park went as usual. Cars racing to get where they needed to, people chattered about everything and nothing, and your thoughts wandered to a world far away from this one.

A world that wasn’t as dark as this one. At the same time your mind became your executioner, it became your safe place. The sick contrast making a nasty feeling flood your chest.

You arrived at the park with a small smile. The normalcy of the day bringing a little comfort to your still racing heart. Kids ran around, laughter ringing in the air around them as their parents watched on benches gossiping among themselves. People raced fast either by foot, bicycle, or skateboard, a visible sheen on their necks. You looked for the kind old man who always looked after your bag while you ran.

He owned a music store a few blocks away, and he always sat on the bench closest to the pond with his cute corgi and habitually feeding the ducks peas and lettuce leaves when finished with a certain chapter of his book. You walked up to him with a small smile as he looked up and took the sight of you in with fatherly worry.

“You look a little pale kid, everything alright?”

You did your best to liven up and gave your best customer service smile which the older man immediately saw through.

“Of course Mr.Jung. Why wouldn’t it be? I’m just a little tired from the editors. They’re on my back more than usual”, you laughed nervously as he hummed in understanding.

“I hope that boy of yours isn’t giving you any problems. Hey kid, have you ever heard of the term “break up?” he looked so serious you had to compose your shocked face.

You waved your hands rapidly “I promise Mr.Jung everything is fine there is...I...oh my” you took a shaky breath as he simply shrugged his shoulders and pet his smaller companion who was having a very serious stare down with a duck.

You wiped your sweaty palms on your yoga pants while you looked around at the tacky named paths trying to decide which one to run today.

“The Pupper Runner path looks particularly nice today,” he suggested. You looked at the path pursing your lips in thought. The path wasn’t one you ran frequently. Since it was one of the wider and flatter paths, there were more people such as families or people walking their dogs. You also didn’t like having run-ins with the cyclists who were grouchier around this time of day for some odd reason.

After contemplating it, you shrugged and decided why not. Getting run over by a ticking time bomb on wheels wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen today. With a small smile sent in Mr.Jungs way, you checked your shoe laces before starting out with a light jog making your way down the specific path.

There was nothing really different about today’s run than others. Just having to dodge the wheel demons and kids happily running ahead of their worried mothers. You were grateful for the distraction. It kept you from straying too far into your head. It was just you running. Running like you always did these days, your shoes slapping on the concrete path and Got7 blaring in your ears.

The heat of the sun shone on your skin, but oddly you still felt cold. It was always cold these days. A light breeze fresh to your burning skin as desperate eyes caught yours, and you were once again bought out of your stupor.

A small boy was kneeled down fingers clutching his untied shoelaces not far from his dad who was trying to calm a crying baby. You didn’t really have a strong adoration for kids, but his panicked pinched face compelled you to come to a slow stop in front of him. Your chest heaved as you bent down to his level sitting on your heels and wrapped your arms around your legs.

“Hey bud, you need some help there?”

The kid made a distraught sound as he nodded his face shaking his hair out of his eyes. He looked dumb founded as he stared at his shoe laces in search of answers they would never give.

“Mama said to make a bunny, but this looks more like my aunt Carol’s dog” he sadly told you.

You snorted reaching out gently to tie his laces with a double knot.

With a grin you looked up at him ruffling his hair and giving him a thumbs up which he happily returned with a toothy smile.

“It’s alright kid, you’ll eventually get it. Just keep trying yeah? Don’t settle or you might catch yourself tripping next time you go on a walk. You’ll get hurt. Wouldn’t want that would we”, you said, lips still stretched kindly upwards, but something in your words struck stingingly deep in your chest.

As the kid nodded happily with a carefree laugh you were about to get up when you heard the air being split and a strained voice yelling “watch out!!”.

You looked up, panicked, only to see a frisbee racing right in your direction with alarming speed. With the goal of protecting the small child, you quickly turned your body. Your shoes making a rough sound against the concrete as a startled light cry left the younger boy’s mouth.

With your hands ready, you easily caught the frisbee gasping at the shock of the situation. You quickly shook it off as you gripped the frisbee turning back to the child who profusely thanked you, his small hands shaking as they clutched onto the hem of your shirt.

You simply smiled reassuringly tapping his shoe and ushering him back to his father who has begun to successfully calm the fussing baby down.

With shaking knees you tried to get up only to wince and slightly waver at the sharp sting that hit your ankle area. You clenched your jaw feeling more than annoyed at the current situation in hand.

You stood up grumbling under your breath as a tall figure jogged over to you. While he made his way toward you, your narrowed eyes met his wide, apologetic ones.

You felt the world shift around you as a calming warmth shot through your body melding with the confusion and panic pooling in your gut, and his eyes widened impossibly as he stumbled managing to stabilize himself right in time in front of you. His figure standing just inches away from you as his hands trembled, and his lips slightly parted.

You got a slight whiff of cologne and mint, but more than anything, the weird feeling in your gut was making a way for the dreadful panic clouding around your heart.

You felt warm.

After feelings of feeling nothing but the hollow cold licking at your veins, there was a nice warmth settling in your chest.

You were scared of it.

With a heavy chest you slightly inched back left somewhat immobile due to the aching pain in your ankle. “What the hell?”, you immediately set off on questioning him leading him to shake his head frantically at you.

“I’m so sorry, i really am.” He put his hand on his chest as if trying to prove his sincerity to you, but you breathlessly took a step back stunned by the intense feelings taking over your heart and mind.

You tried shaking it off, but the warmth lingered.

You weren’t sure you wanted it to go away.

“There’s kids here”, you were so distracted by all the emotions circling your mind you couldn’t possibly put any effort into arguing with the young man. His lips parted to make way for his lips as he nodded his head in understanding. “I know, I'll be more careful next time. I promise.”

Somehow, you knew he was being truthful. You went to say something, possibly something dangerous, but you shook your head and waved your hand.

You tried taking a step but lightly hissed at the sharp pain that shot from your ankle up your leg. The man instantly dove forward steadying you with a heavy hand between your shoulder blades, and the other hovering in worry near your collarbone.

With wide eyes you looked at him as he realized his un-asked for touch and immediately went to back away.

He couldn’t.

Your hand was clutching the cloth of his shirt near his shoulder blades. Hands slowly uncurling, you smiled awkwardly, but he kept his hand where it was. At his touch, the warmth licking the insides of your body became all the more distracting.

“Um, I don’t think you can go all the way back home like this”, he cleared his throat looking at you shily under his bangs. Flustered, you smiled at the ground before looking back up and timidly asking “I can't. Mind helping me out?”.

At your question he let out a beaming grin nodding eagerly. He went to stand in front of you, and he crouched down looking at you over his shoulder with soft brown eyes. You did a small jump, and were caught by his hands slightly gripping under your thighs.

He gave a low chuckle that somehow was felt from where your chest was pressed up against his shoulder blades. “So...what’s your name?”. You let a light giggle escape, “Y/n, yours?”. You saw his jaw move with the syllables of your name whispering it to himself.

“Yunho”, you smiled also sounding out the name on your own mouth. You gave a shuddering exhale, and you laid your head on his shoulder letting yourself really rest for what seemed like the first time in forever.

That night you walked right past Ethan who was quick to begin yelling at you, and you tucked yourself under the safety of your blankets feeling the warmth still encasing your heart, so comforting and alive.

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some-kindofgnome · 3 years

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tastes so bitter (tastes so sweet)

You’re driving back from an out-of-town mission with Hawks when your car breaks down on a very sparsely-populated highway. While you await relief, things get... personal.

characters: takami keigo (hawks) x f!reader

word count: 7.1k

warnings: smut (18+ please!), car sex, pro hero!reader, angst, emotionally unavailable hawks

notes: ta-dah!!! the car sex fic! this turned out way longer and way more feelsy than I ever intended it to be. but I’m grateful for the chance to show you how I play with plot and emotion as well as some good porn. porn with feelings, y’know?

EDIT: The supremely talented @la-saffron has created an absolutely spectacular piece of artwork for this fic! Please go and look at it right here, it’s really quite splendid

Masterlist

The shadowy trees on either side of the highway cast a chill across the pavement as the sky went dark.

It was far from sunset, but the woods were so tall and thick that the light had disappeared from the road a long time ago. The overpriced navigation system laid into the dashboard of Hawks’ luxurious car was no help at all; not when you were taking the only road for miles around.

The highway narrowly passed for two lanes, winding precariously down from the mountains. Dotted with reflective yellow signs- deer crossing, bear crossing, creatures-of-unimaginable-horror crossing. Bigfoot himself could have wandered into your headlights and you barely would’ve flinched.

But that was to be expected, given where you’d come from.

That day’s mission brought you both far, far away from the city. There was a national forest about three hours away- one of the biggest in the country- and you and Hawks had been called in at the crack of fucking dawn to drive all the way out to the woods and investigate some ‘strange reports,’ as the rangers cared to call them.

Most park rangers knew what they were seeing when guests came in from the woods reporting abnormal happenings. Nobody was truly immune to fear, though, when faced with the impossible.

Whether there were paranormal creatures lurking in those woods or not, you couldn’t have been sure. But after spending the day exhausting both your quirks combing every spare inch of those woods, you were relieved of your overnight duties by a group of other, more nature-savvy heroes.

Hawks had been miffed, but too exhausted to argue. He didn’t like to think he’d been overshadowed. You were just thankful to be going home to your own bed.

“Okay,” you sighed, nursing the last of a lukewarm soda from a burger joint at the edge of the only one-horse town you’d passed through. It was a pretty unassuming stop for dinner, but you and Hawks both agreed that the burgers were way too good to be sold to so few patrons.

Keigo was driving, with one palm splayed lazily across the bottom edge of the wheel. His scarlet wings stretched into the backseat, draping over the shoulders of his black leather backrest like some bizarre kind of seat cover.

The fact that his car was so luxurious was not lost on you- although you were more surprised to find out that he had one at all. Hawks seemed like the last person in the world to need a car, after living in a fantastic downtown penthouse. And owning a pair of wings, come to think of it.

He owned it because he could. And because he knew how good he looked in the driver’s seat.

“What?” He turned a curious eye toward you, though he never quite pulled his gaze from the road.

“I know we started this conversation on the way here,” you began, “but… we never exactly finished it.” You swirled what was left of the ice chips in the bottom of your cup, considering the best way to voice your thoughts.

��Alright.” He sounded vaguely amused, slouching a little further down and drawing an idle palm over his feathered hair. “Shoot.”

“Well…” You trailed off. “You’re kind of… a city guy.” You were already starting to talk with your hands. The racket coming from your half-drunk soda was proof enough.

“What makes you say that?”

“You are,” you defended. You let a playful edge creep into your tone. “And the agency’s kind of a city thing.”

“Am I really as one-note as you’re making me out to be?” He was chuckling. Your cheeks were going hot. You weren’t sure how this became a personal conversation, but you were determined to steer it in the proper direction. You course corrected.

“I just mean, we don’t take a lot of jobs outside the city. Like… ever. So, what’s with this one? Why this call?”

He didn’t answer right away. When you glanced across the car, he was licking his lips and appearing to be, very genuinely, thinking.

“Well,” he began. There was an immensely appealing depth that wore around the edges of his voice when he was deep in thought. You hung on tightly, trying your best to hide how intently you listened.

“I was just… bored, I guess.” He gave a lazy little shrug. His eyes were still trained on the windshield, but you could feel the weight of his urges. He wanted to look over. You turned your head, willing him to.

“Probably sounded like bullshit, now that I think about it,” he confessed, “but if there really was somethin’ freaky in those woods… I dunno. I wanted to see it.”

You resisted the urge to snort.

“Maybe you should start a ghost hunting branch at the agency.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he protested. This time, he really did drag his eyes away from the road for a second. They glinted playfully in the dark. You got a flash of pearly canine from the barest hint of a grin, but it was enough to put a stupid smile right across your face.

A sickening thud from beneath the hood zapped any false confidence you’d been building. There was a dull pop, then the engine died.

“What the- shit.” Hawks scrambled to put both hands on the wheel, navigating the car with what momentum remained over to the narrow shoulder. The tires hit gravel and soft mud, rolling pathetically to a stop and settling in damp silence.

“What the hell was that?” You leaned over the dashboard as your pulse came down from near-terminal velocity. There were half a dozen lights blinking away on the dashboard- symbols you couldn’t understand.

“Not sure.” Keigo was doing his best not to sound too perturbed. As a result, he was just perturbed enough.

You knew what those lights implied, though. Service due. Oil change due. Battery maintenance due.

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, “when was the last time you took this car in for service? It’s a miracle you even made it out of the goddamn garage.”

Hawks was in the process of mashing the engine start button like an arcade game. When you spoke up, he pushed it down and held. The engine gave a dull, sad sort of sputter, but nothing roared to life.

“Look, look,” he dismissed, waving a hand in your direction as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “I don’t drive this thing that often, okay? I’m gonna go check under the hood.”

He climbed out of the driver’s side and slammed the door before giving you the chance to remind him to pop the hood. For a minute, you let him wallow in his mistake, watching gleefully as he pried at the seam of it. Finally, you unbuckled yourself and leaned over, flicking the release for him.

He gave an unamused glance toward the windshield and lifted the hood, obscuring all but the very tips of his drooping wings from view.

After about fifteen seconds, he ducked back into the car with a rush of cold air behind him. He rubbed his palms together as you watched, arms folded over your chest.

“So?” You prompted. He gave a sideways glance in your direction, blowing into his chilled hands.

“So what?”

“Oh my g- what’s wrong with the car?” You tried your best not to let panic set in.

“I don’t know. It’s just a bunch of pipes and wires under there. They didn’t exactly give me a map of the thing when I bought it.”

You’d seen Hawks pull people out of burning buildings before. You’d see him think on his feet, devise a plan and act on it in the blink of an eye. Usually, he was impulsive. Confident. Clever.

Tonight, on the other hand, he was demonstrating a very clear affinity for money over brains.

You flopped into your seat, scrubbing your hands over your face. You were not going to freak out. You refused to. It didn’t matter that Keigo had suddenly become useless in the face of disaster. You were heroes, even if you had to save your damned selves.

“Oh,” he quipped from beside you. “Still got bars. See?” As you peeked over at him through one cracked eyeball, he waved his illuminated phone screen at you. “It could be worse, kid. If this were a horror movie, this thing’d be dead.”

He tapped away on the screen, seeming very pleased with himself. Even his wings gave a little ruffle, draping themselves smoothly over the back of his seat again.

“I’ll call us a tow. We’ll be outta here in no time.”

A few minutes later, you had a map pulled up on your phone while Hawks’ brow creased deeper and deeper.

“Uh-huh.” His voice had taken on that irresistible deepness to it again, but this time it was sending pangs of dread through your gut.

“Right.” He brought a palm up to smooth over his jaw, fingertips bending and pressing idly against the patches of scruff that dusted it. “Y-yep, yeah, I understand. Fifty miles is a long way. I know it’s gonna be a lot to send a truck that far. But-“

As he was abruptly cut off by the other end of the line, those idle fingers slipped up to his temple, pressing inward and rubbing in stiff little circles.

“Okay. Alright. Yeah, I guess we’ll wait, ‘cause there’s not much else we can… I understand. Yes, thank you. Thank you. Okay, we’ll be here. Or within a ten-foot radius. Thanks. B-“

He blinked rapidly at the screen as he pulled it away from his ear. “Have an excellent night, sir,” he muttered under his breath. He let out a deep sigh, lifting a hip to tuck his phone away again.

“They said they would send someone,” he said, “but the depot is, like, fifty miles from here. Could be a couple of hours.”

“A couple hours?” That cold dread was settling into your chest again. So much for sleeping in your own bed.

“Yeah. C’mon, get out.”

“What?” You glanced past him at the frosted driver’s side window. “It looks freezing out there.”

“Well then, you’d better bundle up. C’mon. I’m gonna fly us back to the city.”

“No way. Hawks- Keigo.” You grabbed his arm and squeezed tightly as he made to get out of the car.

“What?” Exasperation was creeping into the edges of his voice. The sides of his gaze, too, as he landed against the seat back with a thud and turned his cheek to look at you.

“You’ve been flying all day. Your wings are shot. You’re not flying anywhere.”

“What? They’re fine.” He gave the appendages in question a defiant flutter and a cloud of expiring feathers floated into the backseat.

You folded your arms across your chest. Hawks gave a frustrated growl.

“What do you suggest, then?” He retorted in fierce opposition to your silence. “Just sit around and fucking… die of old age before the tow truck comes?”

“Oh my god, you’re the number two hero,” you snapped back. “When did you become such a drama queen? Yes, we’re going to wait. Like a normal person would have to.”

“I’m not being dramatic; I’m presenting you with a legitimate solution and you’re ignoring it!”

“If you try to fly us both out of here, you’re gonna hit the ground before we’re halfway home. And then we’ll be really stranded, with no water and no shelter. So, if you’d like to fly back all by yourself, I can’t stop you. But I’m not going to let you kill both of us.”

“Fine!” Hawks’ cheeks were flushed with temper as he kicked the door open and clambered out of the car. He kicked it shut again so hard the whole body rocked, and for a moment you were left, trapped in shocked silence.

He was really going to leave you out here. Alone.

Half a dozen heartbeats passed before his boots crunched on the shoulder and he wrenched the door open again, flopping back into the car with an immense sigh of irritated defeat.

“Fuckin’ freezing out there,” he muttered as quietly as possible.

You wanted to punch him.

“You ready to wait?”

His wings stiffened behind him, then drooped so lowly they seemed to disappear into the backseat. He looked at you from the corner of one tawny eye.

“Yeah.”

For the first hour, you honestly enjoyed yourself. As soon as Keigo accepted his fate, he got much closer to his usual mellow self. You finished off cold fries from dinner, listened to true crime podcasts on your phone, (you listened- he talked over the whole thing) and played a few ruthless games of hangman on a couple of napkins you found in the glove compartment.

You’d spent a lot of time with Hawks in a professional capacity. As partners, you took most of your missions together. You were well-versed in the way that he liked to think, the way he approached a job, a conversation. You worked well with each other and you were drawn to his quick wit and laid-back humour. Even if he was a piece of work at times, you made a strong team. But you didn’t do a whole lot of hanging out.

“Okay, that’s it,” he chided as you added an extravagant top hat to the completed, dressed hangman scrawled onto the inside fold of your last napkin. The word he’d failed to guess was ‘patience,’ and the irony of his struggling was not lost on you.

“Aw, c’mon,” you protested. “You’ve still got gloves and a bow tie left.”

“No, no, no.” He held up a palm, shaking his head. There was a good-natured grin curling his lip as he bowed toward the door. “I’m callin’ it. I gotta take a leak.”

You snatched your soda cup from the drink holder, clutching it protectively against your chest.

“You’re not going in here.”

Next, it was Hawks’ turn to shoot you a deadpan stare.

“How about in the woods? Is that allowed?”

Your cheeks went hot. “It’s pretty dark out there.”

“Aw.” Hawks shoved the door open. There was an unfamiliar glint to his eye as he tossed a mischievous look over his shoulder. “Guess you won’t be able to sneak a peek, then.”

You slammed your fist into his back. “Shut up and go take a piss.”

As the car door clicked shut, you turned the other way out of sheer habit. All you could see in the opposite window was the reflection of your own face. Maybe it was just the dim light, but you looked exhausted. Keigo had seen you caked in blood, streaked by mud and soot before. But you’d both been awake since four o’clock that morning and there was a special kind of ugly feeling that came with overtiredness.

You were dreaming about the first thing you’d do when you got home again when Hawks climbed back into the car. He looked considerably brighter as he ducked inside, and he brought a flush of rich, earthy forest-smell along with him.

“Don’t tell me you couldn’t find it in the cold out there,” you quipped. Payback.

But Keigo just chuckled, shaking his head.

“Close the door,” you whined as the frigid air from outside finally reached your bare arms. “It’s already cold enough in here.”

“Aw,” he crooned, tugging the door shut behind him. “You scared of a little cold now, kid? It’s not so bad out there. Feel.”

He lunged at you, ducking rapidly to rub his frigid cheek against your shoulder. You let out a terse yelp and squirmed, trying to shove him back amid a sea of chilled giggles. He got a few passes of his icy skin on yours before you both realized how close you’d gotten.

Hawks cleared his throat and scooted away from you. In the bare light from the shitty overhead lamp, you were starting to see the outline of a flush creeping into his cheeks.

The light abruptly went out, leaving you in darkness again.

“Tell me something,” he mused, grabbing for the abandoned takeout bag and digging a hand into it. He produced a tiny wrapped square and tore it open with his teeth, removing the folded alcohol wipe from inside and gliding it with impossible grace over his fingertips. He eyed you sideways.

“How come we don’t hang out more?”

Your chest went cold. You’d been dreading that question all night. Longer than that, even.

“What d’you mean?” It was a gut response, but you instantly kicked yourself for even attempting to play dumb.

“You know,” he chided, dumping the wipe back into the paper bag once he was finished with it. “We work. We do interviews together. We do those bullshit PR functions together. I’ve known you- what, two years? And we’ve never even been for a drink. What gives, kid? Don’t tell me I grate on you.”

“I get plenty of you on company time,” you retorted. You were starting to panic. You weren’t ready for this conversation, but it didn’t seem like you were going to be rescued by the timely arrival of the tow truck.

“Okay, okay, I’d take that,” he laughed, “if you hadn’t agreed to take this mission with me. C’mon, this wasn’t exactly a nine-to-five gig.”

He paused. “Come out with me this weekend.” He nudged your shoulder with a bony elbow. You tried your best not to snap.

“Stop,” you pressed quietly. “You know why we don’t.”

The smirk slipped from Keigo’s face.

“What? Why?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Wait a second, there’s an actual reason? What the hell is it?”

The confusion was genuine on his face. Hawks could be a smarmy little shit when he wanted to be. But you could tell he wasn’t fucking with you.

“Oh my god.” The words slipped out like a deep breath. Your hand drifted to your mouth as cold shock ran over your skin. “You really don’t remember.”

“No.” His confusion was bordered with fear. He sat back a little, letting his eyes drift over your expression. “No, I really don’t.”

You swallowed hard. You should have known that you’d have to talk about this eventually. But he didn’t even remember the night that had been changing the way you acted around him for nearly a year.

“Last Christmas,” you began. Your breath was so short that it put a desperate hush to your voice that you absolutely hated. You revelled in your ability to act casual around him, but the more probing he got, the harder that composure was slipping.

“At the agency gala. You remember the party, right?”

Hawks rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and I got trashed.” He paused. Realization dawned on his face, and he shot you the deepest, most sincere look of concern you’d ever seen. Even more sincere than the look that crossed his face when you got shot off the roof of a house and broke a rib.

He leaned forward.

“Did I do something?” He swept a palm over his mouth, fingertips dallying at his chin. You knew exactly how he felt in that moment. You’d been there before, too, realizing that you’d lost control. Blacked out. Understanding that you might have done something you were going to regret.

“You really don’t remember a thing?” It was your turn to be horrified. How could something that consumed your every thought stay so damned far from his?

His fingers were still curved around the point of his chin. He’d gone white, and he shook his head as his eyes cast down to his lap.

“You fucking kissed me, okay?” You snarled with a whip of frustration. “There was mistletoe and you kissed me under it and-and Christ, I can’t believe you.”

“What? What?” He demanded as his voice grew defensively sharp.

“I had no idea what you were gonna do. What you were gonna say, what was gonna change between us. I showed up to the agency the next morning and your hungover ass acted like nothing had ever happened.”

“Of course I did,” he defended, “I didn’t think anything did happen. Oh my God, did I really kiss you?” His wings were coming to life all of a sudden, bristling on either side of his seat. There was a dull whisp as one edge of them brushed against the window. They seemed to expand, along with his horror, to fill the entire car.

He pushed further. “Well, did you… did you want me to?”

You could see where his thoughts were taking him. The answer was an impossible dilemma. To lead him further down that path would not only be cruel, it would be untrue. But to tell him the truth- that you had wanted it- would be to shatter the fragile illusion of casual, platonic intimacy that you’d been building over the last two years.

You chewed your lower lip. Hard enough to hurt.

“Oh god, you didn’t,” he gasped. That was enough for you to lift your chin and shoot him a sudden, sad, pathetic little look.

“Jesus,” he gasped again, deeper this time. “You did.”

“Look,” you snapped. “I was never gonna say anything to you. I was never gonna push it. You didn’t feel that way and I knew that and I just wanted to work.”

He told you enough about his personal life as it was. Every date he swung in from on Monday morning, every Friday night he spent preening in the last hours of the workday hurt enough already. If you’d grown close, fallen harder, it would’ve become too much to bear.

“What do you mean, I didn’t feel that way? What way don’t I feel? How could you even know that?” He was beginning to raise his voice back at you and the adrenaline was pushing you way too far to listen.

“Because you never said a fucking word to me about that kiss! You pretended like it never even happened, Kei! What was I supposed to think!”

“If you’d asked me, you woulda known that I didn’t speak up ‘cause I didn’t remember a goddamn thing!” Keigo jammed a finger into his temple. His golden eyes flashed. He was so fucking hot when he was angry, but this was not a fight you ever wanted to have.

Luckily for you, he was having it without you.

“What do you want me to say to that?” He snarled. “Huh? What- you want me to tell you that I’m sorry for not having psychic powers? That I’m sorry I didn’t hire a mind-reader to tell me what the fuck was going on with you?”

He scrubbed his hands over his face. You were on the verge of tears.

“I-I never-“ you began, but Keigo beat you to the punch,

“You know, maybe I noticed that you were actin’ funny around me. And maybe I should’ve asked. But maybe if you ask yourself, and if you really, honestly give yourself the truest answer, you’d be able to admit that you knew how I felt about you. That you always knew.”

“Of course I knew!”

Your response echoed raw and deafening in the silence of the car. You’d lost your temper and shouted it at him with every decibel left in your breathless chest. Your fists were clenched atop your frigid thighs as you bent over in your seat, shivering. To your immense embarrassment, warm tears trickled down the sides of your nose.

He was right, after all. Every sideways smile he’d given you was just a little too broad to be friendly. Every time he caught you by the hand, he held it just a little too long. Every time he offered you the crook of his elbow at a stuffy charity gala and every time he poured you into a cab at the end of the night, he promised to take good care of you. Every time he looked at you at all it was with a depth that you had recognized, but never understood.

“But look at us, Kei. Look at what we do to each other.”

You sniffled, scrubbing tears off your cheeks with the heels of your hands. He reached for you, seeking to comfort, but his hands twitched midair and he drew back instead.

“Yeah,” he croaked. You tossed a glance in his direction. He looked more dejected than you’d seen him in a long time. He rested both hands on top of the wheel, the rest of his body sagging against the seat back.

“Except now I’ve told you,” you continued. “And now we both know, so everything’s fucked no matter what.”

You were met with silence. The truth was dawning on you. You hated to even consider it, but it felt like what needed to be done.

“When we get back to the city,” you started. Hawks interrupted you with a low rasp of your name.

“No, when we get back, I’m giving you my resignation.”

“Fuck, stop.”

Keigo lunged, grabbing you by the back of the neck and pulling you toward him. He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. The warmth of his closeness weighed on you like a heavy quilt. You couldn’t even pretend not to be immensely comforted by affection from him.

“I’m not gonna let you do that, kid.”

You were both drawing deep breaths- slow, rolling gulps of air that matched over gradual time. You licked your lips, bracing your chilled palms on his shoulders. Your fingertips brushed the very edges of his feathered hair, dull and soft in the dark.

You’d talked each other down from bigger, badder edges before. But this one had sharp, jagged rocks waiting at the bottom. This one, you were going to have to jump from together.

“I can’t do this,” you pleaded. “I can’t keep myself away from you like this.”

“Don’t.” His voice was hushed and so achingly tender, like he couldn’t take the command himself.

“I can’t-“

“Then, don’t.”

He was firmer this time, and the pad of his thumb brushed the bottom of your lip. He pulled back just a hair, grazing the tip of his nose across yours. The heat of his breath puffed over your lips and his blonde eyelashes threatened to tickle your cheek.

He drew in a slow, calculated breath.

“Lemme kiss you. Lemme try again. I’m not gonna forget it this time, I swear.”

“Keigo, please.”

“Just lemme try. Just once. I’ll never ask you again, if you don’t want me to.” He pulled back the rest of the way and your body keened at the loss, but he looked deeply into your eyes. Deeply like he’d never been allowed to look before.

You licked your lips. Considered it for half a heartbeat. Then you gave a slow little nod.

“Okay.”

To your surprise, he didn’t lunge again. He took his time with you. He cupped your cheeks tenderly between his bare palms, memorizing the curve of your face. He stared, taking you in like this. At his mercy.

Finally, he leaned in and captured your mouth in a soft kiss, heartbreakingly loving. You responded eagerly, blossoming beneath his touch and bracing your hands on the broad plane of his chest. Your fingers curled in the fleece that lined his coat.

You kissed back with near-desperate urgency, shamelessly showing him how touch-starved you’d become. Dating was pointless when Keigo stole your whole heart every time you showed up to work.

The quiet press of his tongue had your jaw going slack in his hands. Your kiss went needy all at once, and he licked into your mouth with a hunger behind his movements that you never anticipated sensing from him.

You broke from him first, turning your cheek to him as your lungs burned. Your mouth was swollen, and you gasped greedily for whatever stale air lingered between you. He grabbed your chin and forced your eyes back to his.

His gaze was fearsome. Ravenous. You were powerless beneath it.

You combed your fingers through his hair like you’d always wanted to, settling your palm at the nape of his neck. Your own voice was nearly unrecognizable, nothing more than a feral growl.

“Get in the back.”

Hawks took one look at the narrow gap between his seat and yours and sat up, nudging the driver’s side door open. He climbed eagerly into the road and then back into the back seat, settling in the center with his legs and wings splayed wide.

Meanwhile, you took the opportunity to wiggle out of your boots and pants and slam dunk everything into the foothold of the passenger’s seat. You climbed over the center console in your underwear and settled into his lap.

Even though you had to bow your head against the cushioned ceiling, it was a holy sensation. Your thighs settled perfectly into the crooks of Keigo’s legs, and his hands slid so naturally over the curves of your hips. It was as if you’d done this before.

You kissed him again, using the weight of your newly boosted height to descend hard and loving against his lips. He grabbed you hard by the ass, drawing you smooth and tight against his hips.

“God,” he groaned eagerly into your mouth.

“You’re so. Fucking. Perfect,” you hissed back into his, and he squeezed you harder, breaking his lips from yours to trail a hungry path of kisses along the edge of your jaw. His scruff scratched at your chin just like you imagined it would. You loved him like this- trimmed, unshaven. The rougher, the better.

“Don’t say that,” he purred dangerously close to your ear. “You’ve seen me at my worst.”

You tried not to grin, remembering Keigo barfing over the balcony of the Plaza after one too many charity-benefit martinis. Keigo caked in ooze after cutting open that sludge villain from the inside. Keigo on the verge of tears, just a few minutes ago.

“I still think so,” you pressed, and he smiled against your cheek. His wings, tired and bruised but majestic as ever, stiffened proudly. They were capped firmly by the cramped space that surrounded you, but the feathers that spread across the back seat were sleek and graceful.

You dug your fingertips between his jacket and his t-shirt, feeling the warmth of his torso all over. He did his best to shrug it open, but the material was caught up on his wings- no getting it off now.

He wound his hands into the hem of his shirt and tugged it up for you. The skin you could feel by slipping your fingers underneath was all you were going to get.

Not that it mattered to you. It was far more than you’d let yourself so much as picture before. While you felt your way across his heated abdomen, he dipped his head to your pulse point. He scraped the points of his teeth across your tender flesh, making you sigh and shiver. He pressed a hand to the small of your back to keep you close and nibbled all the way down to your neckline, leaving a trail of tiny welts in his wake.

They would fade by morning. Tonight, the feeling was enough.

He glided smooth, tender fingers up your sides. You straightened, letting him wedge your long-sleeved t-shirt up around your shoulders. You had to bend even further and press your forehead awkwardly against his shoulder to wrench it off. Once he peeled the fabric over your head, you tossed it haphazardly toward the front seat. Keigo was already going to work on his fly.

The tender press of his erection had grown apparent by that point, stiff and needing down one thigh of his thick pants. You reached between your legs and palmed it indulgently. There was an answering throb of arousal in the pit of your belly as you felt the shape and thickness of it trapped against his body, and an even stronger one when his hips pressed into your touch and he gave a low rumble of approval.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he crooned. With his pants unfastened, and the bulk of his cock shifted to the stretchy pouch of his undershorts, he slid a fingertip down the plane of your belly and curled two graceful digits between your thighs.

“Are you wet for me yet?” He shot you a deep, lustful stare. You rocked your hips against his fingers, hopeless in resisting the pleasure he offered. Keigo nudged the crotch of your thong easily aside, dipping his middle finger against your slit.

He sucked a sharp breath through clenched teeth as you gave a simultaneous yelp of stimulation. When he looked up at you again, he bore a sly little grin. You’d seen it a thousand times before, but never with such desire. And never all for you.

“You’re drippin’, kid.” He arched his palm, slipping that finger slowly upward and easing it inside you. There was no stretch, but the sensation of intimacy- of being felt in such a way by those hands that you’d never dared to fantasize about- was intoxicating in its own right.

Keigo was, apparently, feeling it, too. His eyes were deeply lidded, glazed completely by his own desire. The tip of his cock had found its way over the waistband of his undershorts, weeping shiny precum against his stomach and the bottom of his shirt.

He curled a blunt fingertip inside you, massaging your tender front wall. The feeling rappelled up the column of your spine and brought deep trembles forward. It brought fresh handfuls of wet slick from your depths, gliding down his palm and between his fingers. He took the hints your body offered and rubbed faster, watching the way your expression morphed from desire to pleasure.

“Stop,” you hushed, leaning forward and pushing your lips to his. He drew his hand back from you immediately, settling it on your thigh. The wet little print it left against your skin wasn’t lost on you.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” you replied. “Just ready for you.”

He gave a low, loving little chuckle and shifted beneath you. “Can’t hold out any longer?”

You smiled into his hair. “Don’t want to.”

“Fair enough.” His smile was even, but the tug in his voice betrayed his fraying nerves. It thrilled you to know that you weren’t the only one putting way too much emotional stock in this. It was immensely validating to discover that he’d been anticipating it, too.

He wiggled and squirmed against the backseat, shucking his pants and underwear down over his thighs and letting his cock pop out. It bobbed against his stomach- thicker than you’d imagined- framed by a trimmed scruff of tawny hair that disappeared under his shirt.

“Fuck,” you sighed in spite of yourself.

“I know, right?” He rasped. He reached for you, cupping your jaw. He brought your forehead down to his, giving a weak laugh. “What the hell have we been waitin’ for?”

“We just needed the bottle episode to shove us together,” you giggled. “C’mon, we’re a walking trope right about now.”

“We’re about to become a different trope if you don’t let me fuck you.” It was his turn to play the desperate card. But the ache between your thighs had not dulled, even a little.

He wrapped his fingers around the base of his shaft and you lifted your hips. He gave the heated tip a playful little swipe along your slick slit, but his game backfired when both of you let out tight cries of sensation.

You rocked your hips forward, taking his tip eagerly inside. The sensation was toe-curling, made even better by the way he held you tightly against him, nosing at your ear and kissing any patch of skin he could reach.

He brought his free palm to your ass as soon as you were situated, helping you slide the rest of the way onto his cock. With your knees braced on either side of his lap and your feet pressed tightly against the front seat, you let him bottom out. And for a moment, you just sat there.

“Jesus,” Keigo sighed, lolling his head against the seat behind him. You still had your head deeply bowed, trapped in the space that seemed just an inch too tight.

“I…” Your thighs shuffled. Your hips gave a little squirm. It felt good, but it wasn’t enough. Keigo cracked an eye and lifted his chin, sensing a problem.

“What’s the matter?”

“I just…” Your cheeks went hot. You licked your lips. “I can’t move.”

His gaze cast downward, to the place where you were joined. He took in the press of your thighs, the curve of your neck. He snorted.

“No, you can’t. C’mere, kid, I gotcha.” He planted that palm on your ass again, drawing your hips forward and up, as far as you could take them. Your head and neck bowed with the rest of your back as he draped your upper body over his chest and held you tightly against him.

Then he planted his feet and gave one good, deep thrust. Your innards gave a jerk. Oh, fuck.

“That’s it,” you panted into his ear. He nodded tensely.

“Yeah?” He prompted. “That’s workin’ for ya? Alright, alright. We’ve got this, kid, c’mon. Lemme show you somethin’ good, okay?”

One thrust sent you spiralling. But the rhythm that he dove into- steady, tough, fluid- sent every nerve through your body into meltdown. You were entirely incapable of dealing with such pleasure, combined with the emotions that swirled through your lovestruck brain.

It felt as though you had been holding out needlessly for all this time. Like all the hurt and frustration and heartbreak you shed over him would be evaporated, now that you understood that he wanted you like this, too.

Like that was all there was. You, Hawks, and the free love you could now share.

“I’m n-not-“ Keigo stuttered, piping up after a series of breathless pants and airy groans, “n-not gonna last much longer, kid, you’re… really gonna make me feel it.”

“Yeah,” you breathed back. You looped your arms tightly around his neck, tilting your hips forward. You could feel the barest hint of stimulation when your clit brushed his belly, so you leaned into it- aching for your own release.

His rhythm doubled as the intensity of your pleasure spiked dangerously high, and when you gripped him hard and rocked your hips in time with his, there was a low, warning pull that echoed all the way up to your throat. You were close. Very close.

Your head dropped backward and Keigo leaned forward, drawing his mouth up the vulnerable column of your throat. He panted hard and heavy against your pulse point.

“That’s it, kid, that’s fuckin’ it, baby, oh, God, I’m g-gonna f-fucking… I- shit, I- can’t… fffuck!”

Keigo let a vicious roar tear from his throat as he reached his vibrant peak. His erratic thrusts brought you to a tight little climax, too, and you clung to him and whined and rode through the pleasure as he fucked madly up inside you, spurting messy shots of cum into your depths.

Gravity took hold of his pleasure, dripping it onto his shaft and pooling it in a sloppy mess between you. And when it was all finally over, you collapsed against his body and you both stayed, airless and spent, wrapped tightly around one another.

It was the bright flash of headlights on the back of his neck that brought you to the surface, moments later.

The inside of the car was warm and stuffy and damp. Had you just come in from outside, you might have realized that it reeked of sex. Sweat and breath and fluid and feeling. The windows were near-opaque, fogged by the dampness of your lovemaking.

It was a moment you might have loved to capture, if you weren’t about to be so rudely interrupted.

The light in your rear windshield was bright white and flashing orange. Unmistakable.

“The tow truck,” you wheezed, scrambling off of Keigo’s lap. “Oh, fuck.”

“Get dressed,” he muttered weakly, already scrambling to get himself cleaned up and decent. He was far more dressed than you were, so you did your best to climb back into the passenger’s seat and slide back into your own clothes. You banged your shin hard on the center console, and your head on the ceiling as your body flailed in retaliation. You crumpled into the front seat and nearly kneed yourself in the mouth trying to scramble back into your pants.

By the time you climbed out of the car, fully dressed, with a few additional bruises, Hawks was already standing on the shoulder, talking to the driver. The driver was wagering a few guesses on what might be wrong with the car. Hawks’ eyes had already glazed over.

“Hey,” he greeted, as he spotted you emerging over his shoulder. He introduced you quietly to the driver before the ballcap-wearing, bearded man spoke again.

“Yeah,” he gruffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll give you a lift to garage nearby. It’s kinda late, but he keeps weird hours. I bet he’ll take a look for you, it’s prob’ly an easy fix.”

“That sounds great,” you gushed, clasping your palms together. There was a lot of stiffness settling in around your hips and thighs. You couldn’t be sure if it was a result of the compromising position you’d nearly been discovered in or the whole lot of not moving you’d done for hours before that.

Either way, it felt good to stretch your legs.

“You c’n go ahead and hop in the back,” the driver directed, waving the key that Keigo had apparently already given him in indication. “I’ll get you hooked up, no problem.”

Keigo opened the truck door for you, and you climbed over the passenger’s seat into the back. He followed closely behind you, tugging the door shut and slouching into the opposite side.

You sat in silence; hands clasped between your knees. A confusing air settled between you.

You felt vulnerable and raw and moony. You wanted to hold his hand and curl up to him in the back seat. Kiss his cheeks and tell him how good it was, tell him how much you felt.

For you, though, it could never be that simple. There was no free love for heroes like you.

Pay later, always.

Keigo felt the weight of your gaze. He turned to meet your eyes and shot you a thin smile. You’d seen the look that he’d turned to hide from you, though.

The truck driver climbed into the front seat before words could pass between you. But you didn’t need to hear them to know what they were going to be.

You didn’t need a warning to understand what Monday morning at the agency was going to look like.

#hawks x reader #hawks #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks x you #takami keigo x you #boku no hero academia #mha fanfic #my hero academia #bnha fanfic

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bloodypapercut · 3 years

Text

a new weasley

request: hey! I love your writings and if requests are open, I would like to request reader x Fred where they have to tell sirius black (reader’s dad) that they are expecting a baby. If you feel too uncomfortable by this, it’s alright you can change it however you want!

hiya! it’s been a long time since I've posted anything, sorry for that school is tormenting me. but here it is! enjoy, and please take care of your beautiful selves.

(requests are open)

tw: none :)

word count: 2.2k

“Check.” Fred grinned triumphantly, wiggling his brows as he nodded towards the rook he had just moved to the left. Groaning defeatedly Y/N languidly reached for her king, but as her nimble fingers brushed against the oak piece a wave of overwhelming nausea consumed her. It was unrelenting and seemingly uncontrollable, so much so that she expelled herself from the armchair she was earlier sinking into and dashed to the washroom down the hall.

“You alright there lovebug?”

“Yeah, must’ve been the horrid breakfast you made this morn-” Before she could finish her mediocre teasing quip, she was quickly cut off by violent hurling. As she heard Fred’s quickly approaching footsteps echoing in the hallway, she hastily tried to recuperate her composure. To no avail Fred barged in, catching his girlfriend gasping for air and coughing violently.

“Freddie, get out.” She rasped hoarsely, feebly pushing him out the door.

“C’mon just let it out so we can clean you up.” He smiled softly, kneeling next to her. He softly gathered her hair and rubbed her back, a clear indication that he didn’t mind seeing her in this state and that he wasn’t leaving. Knowing how obdurate her partner was she sighed and squeezed his hand, a silent gesture of her gratification that he was comforting her.

After what felt like hours of retching, which in reality was about 10 minutes, Y/N felt fine and started to wash her face and brush her teeth. As she peered into the mirror she felt a sudden rush of overwhelming realization which resulted in fear and panic.

“I’ll be back love, okay? M’just gonna see ‘Mione real quick, forgot something at her place.” She hollered in a rushed manner as she slipped out of the door, pulling her coat on and her shoes over her mismatched socks.

-----

“Mione, Mione, please open the door. Merlin, this can’t be happening.” She muttered to herself as she hammered on the oak door of her and Ron’s shared flat. The aged wood convulsed as her fist collided with its surface incessantly.

“Y/N? What’s gotten you all riled up?” The wavy-haired girl raised a quizzical brow and quickly dragged Y/N into the living room by her sleeve.

After she explained everything Hermione was left in a state of tumult, excitement, and fear for her best friend. She was beyond happy for her but at the same time, she didn’t know how to process what was in front of her. To be fair Hermione was one to plan everything, to have every step of the way meticulously revised and perfected, and hearing that her best friend, who was the same age as her, could be pregnant sent her into shock. Despite how taken aback she was she had to compose herself and be there for her best friend. She swallowed hard and dabbed the stray tears off of Y/N’s cheeks, pushing her hair behind her ears so she could look into her eyes.

“Y/N, this is fine, this is going to okay alright? Fred will be ecstatic, he loves you to bits. You have so many people right by your side, ready to do whatever you need at the drop of a hat, okay? If you’re pregnant then that’s okay, it’s all up to you, whatever you want to do.” She stroked the tendrils of hair that framed Y/N’s flushed face, taking deep breaths that Y/N would mirror her composure and try to calm down.

“I have a test, you can take it here or you can take it at home, let me get it.” As Hermione rummaged through the drawers under the sink, Y/N took a tentative breath, contemplating how she was going to tell Fred. Sure, Fred was great around children and always talked about having “hundreds and hundreds” of kids with Y/N, but it was all too sudden, so much was happening. With Fred and George’s newfound success, Y/N still studying to become a healer, and Sirius still catching up with Y/N after years of being apart, she didn’t know how being pregnant would have an impact on all of this.

“Here dove, you feeling a bit better?” Hermione, being the kind-hearted and understanding witch she was, stroked her back soothingly and stayed by her side until Y/N’s tears subsided.

“Thanks, angel, I think I’m gonna take the test at home. I’ll write you, yeah?”

“Of course, love you.” She smiled softly.

“Love you too.” She reciprocated and slipped through the front door.

-----

“Freddie, I’m home. Hello?” Her voice echoed throughout the flat, she tried to appear unfazed and calm, but her voice was an octave higher than it usually was, a telltale sign she was extremely nervous and shaken.

“Hello, love! You alright there, you sound like you did in year 3.”

“Sod off Fred. Let me just go to the washroom and I’ll continue beating your ass in chess.”

“Mhmm, says the girl who ran as soon as I said check.”

She snickered and rushed to the washroom. Eagerly she fumbled with the box and hastily read to instructions. Her hands shook and with tense shoulders, she looked into the mirror. Glancing at herself in the mirror felt so surreal, the possibility that she was carrying Fred’s child still felt so bittersweet.

After taking the test, she sat in front of Fred, trying to distract herself by watching him move his pawn forward. Even after minutes of trying to avert her attention completely to that exact moment the thoughts still wracked deeply in her mind, scratching every ridge and creek of her brain. She was so busy imaging every scenario possible she didn’t even take into account how standoffish Fred was. She moved her queen to the left and smiled meekly.

“Checkmate.”

“Yeah, good job Y/N.” He muttered, his voice being muffled by his hand. He seemed to be lost in space, his eyes focused anywhere but on Y/N and he shook the table by his foot repeatedly bouncing on the floor, causing the wooden chess pieces to shift ever so slightly.

“What’s wrong? You never let me win without an objection.” It remained silent.

“Freddie?” He projected himself from the seat opposite of her and rushed to wrap his arms around her waist. He spun her around and kissed her forehead repeatedly, it was unrelenting and sweet. After minutes of littering kisses all over her face, Fred set her on the floor again and looked down at her since he towered over her.

“You’re pregnant...well might be, right?”

“Yeah...how’d you know?” She spoke in a meer whisper.

“I just figured, put two and two together y’know, then I phoned mum and well... then it was pretty obvious.” Fred spoke meekly, but his smile was starting to form as he saw Y/N relax her shoulders and lean into his chest. His heart swelled at the sight, seeing the girl he valued so deeply and loved the most in the world leaning into him, letting her head rest against his beating heart. At that moment they felt untouchable, nothing could tarnish the mutual excitement and adoration the two shared. Without a word Y/N led him to the washroom, squeezing his hand in anticipation.

“Go on.” She hides her face behind her sleeves, waiting for him to rip the bandaid off. He peers at the stick on the counter, steadying his breath and biting his lip, the unbearable suspense dangling over his head.

“Merlin…” He turned to Y/N with the largest grin on his face, the corners of his lips curling upwards in a way that they never have before.

“We’re going to be parents...us. I’m gonna raise a child with you.” He lifted her and spun her around, their giggles and weeps of joy creating a symphony of pure joy and exaltation. He frantically speckled kisses all over her face once again, he pushed her hair back to admire her face. Even as tears cascaded down the apples of her cheeks, to her cupid bow, down to her chin he couldn’t resist the urge to admire her beauty. The girl that had bewitched his being, the girl who was always there, the witty and sharp-tongued girl who fit so perfectly with him, was going to be the mother of his child. Together they would raise a beautiful human being, they would show them the great things in life, they’d teach him morals and values, they’d bring them everywhere and let them explore every corner of the world. He beamed at the mere thought of them sitting by the fire, surrounded by everyone they loved, basking in the pure delegation of being altogether.

He jumped around a little bit longer before turning to Y/N again and carrying her off to their bedroom. Y/N wrapped herself in their comforter, letting the warmth engulf her. Fred busied himself with playing vinyl on their player before rushing to her side. She sat with her back against the headboard while he was on his stomach.

“Knock, knock.” He whispered to her belly, causing Y/N to laugh. He continued to whisper to her stomach, expressing his love and excitement to meet whoever was in there. Though Fred was a very sentimental and affectionate person never had Y/N seen him in such a vulnerable and emotional state. It made her heart swell, and her mind started imagining all the things Fred would do for their child. It all played so clearly in her head, the sight of Fred running around the flat with their child giggling in his arms, their child yawning and snuggling closer into Fred’s chest while he reads softly to them, Fred brushing their hair and hugging them tightly before tucking them into bed. All of it brought a smile to her face, and she couldn’t help but cry again.

----

A month later

“Y/N, Y/N, Merlin oh Y/N!” Fred spewed frantically as he ran into the living room, only with a purple towel hanging around his waist.

“What?” She asked in a dragged-out and exasperated manner.

“Your dad.” He griped, his voice making the presence of his fear and dread very clear.

“Mhm real nice guy, what’s the problem.” Y/N shrugged nonchalantly and continued reading her book.

“He’s going to kill me! He’s going to murder me!”

‘What on earth are you on about, darling?” Amused with the clear distress on his freckled face, she got up and pushed back the damp tendrils of hair that fell in front of his eyes.

“Your father will murder me...when we tell him you’re expecting, he’ll know that we, you know....”

“What?”

“Did it.” He whispered while shaking her shoulders. Y/N threw her head back in laughter and pecked his cheek with a chaste kiss.

“C’mon Freddie, let’s get dressed.” She continued chuckling while tugging at the towel around his waist, guiding him to their bedroom. Her apathy towards his panic only led to him grousing even more.

----

“Darling! It’s wonderful to see you!” Sirius hugged Y/N tightly, lifting her a couple of inches above the floor and squeezing her even harder. His excitement and adoration for her were palpable. He felt so lucky to be able to see her so often and without fear.

“Oh and Fred, hello there...you look pale, maybe try going out some more.” He quipped playfully and shook his hand before embracing him. Fred’s eyes widened behind Sirius’ shoulder and he mouthed “Merlin help me,” much to the amusement of Y/N.

The dining room of 12 Grimmauld Place was bustling with joyous laughter and clinking silverware, creating a pleasant cacophony of comfort and familiarity. The mahogany table in the center of the room was lined with seats that were filled by Remus, Tonks, all the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione. As soon as Fred and Y/N entered the room, it fell silent. Everyone’s eyes bore into them, with utter fascination and excitement. Y/N eyed down Hermione, who only widened her eyes and pointed to Ron. In return, he only offered an awkward wave as he scratched his biceps, feigning false nonchalance.

Hours passed, filled with Fred bouncing his foot repeatedly, much to the annoyance of everyone at the table, and Sirius shooting confused looks in his daughter's direction. It wasn’t until Sirius projected himself from his chair and dragged Fred out of the room by his sleeve. His eyes shone with utter horror and peril as Sirius waited expectantly for him to say something. After minutes of silence which seemed like hours to the both of them, Sirius broke the silence.

“C’mon Fred, just say it, it ain’t all bad.” He encouraged softly, patting his shoulder. He never wanted someone who he considered family, someone he considered his son to be scared to tell him anything.

“I just want to hear it from you.” “Well...er, well you know…” He twiddled his thumbs anxiously. Sirius placed his hands on top of his fidgety ones, offering him a supportive look.

“Y/N...is pregnant...with my- well our child.” Fred slapped himself internally, this was nothing like him, being so tongue-tied. Sirius’ face contorted in a series of different emotions, within seconds it seemed he has progressed through all the stages of grief.

“Well that’s lovely, isn’t it? Stop being so glum this is amazing.” Sirius embraced Fred, squeezing him so tightly he thought he might pass out. Slowly Fred reciprocated the hug, finding comfort and relief in the fact that Sirius was supportive and as excited as he was.

“Merlin...I can’t believe it, another Weasley. Soon enough there’ll be millions of you.”

The rest of the night was filled with laughter, excited chatter, and joyous discussions about the new coming baby. That night 12 Grimmauld Place was the liveliest and brightest home in the world.

#fred weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley x reader #weasley twins #fred weasley one shot #harry potter #fred weasley fluff

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So You Want To Play A Fairest

(Portrait of Erin Peters by cantankerousAquarius. The character originally appeared in Night Horrors: Grim Fears, published by White Wolf; catch my take on her in New Avalon)

Previous Articles: So You Want To Play A Beast, So You Want To Play A Wizened, So You Want To Play An Elemental, So You Want To Play An Ogre, & So You Want To Play A Darkling

You ever wonder, flipping through a Monster Manual for D&D, or a Bestiary for Pathfinder, why nymphs and hags are both always, always, women? It’s older than you know. Dig into the sordid history of tabletops and you’ll find sylphs that Gary Gygax wrote, Chaotic charmers who use mind control to reproduce with non-sylph men; you’ll find the legacy of the matriarchal drow, who follow a mad goddess, and you’ll find the medusae, whose sexual dimorphism is so complete that their men are beautiful and can turn stone into people.

Dredge deeper and you’ll find the tales that Gygax and his wretched ilk based such creatures off of.

You ever wonder why we assign such powerful Gender to creatures of beauty and horror?

Fairest don’t. They know, every time they wake up from a nightmare that is also a wet dream. They know, every time they get hit on at the bar and have to decide how they’re playing this. They know, every time they look in a mirror and see not their own face, but the ten thousand horrors that made it beautiful.

If you are very patient, and lucky, and kind, they might tell you why.

If you aren’t, they may show you.

This article draws primarily on Changeling: the Lost and Winter Masques, as well as Swords at Dawn and Night Horrors: Grim Fears. Other sources, when used, will be cited. It requires Content Warnings for sexual violence, sexual slavery, abuse, gaslighting, addiction, substance abuse, self-harm, self-image problems, mentions of fascists & fascist ideology, and just, so very much incel bullshit.

Bonus Material Part Two: The Seeming Part

The end of this article, just past the customary Sample Fairest, will include some additional material intended to help you select a Seeming for your character and otherwise build them up as one of the Lost, much as So You Want To Run A Spring Court included material for Courts as a topic.

Take Me To Wonderland - Fairest Overview

Fairest is the fourth Seeming presented in Changeling: the Lost and possibly the most confused about its own identity. Its sections in Winter Masques present depths and nuance that are completely absent in core, essentially making Winter Masques required reading for Fairest players in a way that no other book is - especially since Fairest keep getting written in a particular way alluded to in the Ogre article, which I will expand on later in this article. Fairest is numerically well-represented in canon and popular in the fanbase, home to many memorable character concepts, but its bones with folklore and tradition are weaker than it fronts as.

Ogres and Darklings claim an innate relationship to physical violence; so too do the Fairest claim a relationship to violence. The violence of Perception and its dark twin, Judgement; of Rumor and its mad dog, Prejudice, the violence of Lies and their merciless master, Truth. Fairest, alone among the Lost, have casual access to the resources of a society that refuses to service or acknowledge Changelings, and with access to that society comes both opportunity and temptation. To be Fairest is to wield power that many other Lost cannot, but the opportunity that power offers is a lie; a Fairest can smile until her face breaks like a mirror, but she’ll never be “sane” enough for the masses to see her as anything but a useful pet.

Life’s Lush Lips - Homecoming As A Fairest

Fairest can make the dubious claim of having the least clear memories of Arcadia amongst all the Lost, with Darklings and Beasts jockeying for second place. This isn’t to say that the experiences Fairest have are necessarily more intense or more inherently traumatic than that of other Lost, but rather that the abuse Fairest suffer is so emotional, so targeted at their perception of their selves and their situations and their self-image, that the memories which do form are inevitably colored by those emotions, coloring the dreams they have of Arcadia with both the emotional resonances they had at the time and with their later attempts to grapple with their own trauma and transformation. For many Fairest, who cannot trust even their strongest memory dreams, attempts to understand their own Durance must rely either on the word of their Keepers (and Faeries lie, oh, how they lie), or on reverse-engineering their own behavior to try and conceive of a trauma that could cause it.

Inevitably, however, some things are seared into their minds. For almost all Fairest, their Keeper is high on the list of things they remember with absolute clarity. Other facts, shattered and scattered, vary more widely. Erin Peters remembers stretched years kept in a cold, dark room lit only by her own hatred; every detail of her cell is scorched onto the back of her eyes, but the otherworldly balls her Keeper took her to blur together like food coloring in syrup. The slaves of the Candle Countess have terrible nightmares of the choices they were confronted with, the decision, offered over and over again, to become complicit in the Countess’s cruelty or to be victimized by it. Metallic Flowering from the Shining City struggle not to use drugs to mimic the rush of pleasure they’ve grown used to receiving for performing their jobs well; they also scream in terror if people touch them. A Draconic and a Shadowsoul both remember being used for the sexual pleasure of alien horrors; the one dreams of coiled scales and terrible teeth, the other a lifetime of lurking in an alien maze, tasked to perform the duties of a living trap for the “wicked” and “unwary” who had not yet shed the last vestiges of kindness.

There are no “wild” Fairest. For worse and worse still, to be Fairest is to have been defined by the inescapable and all-consuming attentions of your abuser, and it is this more than anything that other Lost so often fail to understand about the Fairest. Their Keepers heap them with reward and punishment, manipulating the Fairest with honeyed praise, godly wrath, gaslighting, neglect, withholding food, wondrous rewards, drugs from beyond the realms of earthly pleasure, and other hooks and crooks designed to make the Fairest dependent upon their abuser. It is hideously effective, and the first obstacle, maybe even the mightiest, that a Fairest faces to their escape is the simple horror and joy of being alone again. Their masters will try other tricks to keep them in place - tempting them with pleasures, horrific punishments, oh-so-sincere apologies - but before a Fairest can escape into the Hedge she must face, in her mind’s eye, the lonely flight back to the Iron Lands.

The memories that draw Fairest home often have parallels to their experiences in Arcadia. A slave in the Shining City bites into an otherworldly pastry and recalls her grandmother’s pie in its place; the bride of the Demon Lover, curled up under the sheets, thinks about the broken smile of the boyfriend she left behind at home. A Dancer remembers the roller rink where he fell in love with skating, while across the endless tides of the Fairest of Lands, a Shadowsoul holds on like grim death to years of work at haunted houses, scaring kids for fun and for Halloween. Fairest, so famous for their skill at words, struggle to articulate to other Lost why this should be so. Darklings assume it’s because these memories are less intense than Arcadia, and that the Fairest are fleeing to safety. Beasts get it a bit more right by thinking that these memories taste like home. The truth of the matter is that those memories have an intrinsic and nameless meaning; the highs and lows of Arcadia are divine, flawless, absolute, and therefore worthless. They are the proclamations of merciless gods. What draws the Fairest home, more than pain and pleasure they can have on their own terms, is the understanding that those gestures - for weal or for woe or for anything else besides - were made because someone cared about them, personally. Once they fully internalize that their abuser views them as disposable, the Fairest comes home to someone who won’t.

Three Kiths And Flowering Is One And A Half Of Them - Fairest Kiths

Yeah we’re about to be like that about it.

All Fairest can excel in the social arena; their Blessing can be used to flare almost every social roll in the game, and Fairest can never be caught off-guard in a social context (they suffer no untrained penalties to social rolls). With the sole exception of Empathy (usually rolled with Wits) and sometimes Streetwise, there’s no time a Fairest can’t fall back on their words and expect to win through or at least buy time. This is, as you might imagine, a godsend when it comes to attempts to pass in mortal society; Fairest can usually front, charm, bluff, or Manners(tm) their way through things like renting an apartment, nailing a job interview, asking their roommate to do the FUCKING DISHES, or getting stopped by a cop, but both the books and the fanbase miss something here. While Fairest are superb at active social events, they’re no better at keeping a lid on themselves (Composure-based rolls) than mortals are - and given both the nature of their trauma and the fact that they are, you know, Lost, Fairest have a lot more to keep a lid on day-to-day than the human society they’re trying to blend into. Thankfully, Fairest are pretty good at being able to politely leave a situation and go somewhere else to scream, shout, cry, or have a psychotic break, as appropriate.

Of course, Fairest can’t make something from nothing. As discussed in So You Want To Play An Ogre, you can’t win a social game someone else refuses to sit down to, and social rolls shouldn’t be mind control. All the Glamour in the world can’t make your roommate do the FUCKING DISHES if they’re deep in the throes of executive dysfunction, nor can it make the cashier at Walgreens fail to card you for wine when their computer literally won’t advance without an ID. People who are keyed up about honeyed words or whose own trauma came at the hands of manipulators and abusers might refuse to play that game on the terms the Fairest is setting, which makes it hard to, as it were, turn this problem into a nail. Lurking down this path as well is the specter of becoming like the masters who made you this way; if you get used to saying what will get people to listen to you, eventually you start seeing people as enrichment puzzles that dispense the things you want. Madness waits down that road, and it waits for Fairest with a giant spiked bat, thanks to their Seeming Curse.

There’s no pretty way to say this so I won’t: Fairest are always on the verge of losing their minds. Their curse hits them with a flat penalty to all rolls against losing Clarity, which means that Fairest lose Clarity faster than other Lost and they do so more consistently. This necessitates a balancing act with avoiding becoming heartless manipulators; Fairest must engage in control-seeking behavior in order to stay mentally well, must be able to trust and rely on people close to them, structure their lives, and anticipate important changes or they end up on the fast way down. Other Lost often don’t understand this need or the Fairest curse to begin with, and so Fairest end up in unofficial support groups for one another, similar to those run by Darklings except no one will admit it’s a support group even at gunpoint. Woe fucking betide the friend or life partner who gets between a Fairest and her “book club”, “girls’ night”, “D&D campaign”, or other excuse for this vital community support.

Fairest Kiths are...bad. They’re bad. This is the part of the article where I’m supposed to talk about thematics and symbolism and metaphor, and I cannot do that here, because they are bad. Fairest has three viable Kiths that are actual Fairest Kiths, one that’s a Beast Kith who got lost and wound up here by fucking mistake, and a pile of garbage bigger than my self-esteem problems. I’m almost tempted to only talk about those four Kiths and save myself the time but I suppose I should show the work like I’ve done for all the other Seemings, so here we fuckin’ go I guess.

Flowering - This is it. This is the Fairest Kith. If you want to roll any other kind of Fairest you must first pass the trial of justifying why you’re not playing Flowering. In theory, Flowering draws its mythic heritage from nymphs and dryads, charming flower sprites, Knights of Flowers, and the like, but in practice Flowering’s only mechanical effect is 9-again on Persuasion, Socialize, and Subterfuge with no qualification or requirement, which doesn’t just make you better at everything Fairest is good at, it makes you better when you spend Glamour to flare it too. Want to represent a biobahn sith’s hypnotic dance? Flowering works. Want to create a vampiric Fairest with a sultry voice? Here comes Flowering. The siren at the bar who smells like sea air and gunpowder? Flowering. Everything is Flowering. Even the things that aren’t Flowering are Flowering because all Fairest Kiths have a social focus, which is Flowering’s undisputed arena of mastery.

Bright One - In theory, Bright Ones represent beings of light in the vein of Victorian fey (which...ugh...Victorians), but their Goblin Illumination is, how you say, useless, only becoming vaguely useful for a total of 2 Glamour as a passive defense that took you 2 turns to set up. Anything you want to represent here can be found in Flowering and with Elements or Communion (Light).

Dancer - You know how Flowering gives you bonuses on all social rolls? Would you like those same bonuses but on 1 less skill and only on rolls that “involve physical grace”? No? Run Flowering here and give your character a Dance specialty in one or more skills.

Draconic - One of the game’s premier melee options and a Beast Kith who took a wrong turn and ended up getting a free makeover intended for someone else. Draconic in theory represents Fairest as dragons, monster girls, demons, and in general at their most physical, but that idea sorta...falls down a bit? Draconic’s bonuses are all about Brawl and all the sample Draconics are swordsmen, which might suggest to the discerning reader that someone in the office wasn’t reading their own fucking game. Draconic Fairest don’t make bad melee boys if you invest in Lethal Mien, but honestly this is Dual Kith bait; slap it on your Hunterheart or your Razorhand and go apeshit.

Muse - Close but no cigar. In theory Muses are, well, muses; figures of inspiration, mentorship, teaching, creative fire. Their Kith Blessing is strong but requires access to mortals, which is complicated and roundabout on the best of days. If you have an idea that you think is Muse-shaped, use Playmate instead.

Flamesiren - Behold, we enter the realm of Okay(tm). Flamesirens are what Bright Ones wanted to be, and their hypnotic aura is actually a pretty neat tool; with cunning you can make it a one-sided penalty, and even if you don’t it’s an interesting method of de-escalating a social or combat situation by subjecting everyone to the tar pit that is your presence. If your concept involves light and color and you’re resistant to Flowering, Flamesiren will do more than nothing.

Polychromatic - Polychromatics don’t have a lot of roots in mythology; their modern inspirations are, well, Manic Pixie Dream Girls. But they get a shout-out here for being the only Fairest Kith who can muster up decent emotional defenses; not only can they magically boost their Composure rolls (and non-Composure rolls to resist magical and mundane emotional attacks for that matter), but others get a flat penalty to Empathy rolls against them, which makes them talented dissemblers. You’re still probably better off with Flowering - in a world of passive Kith Blessings, Polychromatic’s is extra passive - but I can see this Kith passing muster, and even being worth the two dots to Dual Kith in-house.

Shadowsoul - This one’s insane. Ostensibly Fairest Does Darkling, Shadowsouls get their Wyrd to Intimidate rolls which could be the whole Kith on its own and still be worth the slot, but in addition to that they get 9-again on Subterfuge (matching Flowering and Darklings there) and access to Contracts of Darkness, one of the most powerful in the game line, as an Affinity Contract. Is your Fairest spooky? Would you like them to be spooky? Here’s your one-stop shop.

Telluric - This is a Kith made of ribbon bonuses. In theory related to stars and celestial light, Telluric’s bonuses to rolls “with precise timing” isn’t...really worth considering. Run ‘em as Flamesiren and move on.

Treasured - In theory also able to muster emotional defenses, Treasured are Fairest who are literally made into works of art. They’re Okay(tm) but in their niche are beaten out by Polychromatic with a better effect for less resources.

Playmate - The last Real Fairest Kith(tm), Playmate appears in Night Horrors: Grim Fears where White Wolf tries to sell it as Peter Pan, but its powerful team-oriented bonuses mean that Playmates are useful anywhere Muse is wanted and more places besides. The front woman of an indie rock band could be a Playmate; so too could be an idealized baseball captain, the director at your local theater, the middle manager of a sinister conspiracy, or the night shift lead at a research lab. Do people do a thing in teams? Playmate does that thing.

And She Had Huge Titties, I Mean Massive Badondadonks, Absolutely Enormous Bazoggahoggas - Lost’s Canon Fairest

Remember when I said we had to get back to this after So You Want To Play An Ogre? Now we’re getting back to this. I’m not gonna re-state my caveats from that article and I’m not really gonna go back over the bit about So White Wolf Was Run By Fucking Nazis because, in all honesty, I do not have the fucking time to restate all of that in new words. Give thanks that OPP got out alive and let’s get right down to it.

Fairest have a very consistent characterization in canon that is only really challenged in Winter Masques; the narrative put forth in Lost is that Fairest, being attractive, have an uncomplicated power which privileges their lives. Which is a rather bloodless way to describe how White Wolf kept writing and publishing Fairest as heartless abusers and manipulators getting their jollies and emotional needs met by casually destroying their fellow survivors, manipulating them through sex appeal, outright lies, cattiness, cruelty, and betrayal. Much as simply queering Ogre does not help Ogre in and of itself, queering Fairest only takes you from incel and Nazi propaganda about women into...incel and Nazi propaganda about twinks, femmes, & in general anyone with the temerity to be found attractive by straight white people.

I’m not bitter, you’re bitter.

So what do you do at your table, with your Fairest concept? Lemme open up by saying that like, Fairest qua Fairest is perfectly solid, and if it wasn’t there wouldn’t be an article here; Fairest has a lot to say for itself about feminized violence, about your personhood being reduced to a product for the consumption of others, about emotional abuse & neglect, gaslighting, and sexual assault, but the conclusion White Wolf arrives at (”Fairest have unalloyed power over mortal and Lost society and they abuse that power”) is super fucking obtuse and betrays a serious lack of concern for what the Fairest undergo. It ignores the way a Fairest’s ordeals will force her to confront her relationship to her own gender and alter her willingness and ability to be consumed, disconnect her from her former society while also isolating her from her new one, and these questions are important for you if you’re looking to play a ‘classic’ Fairest.

But that leaves some hanging questions. Male Fairest face the almost inescapable fate of “failing” maleness on patriarchal terms; even the most strapping, broad-chested, athletic Adonis of a Fairest has become a man of layered words and reflexive empathy, whose Manly Stoicism(tm) is a cracking facade at best and entirely abandoned in a more typical circumstance. Men who become Fairest thus face a second journey after their escape from Arcadia; confronting what being men means to them and building their gender identity back up from the rubble it’s become. The temptation to accept success on society’s terms is always going to be present, and it’s always going to be offered like it’s possible, but it’s a losing game for these Fairest; they simply cannot be the men that other men demand they become.

Now, the discerning and loyal reader is surely about to ask, hey Vox, where’s the butch Fairest I was promised back in the Ogre article, to which I respond WE’RE GETTING THERE but I gotta use this as a bridge to talk about something that cuts across Fairest of all genders, be they cis or trans. Lost 1e makes a lot of hay out of the idea that Fairest “are rarely conventionally attractive”, and core even provides some interesting written concepts for that...which make it into exactly none of the art. Every published Fairest is conventionally attractive for various definitions of conventional, be it as a supermodel or a waif, but that leaves the question of Fairest who genuinely are not - and, tragically, Fairest who were not, and were then made into someone more easily consumed by their Durance. You know what I’m about to say, and I know you know I’m about to say it, but I’m gonna say it anyway: all bodies are beautiful, but Fairest know well that beauty and attraction aren’t the same, and neither are beauty and happiness. All Fairest, from the roundest bear to the most wide-eyed waif, are the products of Keepers who valued their bodies in that state, and that idea is going to haunt them day in and day out for the rest of their extended lives. There is no such thing as a Fairest with an uncomplicated relationship to their body, and that White Wolf seems to think that an uncomplicated relationship is their default state is...disgusting, frankly.

Which brings us, at long last, to butch Fairest (also bear Fairest but I’m gonna stick with the one set of terms or I’m going to go mad and this will never be published), who have a complicated journey ahead of them. On the one hand, the assertion of control and ownership over their own bodies, their own identities, cannot be overstated. On the other hand, elements of those bodies are going to be completely out of their control; a nascent butch Fairest may well hit the gym to get swole only to discover that she literally, physically cannot, that she has been Assigned Dex Build At Durance. Hauling your corpse out of Arcadia with an extremely feminine appearance shaped by your Keeper might complicate attempts to present in a more masculine manner or even just to appear androgynous, and those complications can be discouraging. For those that stick to it, this journey will take them two places; one is the bared-teeth, bloody-knuckled assertion that this life is theirs and you can have it if you can fucking take it, and the other is into the ranks of the Freehold’s retained warriors, usually in Summer or Autumn, though a vibrant representation of Spring knights will make it seem as if Spring has more butch Fairest than it actually does. These Fairest are aware, or will become aware, of how much of their job involves de-escalating or pre-empting violence; a focus on Physical stats or skills is not necessarily common, but hyper-specialization therein likely is. A butch Fairest is a lot more likely to have, say, Brawl 4 (Multiple Opponents) and no other Physical skills than she is to have Brawl, Weaponry, Athletics, and Stealth, in part or in whole because her first weapon of choice is going to be an Intimidate roll.

At every turn you’re able to, challenge White Wolf’s narrative about Fairest by asking yourself what your Fairest wants, why they’re this way, what they’re frightened of, and how the way they behave relates back to these. They’re not products; they’re people, just as hurt and Lost as the rest of their peers.

Princesses And Pastries - Fairest In The Courts

Fairest have a complex relationship to the society of their fellow Lost. On the one hand, they have the same need for community, support, companionship, understanding, honesty, and material aid as all Lost; a Fairest is not magically proof against being homeless, against starving, against the dangers of existing in the modern world without things like a photo ID or car insurance, and Freeholds provide all of these things. On the other hand, the thing most Fairest fear most, even if they can’t articulate that fear, is their own power - social influence, emotional trust and betrayal, status, political power, and authority. Fairest are all too aware that being good at this game does not make them immune to it - after all, that’s the lesson they learned at the hands of their Keepers.

What follows from this is a complex dance of interactions that each Fairest in some ways has to feel like she’s managing on her own, even if she’s not (and she rarely is; those support groups exist for a reason). If you give a Fairest a doughnut in a social setting, she will lick that doughnut even if she doesn’t intend to eat it right away, solely to hear someone else say something along the lines of “well it’s yours now”. As Fairest filter into Freehold society and take up social roles at all levels of power - officers, messengers, ‘ambassadors’ to mortal society, secretaries, pledge-smiths, teachers, monarchs - their responsibilities and rewards become their doughnut. That Fairest make a big deal out of both their job and the benefits that come with it is rarely, as other Lost sometimes think, about aggrandizement or reveling in power for its own sake; it’s about the sheer relief and assurance of hearing someone say, to the Fairest’s face, that this is her doughnut and no one is going to take it from her.

Younger Fairest tend to flit between two or three Courts; their initial selection may be based entirely on friendships, Vibes, or a gut-check decision based on an initial pitch by that Court, and Fairest can go quite far even in a Court that doesn’t quite actually fit their needs. Eventually, though, those Fairest who survive their youth will gravitate towards a Court whose ideals speak to them, even if its current social order isn’t living up to those ideals. If they’re going to be condemned to live as exiles in the world of their birth, the Fairest can at least be the person she wants to be, god damn it. Fairest aren’t any more or less vulnerable to a toxic Court environment than other Lost, but they’re good at detecting it beforehand. Unfortunately they’re also good at telling themselves they can change it.

Spring - Though early Spring joiners are of course rare in general, Fairest are among those Lost who more commonly choose Spring as a first Court. Spring’s highly social focus and chaotic internal organization is almost tailor-made for the skill set of your average Fairest, but therein too lies a sense of threat; for many Fairest, Spring can remind them of their Durance, and their joining of the Court is as much motivated by fear of a powerful cultural body as it is by any genuine Desire, maybe even more so. Many such Fairest end up caught in Spring’s middle-road trap, spinning their wheels without recovering or worsening more or less until they finally die, but when Autumn can sniff out the fearful ones it puts a lot of work into cooperating with Spring to get them out and where they can be helped.

Summer - More Fairest dabble with Summer for dreams of glory, or because they want to believe in Summer’s apolitical sales pitch, than ultimately stick with Summer. Those that do stay often serve as officers, as the Sun’s Tongue or the Arrayer of Distant Thunder, and as Court sorcerers. Fairest skilled in Contracts of Separation can make for surprising Jaegers, hounding their prey down more like a private investigator or a serial killer than a traditional hunter, but while striking this is fairly rare. Fairest who stick with Summer are those who are looking for its high ideals and are often among those rare Summer Courtiers who can competently articulate both those ideals and their pitfalls without falling prey to cynicism and bitterness.

Autumn - For those Fairest who hurt others to feel safe, Autumn is waiting. The Leaden Mirror can be attractive to young Fairest because it’s easy to perceive Autumn as atomized, defined by personal relationships rather than webs of political influence, but when the Fairest discovers those webs the existence of Option Two: Resort To Violence as an acceptable tool to the Ashen Court is perversely reassuring rather than threatening. The image of the Fairest as a witch, tempting and threatening, clings to them in Autumn but it’s honestly not their most common role; Autumn employs its Fairest as rumor-mongers, the Other Woman who seems a little too familiar with your husband, therapists & counselors, oneiromancers, and ambassadors to Hedge communities. The work Autumn does is harsh on Clarity, and Fairest are especially vulnerable to that harshness, but if the Court invests the time in helping its Fairest members, the self-awareness and self-confidence it offers can be a godsend that no other Court can give them.

Winter - As the Court which is actually selling what Fairest think Autumn has - to wit, the ability to simply say “no” to all social interactions with no justification required - Winter has a strong undercurrent of Fairest membership at all tiers of its power. Fairest often end up directly involved in Winter’s money-making enterprises, and flourish as Squires and Armigers with their fingers on the pulse of the Court’s morale. Winter’s hands-off approach displays a tremendous amount of trust in its Fairest from their perspective, and the demeanor of the Coldest Court - Winter’s indifferent equality - has a potent, merciless appeal. The trap of drowning in Sorrow sucks more than a few Fairest under, but if their peers can be there for them there’s always a way back out.

This Is Not A Pipe - Fairest And Lost’s Themes

My many thanks to Izzie M for her extensive help on this section. I’m not sure I’d have been able to grapple it down, emotionally or intellectually, otherwise.

Fairest go through some intense shit, and the shit they go through can never fully be addressed, never fully be recovered from. It’s no mistake that Fairest, like Wizened, are among those Lost likely to never fully gain resolution with or from their Keeper, and this is because they embody the dark truth that no matter how much progress you make, how much you heal, your trauma has changed who you are as a person and you will be dealing with it until you die. But, as alluded to extensively above in the discussion of Fairest and gender, Fairest also embody the way in which society will attempt to stamp you, mold you, turn you into a product to be consumed or an archetype to be placed into its churning machine, and its attempts to reshape who and what you are and can be are, in themselves, a form of trauma and abuse.

Fairest deal a lot in expectations. They’re expected to be perfect victims, they’re expected to be happy (because they’re beautiful and attractive, because they can front as Doing Okay, because they have a form of access to ‘normal’ society), they’re expected to want romance and sex (since everyone else wants those things out of them), to perform emotional labor, to be available, intimate, understanding, to keep up appearances. Fairest escape the chains of their Keeper only to be clapped in the chains that extend into the eyes and minds of their peers, and they cannot move without hearing the clink of them.

Fairest are primed to represent victims of ongoing emotional abuse and neglect; sex slaves and victims of child abuse might find themselves in Fairest, as might husbands or wives of abusive partners (and boy, re-living my bullshit there was a bonus prize I didn’t want to receive for writing this article), children pushed to over-achieve (here overlapping with Elemental) until they break, pastor’s daughters and cult kids (here overlapping with Beast), and others. However, Fairest also hit their thematic stride when talking about trauma from a society that will not give you an exit. A trans person is first punished by society for “failing” to perform their assigned gender, then made to perform their new one to expectations that they cannot set, do not control, and do not consent to; such a person might easily be Fairest, as might a man breaking under the expectations of Maleness, a college student losing their mind in finals week with no one to help, or even more ‘ordinary’ sex workers expected to perform emotional and physical labor for a society that rewards their work with violence and dehumanization.

Fairest are people with complex internal worlds and they damn well know it, but the temptations to let others define them are numerous; society promises all manner of rewards for being who and what it wants you to be, for wanting the things it tells you to want, for being the kind of person who wants and does those things. To be Fairest is to know at any time you can start faking it and receive those rewards insofar as they’re actually on the table, but it is also to know, every second of every day that you’re performing that role, that it is fake. If you can’t find a community with which you can be genuine...well. You can always get more hurt, and in this way Fairest also bring another theme of Lost into focus: that the Lost owe compassion and understanding to their fellow victims, because failure to care can only hurt both them and everyone in their blast zone.

Feet Pics For Legos - Coping As A Fairest

Fairest are among those Lost who are most concerned with their day-to-day social interactions and safety rather than their immediate, very physical environmental safety. They are perhaps the Seeming most likely to live in a group setting (in an apartment with roommates or romantic partners, in a house shared between multiple households, splitting the bills in a condo, with their parents), and are definitely the Seeming most comfortable with the idea of living with mortals who aren’t ensorcelled. Indeed, Fairest don’t tend to do well living alone; even a Fairest who wants or needs a private place to be, choosing to keep a home in which others cannot lay a claim, will likely crash at friends’ places, sleep over at the Freehold commons on some pretext or another, stay the night with a lover, or otherwise have a place to flop down while surrounded by other people. Having other people - their greatest reality check - around the place helps keep the Fairest centered in the real reality, better able to pick apart the mortal from the Wyrd from their own unrelated hallucinations, and a Fairest who is isolated - or who is permitted to isolate herself - quickly begins to dissociate and may soon be incapable of caring for herself until someone can get her back into the present.

Those invited over as guests to a Fairest’s home may note a lot of concern for those she lives with. She likely schedules the event well in advance, is clear about the boundaries of those she lives with (”That’s Brenda’s room, the door stays shut.”) and in general treats her communal home with a lot of respect and love. Respecting these boundaries and in turn having her own respected is very validating for the Fairest and is vital to be able to feel safe and at ease in her own home, and impressing their importance on guests further reinforces that this is, as it were, her doughnut. While not dismissive of their own literal physical safety per se, a Fairest’s anxieties rarely center around her body being violently attacked by strangers. For those that do have such anxieties, they may choose to solve that problem by simple expedient of rooming or living with someone large and scary.

Another detail of note which is touched on in Winter Masques is that Fairest tend to seek out life’s little pleasures. Though they are not necessarily wealthier than other Lost, how a Fairest chooses to spend her money tends to follow particular patterns. Rare is the Fairest who doesn’t have clothing they like, a phone that works, a wallet or purse that can actually hold all of their stuff, and in this regard most Fairest without a special interest in fashion as a hobby in and of itself will have an aesthetic that is self-expressive but serviceable and hard-wearing, but any place the Fairest haunts, frequents, or lives in will get little touches everywhere. Fairest spend the little bits of extra money for good toilet paper, soft soaps that won’t hurt the skin, good shower supplies, high-quality razors, boots that won’t wear through - and they spend their serious money on their hobbies and preferences. A Fairest with a passion for cooking scrimps and saves to get a fully-stocked kitchen; a Fairest who likes building and connecting invests in Legos or Hot Wheels and creates elaborate environments for them. A gamer Fairest has headphones that can vibrate your constipation away and a fiber optic connection to ensure that lag will not stand between her and your doom. The reasons for this are manifold, and Lost’s canon writing suggests that Fairest seek pleasure to alleviate a desire to return to Arcadia. This is, to put it mildly, a stupid assertion; rather, the Fairest provides her own pleasures in part because it is one of the most emotionally clear ways to lick the doughnut, and in part because it reminds her that she can be happy under her own power, can seek pleasure, stimulation, engagement, without placing herself at another’s mercy - ironically making it easier to go out every day and do exactly that as a member of her various societies.

As a Fairest settles in she tends to look for “her” people, and quite often they’re good at compartmentalizing this, wearing different hats and having different feelings about those hats without feeling fake or distressed about the bare fact of that. She’ll have her personal friends and family, like her housemates, her girlfriend, maybe her mortal family, her neighbors, and then folks like her Motley (which are like her personal friends and family, but In The Know), her fellow Fairest and the Freehold broadly, her work friends and fellow hobbyists. A Fairest who does, say, sex work, thinks of herself as a Sex Worker and understands herself in the context of that broader social group. It can be a lot! Many Lost barely have a handle on being a member of both the Freehold and a Court, and the way Fairest flit to and fro between many communities, slipping seamlessly from one role to another, can be exhausting to watch - but by doing so the Fairest also builds bonds between those communities, highlights their common needs and interests, draws them together over their similarities and strengths. Darklings and Wizened get a lot of the work on the ground done, but it’s often a Fairest in the role of whistleblower, figurehead, and champion all at once.

After all, this, too, is her doughnut.

Example Fairest - Clara Belltower, Spring Playmate

Clara Belltower is a mime.

Well, no, not exactly. Clara Belltower is a self-employed porn actress, erotic script writer, and director, whose primary thing is mimes, clowns, and more broadly circuses and performance venues. She came back from Arcadia eight years back fleeing life as her Keeper’s Stepford Wife, and ran face-first into the money issues that haunt the Lost in general. What started out as a practical choice in new career - and an attempt to find and express an identity not created for her by her abuser - became a creative passion that has stayed strong with Clara and propelled her to status in the Spring Court, which retains her keen eye for decoration, direction, and theatricality in service to its high rituals and revels. Clara’s livestreams and online presence are also a convenient avenue for the Freehold to launder its less legal revenue streams, which has endeared Spring’s “silent siren” to the Winter Court and cemented her as a mover and shaker.

Clara’s ambitions reach beyond erotic miming, as talented as she is at both creating and purveying such. She has her eyes on four different strip clubs in Freehold territory alone whose owners and operators need to fucking go, and she wants Winter’s help making it happen; further, she wants the Freehold to take over operation of those establishments for the benefit of the workers. Clara’s vision is popular in Spring and has its supporters in Summer too, but the Declining Seasons have been cool on the concept, citing a need to maintain subtlety and avoid entanglements with the mortal world that might invite the eye of, say, the IRS - or mire the Freehold in a protracted war with local police departments. Clara’s passion burns with a righteous simplicity, envisioning a Freehold that is active in improving the city around it - if the cops want to throw down, bring it on! Her influence over Winter means the Coldest Court cannot simply dismiss her desires, but neither is it willing to go to war. Something is going to have to give, soon.

This concludes the Fairest portion of the article. Some additional thoughts on Seeming follow.

Bombing Your Own Position - Choosing Your Seeming

So it’s been six articles and I’ve talked about the ways various Seemings can represent responses to the things which traumatize us; neurodivergences for which society abuses us, the machinery of capitalism, violence, prison, and more. But how do you go about choosing your character’s Seeming? The obvious choice is to make a character that puts a lot of yourself at the table; to seek out a Seeming that reflects your own traumas, your own issues, your own anxieties and struggles, and then grapple with them in this fictional context. But RPGs can be an emotionally challenging medium, and you may well not want to deal with your own bullshit during your magic trauma fairy game. That’s valid!

Now, the second obvious piece of advice is to think about your proposed character’s themes and traumas and then select a Seeming from there, but this can get complicated. Many Lost players feel as if they need two Seemings, and to those players I say: no the fuck you do not. But it is true that people are messy and do not fully resolve, that the broad spectrum of the world of sorrow and loss is not easy to fit into 6 discrete categories whose creation was often managed by, not to keep repeating this point, fucking Nazis. I have found in my experience that it can be helpful, when you’re torn between two Seemings or you have a character you’re sure is this Seeming even though they look like or could be that one, to ask yourself why the character is not the other option. Why is this alluring and sensual Darkling not a Fairest, what makes this brutal and violent Wizened not an Ogre? This question naturally leads to others about their abuse and their reaction to it, and can start your momentum for writing your concept out.

As an addition, while I’ve spoken of various Seemings as being well-equipped to represent specific traumas, they don’t own those traumas. Elementals are metaphorically autistic, but there’s nothing stopping you from running an autistic Fairest or an autistic Beast instead. Rather, those Seemings outlined as being “for” or “about” certain traumas are those whose selection will make those traumas thematically central, cause you to return to them as a topic over and over by virtue of being who and what they are. Real people have complicated problems which intersect with one another, spawning new problems that are more strange than the sum of their parts, and it’s both valid and interesting to write your Lost that way - just keep in mind that it’ll still be complicated at the table too.

Van Helsing Hate Crimes - Seeming Politics

White Wolf spent a lot of time waffling back and forth on whether or not Seemings represent distinct cultural and political identities in a given Freehold, drifting towards ‘yes’ when the writers thought about the way Blessings and Curses create consistent, measurable differences between Lost of various Seemings, and towards ‘no’ generally whenever they were asked to actually outline a Lost society such as a sample Freehold or Entitlement. Some Entitlements are locked to specific Seemings, often times with little thought as to why, while other times Seeming-based power blocs are alluded to as worldbuilding elements (such as in Lords of Summer) without much in the way of supporting detail. Why should these things happen, when, how, what does the buildup of this violent fracture in a Freehold society look like?

On the whole, I have taken the stance in these articles and in my own worldbuilding that some amount of fantastical prejudice exists amongst the Lost, but that the systems of oppression have not taken root. Maybe it’s idealistic of me to view the Lost as unwilling or unable to produce internally racist power structures that create an underclass for the benefit of an appointed elite, but in general I feel as if Freeholds are too small, each individual member too precious by simple dint of being a living being in a physical body, for this kind of evil to flourish. That said, you may have also noticed that I identified two Seemings - Darklings and Fairest - as explicitly self-uniting and in some senses self-governing on the basis of common traumas that they often cannot fully explain to outsiders, and indeed community with people that understand your bullshit without you having to say it aloud - that is, those who share a Seeming with you - can be invaluable to all Lost. Ultimately, however, I want to advise against looking at Seemings the way that, say, Vampire: the Requiem looks at Clans, and instead to treat them as reactions to trauma rather than a kind of alternate racial identity.

Next up: So You Need To Write A Fetch

#Changeling: The Lost #rpg #fairest #trauma #abuse #seemings #violence

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 years

Text

Extreme Aggressor: Part One

Pairing: Eventual Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, woman gets killed in an alley, talk of strangling and stabbing a woman

Summary: Jason Gideon is called back from a six-month leave from the Behavioral Analysis Unit to profile a killer. Meanwhile, the team flies across the country to Seattle when another young woman goes missing at the hands of "The Seattle Strangler," another serial killer.

Author’s Note: Here is it finally! After hard work, it is finally ready for your viewing pleasure! Please, feedback is always appreciated so let me know what you like about it and what you didn’t!

I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

So without further ado, please enjoy!

"The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary. Men alone are quite capable of every wickedness." - Joseph Conrad

Not everyone knows this but each and every person has an aura around their body as if it hovers to remind people like you that they have things to hide. Not many people can see and do what you can do, but then again, you don’t want them to. All your life, you have been able to connect with people on a much deeper level than the average human. Those auras contain energies that you are able to connect with, therefore see more than what the normal eye can.

This ability that you have has gotten you in places you should never be. It’s gotten you where another dare not to venture. It’s allowed you to see the true intention and personality of a person no matter how high and thick their walls may be. Now, some people are better at hiding their true selves than others, but you always manage to figure out what makes them tick.

Your abilities have captured the attention of a really great friend, Jason Gideon. When he figured out the thing you could do, he knew you would make a great addition to his team. Granted, he was on a “summer break” so to speak, but he would be more than happy to give you a recommendation. It’s not that you didn’t want to work for the FBI, you just didn’t know if you would be good enough.

Never have your abilities let you down even if they didn’t always give you want you wanted. No one really knew what you could do, not even your family. It made you feel like a freak, like you never belonged anywhere since all you could do was see on the soulful plane. Maybe the BAU would benefit from having you on board, but would you benefit from having the BAU on your side? Your father always told you never to join any kind of government work, and at the time, he gave a good enough reason to keep you away. Something about them always taking jobs right from underneath everyone’s noses, and you believed him when you were a kid.

Now, not so much.

It was hard to when all you saw was death wherever you go. You didn’t ask for this ability, but you got it, and it was your responsibility to help as many people as you could with it until the day you die. That was the only reason why you were considering taking Jason up on his offer. There was still some hesitation on your shoulder, and you thought a walk would do you nice.

The crowded city rushed on without you, but you only had one thing on your mind. It was the busiest part of the city, but you liked walking through there once in a while. Everyone’s thoughts and feelings came to light when they were in a rush. It bombarded you and often overwhelmed you, but nothing overcame the sickening feeling you got in your stomach when you stepped on Jefferson Rd.

The energy in the air swirled around you, but it wasn’t energy from the people around you; it was from the dead. Even spirits leave energy behind when they pass which allow people like you to snatch it up to figure out their story. The way it works is that you become so overwhelmed with the emotions and the energy that you begin to see some of the last moments that spirit went through before it passed. You are allowed to see it based on how well you connect with it.

Some people have called you being psychic while other people called you a witch. Being an empathetic person helped you see the picture clearly. Not always will you get a clear one, and sometimes, you may not even get a full body. It’s whatever the spirit left behind and wanted you to see. They laid down the stepping stones, and it was up to you to be able to pass them.

Standing still in the middle of the sidewalk, you looked to your left to see a woman appear out of thin air. She was a bit transparent which is how you were able to spot the difference between an energy source and a real human. She was maybe in her mid-twenties, and she was jogging with headphones in. She passed by you without a second glance, and everyone around you seemed to disappear since the only person you were able to focus on was her.

She jogged for a few more seconds when a black apparition came out of the alley not far from you. The black shape grabbed at the woman, but you needed to replay that scene over if you wanted to connect with his spirit. Sometimes, when a picture isn’t clear, you have to replay the mini silent movie over and over again until you can either get a clear picture or you knew that you weren’t getting anything more.

As if you had a remote in one hand, you pressed it which rewound the action. The woman jogged backwards past you to where she first emerged, and you hit the play button. Just like before, she jogged past you, minding her own business when the black shape came at her. This time, he was a bit clearer. Repeating this process over and over again, you watched the woman get kidnapped about twenty more times before you could see the exact details of the man’s face.

He grabbed her and pulled her into the alley, but you couldn’t seem to move. The clearer the picture, the stronger the energy. The stronger the energy meant the event you watched happened recently. The longer the event goes unsolved, the less amount of energy you are able to connect with.

Something happened in that alley, but you dreaded going anywhere near it. However, this woman’s story was untold, and her spirit won’t rest unless someone tells it for her. Taking a deep breath, you looked at the busy street and suddenly remembered that you were in the middle of a city with a bustling amount of people around you.

Pushing past the crowd, you made your way to the alley until you were completely alone as the rest of the world left the single girl who was in the alley alone. There was one particular spot that drew you in, and you took a few steps towards it before getting another vision. The man jammed a knife into the woman’s abdomen, and you gasped when you felt her emotional pain. Being an empath is really hard work since you had more than yourself to worry about.

The woman dropped to the ground with a loud thud, and the man kept stabbing her over and over again until she was way past dead. Once he was satisfied, he took the murder weapon with him and fled the scene, running right past you to do it. It took everything in you to look away from his eyes despite your body telling you to do so.

The noise of the busy city drowned out the sound of a body thumping on the ground, and you crept to the area where she was stabbed. Instead of a body, there was a thick blue tarp covering the ground. It looked like a body was underneath it, but it could be trash. Please let it be trash. Please let it be trash. Picking up the end of the tarp with your gloved hand, you peeked underneath it to see wide soulless eyes staring at you.

The shock overwhelmed you, and you dropped the tarp in shock. Tears threatened to escape your eyes, but if it wasn’t for you, this woman probably would have never been found—or, at least, not right now. From what you could gather, the body was still fresh with only sight signs of decaying. If you called the police now, they might be able to find her killer.

Taking out your cellphone, you dialed 911 and put in an anonymous tip before getting the hell out of there. It didn’t take long for first responders to arrive on scene, and you watched from the deli across the street as they uncovered her. She was found because of you. She is going to get justice because of you.

That was all the evidence you needed to make your decision.

Taking out your phone once more, you called your dear and beloved friend. It took him three rings to pick up.

“Jason, it’s me, Y/N. I’ll take it.”

Gideon was sucked back into the BAU on a case after he needed to take some time for himself. He was involved with a bomber that took out one hostage and six agents, so you could understand why he requested for your help. He trusted you to aid this team in finding a killer, especially when he saw what you can do first-hand. It was hard to explain your abilities to someone who couldn’t possibly understand, but you knew you had to since he had a jet full of his other teammates.

It didn’t take long to get to the airport where the jet was waiting, and before you ascended the stairs, you could feel everyone’s emotions—impatient, curiosity, calmness, and eagerness. They were all waiting for you, and you needed to show them that you belonged on their team. Walking on the jet, all heads turned at the new presence. Gideon stood up and approached you with a welcoming smile on his face.

“It’s good to see you again,” he stated.

“Well, you needed me. Here I am,” you nodded, looking at everyone else on the jet.

The person you noticed first was what you assumed to be the second person in charge. He had almost black hair and a hard gaze since he didn’t really like newcomers. The next person was a black male who emitted impatience since he just wanted to get in the air. The last person was a scrawny young male which is where the curiosity was coming from.

“Y/N, this is my team. Agent Aaron Hotchner, Derek Morgan, and Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Spencer Reid?” you asked, and the young man perked up at the sound of his name. “Sorry, but I’ve read everything you have ever written especially Identifying Non-obvious Relationship Factors Using Cluster Weighted Modeling and Geographic Regression. You have a very intelligent mind.”

“Thank you,” he smiled, clearly impressed that you read his work.

“Guys, this is my good friend Y/N that I’ve asked to help us on this case.”

“Is she FBI?” Hotchner asked.

“Not exactly.”

“I am what’s known as an empathetic psychic. If ‘witch’ makes you sleep better at night, then call me that. I see things that most people are not able to see. I connect with people’s energies, especially the dead. Believe it or not, I see events that lead up to someone’s death due to the energy and the spirit they leave behind. The more recent the event, the stronger of a picture I get. It doesn’t always give me what I want, but it always provides me with what I need. I’ll be a valuable asset to this team.”

“I already approved it with the board. She has her firearm qualification and she passed the academy with flying colors,” Gideon sided with you.

“We need to get going. We’ll see how you do on this case,” Hotchner nodded.

With that, the plane was off. It wasn’t until the pilot let you know it was safe to move around the cabin that everyone start to talk about the case.

“His first victim was Melissa Kirsh—stab wounds and strangulation,” Spencer read from the file.

“Wait, wait. Back up. Back up,” Derek interrupted. “He stabbed her and then strangled her to finish her off?”

“Other way around,” Gideon cleared his throat before turning to you, the hopefully newest member of the team. “Why do you think he started using the belt with the second murder?”

“Strangulation with your bare hands is not as easy as one would believe,” you said, earning a few stares from the others. You knew it would take some time for them to get used to you, especially when they didn’t even know you. The fact that you’re with them is because you’re friends with Gideon. “He tried and probably found that it took too long so he stabbed her instead and realized it would be hours cleaning up the blood.”

“Next time, our boy's got a method—the belt,” Derek added.

“He's learning and perfecting his scenario. Becoming a better killer,” Gideon stated.

“So, Y/N, where did you learn about profiling?” Hotchner asked, taking a break from the case.

“I have a PhD in Criminal Justice with a sole focus on profiling. Another one in Psychology which better helps me connect with others. I thought Gideon told you all of this,” you asked, looking at your friend.

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Spencer asked.

“Twenty-three. Well, I turn twenty-three in a few months.”

“Wow, I’m impressed. How did you get two PhD’s at your age?”

“How’d you get three at yours?”

“I’m a genius with an eidetic memory.”

“Yeah, well, I worked my ass off to get where I am so just know that you’re not letting just anyone on this jet with you. I’d be happy to prove myself to you guys. I’ve been doing it since I could read.”

“There’s a few more of us you still have to meet,” Hotchner stated.

“Lucky you, Reid,” Derek grinned. The young doctor stared at his friend in confusion. “You’re not the youngest one here anymore.”

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@averyhotchner

#extreme aggressor #series rewrite #criminal minds series rewrite #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #cm #cm fic #cm fanfiction #cm fluff #cm angst #season 1 episode 1 #s1e1

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blacksunscorpio · 4 years

Note

Hello! I saw your post about elevated planets, is there also any explanation about the planets opposite/bottom of the Zenith/Mc? Thank you!

Good Question

Nadir In Astrology

The Nadir, or Imum Coeli (IC), Latin for “south/bottom of the sky,” or “lowest point” is one of the four major angles in an astrological birth chart [the other 3 are the [Rising, Descendant, and Midheaven] and definitely the least talked about. The Midheaven and Nadir points lie at opposite ends of your Natal Chart. The Midheaven is at the very top [where your most elevated will be nearest]. It is where the Sun was at its highest peak during midday. Using this, we calculate the Nadir, or where the Sun was at its very lowest point during midnight. Like the Ascendant and Descendent Axis, the Midheaven and Nadir are opposites, with one side exposed and other other deeply hidden. It lies opposite the Midheaven—a point on our chart that represents our public life and persona, which gets a lot of attention.

What it Means

Since the Midheaven is our brightest, most open, well-light part of your personality, adversely the Nadir is the dead of night in your chart [quite literally], the IC is the deepest, darkest, quietest, most personal place in your chart. It houses the Private Persona. This is how your mind operates in secret, how you feel, and how you act, when you are completely alone, with no one else watching. Our Nadir (IC) signifies our most profound depths and needs, a part of us that we often don’t share with others. While the rising and descendant axis of our charts navigate the relationship between self and others. The Midheaven and Nadir showcase the polarity of our outer and inner worlds. The IC sits on the cusp of the fourth house, ruled by the moon/cancer associated with family lineage, home environment, and family influences. Similarly to the moon, our nadir shows us our needs and emotional tendencies, though it's much more than that. When you looking at your birth chart, the nadir is below the horizon line of the ascendant and is the lowest place in our chart, therefore representing our foundation and roots. In this way, the IC also reveals the type of environment best for our physical well-being. Make sense? Now, I want to mention that many often think of the MC as a fake, constructed persona, and the Nadir is as our real, authentic selves. This couldn't be further from the truth. Fake news. This way of thinking hinges on the idea that we are fundamentally one type of person, forced act unlike ourselves in different situations. But the truth is, all of your choices and actions come together to create a portrait of who you really are, regardless of what made you act that way. The way you act when you are in front of people, trying to make your best impression - that is the real you. And the way you act when you are alone, with nobody to judge you - that is the real you, too ;). Humans are dichotomous and complex and astrology allows for that because it, as a study, is complex as well.

Nadir By Sign

Aries: [Libra MC] Need for independence and freedom. Reputation is built on the finer aspects of your personality. People know you by your good looks, first and foremost. They see you as elegant, yet strong; rational and logical. Inwardly, can be prone to dramatic displays of anger, loud demands, bossy, and sharp, biting humor and immense stores of sexual drive or drive in general. Family was very active or extremely ambitious. Learned early on how to be independent. Growing up, might have witnessed a lot of conflict in your family, some of it serious and some of it not. You saw problems with alcoholism, drug addiction, and anger. Unconsciously aggressive or combative.

Taurus: [Scorpio MC] Need for security or physical pleasures. Come off as intense, passionate, mysterious or dark. Family was stable or materialistic. As a child you were always well fed and secure. Parents/guardians gave you a taste for the finer things in life by caring so much about the look and quality of the things in their home. On a darker note they could also be quite controlling in a lot of ways, both over their house and family. Nothing could be done, or touched, or moved, or planned without them having a hand in what was going on. Native can be unconsciously inflexible or possessive.

Gemini: [Sagittarius MC] Need for understanding themselves and world around them. Outwardly can be very philosophical, blunt, straightforward and/or outspoken. When you find yourself alone with your thoughts, you spend a lot of time enjoying your own inner dialogue. And when you are with those few people you are close to, you enjoy a lot of stimulating conversations. Family is a literal mosaic. Different colors and personalities. Home life was changing constantly. Family was growing and shrinking, moving around, breaking apart and then putting/fitting new pieces together. Childhood was self-expressive or hyper-intellectually focused. Unconsciously erratic, anxious or cunning that can display itself as duplicitousness.

Cancer: [Capricorn MC] Need to seek and give nurturance. Can come off as determined, hard working, goal-oriented, and very good at what you do. You have a very professional public image that exudes confidence and experience. Family was co-dependent or critical. Growing up your mother was the central figure of your family home, either because she was a single mother or your father was away from home a lot. As a child, you were given more than enough praise and attention. When alone, you take on an almost maternal role in your house, cooking and cleaning and taking care of chores. Often, you will retreat into your bedroom, den or personal workshop and spend a lot of time working on things by solo. Unconsciously co-dependent or guarded.

Leo: [Aquarius MC] Need for creative self-expression. intelligent, detached connections with other people. Can come off as detached or have this kind “dry intensity” that radiates off of you – you seem to be quietly aloof, cold. When alone, can be quite friendly or show big displays of love to those close to them. An eternal child that will always love fairly tales no matter how old they are. Family was self-involved or warm-hearted. The kid who was told they were special all the time. Everybody in your family (especially your mother) fawned over all the things you did, praising you for every accomplishment and exaggerating all your best qualities. You got everything you wanted. Unconsciously may have a lot of self-doubt.

Virgo: [Pisces MC] Need for efficiency. Comes off as a creative, kind, spiritual, almost ethereal person. People will notice the far-away look, the quiet contentment that hangs around you like a miasma. Draws in both saints and sinners. Though they may present a misty outward appearance, inwardly they keep detailed inventory of everything. Likes work and routine. Family or parent was hyper-critical. Some kind of negativity surrounding you when you were growing up, like fighting, substance abuse, depression, anxiety, or a poor home life. Whether or not you were aware of what your family members were going though, you looked for an escape. May have control freak tendencies.

Libra: [Aries MC] Need for harmony, though possibly difficulty in knowing needs with too much vacillation. Outwardly brave, perhaps a tad bossy, driven, commanding and leader-like with touches of aggression or authoritarianism. inwardly, peace loving, diplomatic, utterly polite, cooperative and friendly to the point of people pleasing. Family could have been quite social or superficial. When you are out interacting with the world you are confrontational and/or competitive. Growing up, you had to share your parent’s attention with other people. You might have had other siblings that got more than you, or they might have had other obligations that took up their time. Unconsciously coy.

Scorpio: [Taurus MC] Need for emotional depth and understanding. Outwardly laid back and grounded. Astonishing work-ethic. Security minded and practical. Inwardly there is a deep well of emotion. Can dwell or obsess. Powerful drive and silently aggressive. Family was secretive or powerful. Unconscious forces outside may have influenced them. Involved in power dynamics. Subconsciously, memories of the past are littered with alcoholism, abuse, death, trauma, sex, various kinds of manipulation and betrayal.

Sagittarius: [Gemini MC] Need to discover their own truth. Comes off as intelligent, sociable, highly optimistic. Social butterfly. Inwardly may act out personal and grandiose dramas. Family was hyper-ethical or adventurous. Sought to learn and understand other people’s cultures and perspectives. In your childhood, when you were living at home with your family, you were thought of as a very bright child. Energetic, enthusiastic about learning, and always exploring the outside world, you met every new subject with curiosity and an open mind. Teachers and classmates labelled you as the “smart kid”. Unconsciously can seek status, attention or might be prone to judgment.

Capricorn: [Cancer MC] Need for reliability and order. reputation for being determined, hard working, goal-oriented. Family was traditional or repressed emotions. Might feel like you have to “fight for respect.” Family was very restrictive and controlling. Tried to make you into what they wanted you to be rather than accepting you for how you were. When alone in the privacy of your own home, you are emotional, sensitive, and very attached to your belongings and loved ones. Unconsciously self-repressing or pessimistic.

Aquarius: [Leo MC] Need for unconventional and individual stance. Comes off as bubbly, friendly, happy, and attracts attention easily. Inwardly, a loner, detached, intelligent, the furthest thing from a people pleaser. Likes to be left alone to their own devices to study or research. Family was non-traditional or unavailable. Home life might have been chaotic or tumultuous. As a kid you had little control over your life’s direction and had to follow your parents wherever they went. This could mean you were uprooted a lot, maybe a military kid or simply forced into their religion or belief system. Unconsciously somewhat detached from others. Accept anybody for anything, you support them 100%. Not interested in people or affairs/things that do not concern you. Father might have been absent. Unconsciously weird/ unusual.

Pisces: [Virgo MC] Need for wandering or mysticism. Comes off as organized, dissecting, routine-loving and very well-put together. Inwardly, can be emotional, messy, lazy, gullible, but also sensitive, compassionate, empathetic, and completely selfless. Family roots of unclear boundaries. Growing up there was a lot going on between your parents that you didn’t understand. Perhaps born on the verge of some kind of upheaval. Something happened that caused the family break apart before you were born and now they were dealing with the aftermath. Unconsciously over-sensitive or non-committal.

Bruja note:

The key to understanding the patterns and energy of the IC brings balance and equilibrium to our lives as it teaches us how to embrace our past and move forward into our future. How to really grasp and harness the midheaven gifts and promises. There is an inevitable sense of karma and destiny associated with the angles of our charts, and the IC is no exception. Knowing the patterns of the nadir brings consciousness to our underworld. More understanding. It is considered by many astrologers one of, if not THE most important part of our entire chart—because of the depth of understanding it gives us when we really commit to comprehending it. By utilizing the skills and difficulties of our family/ancestors/origins, we are thrusted into our personal journey’s and ultimately our north node or most elevated destinies.

What sign is your Nadir in? Dissecting and understanding it can bring healing and growth to you and those you’re closely connected with.

#Nadir #IC #Imum coeli #MC vs IC #astro asks #astrology asks #astrology tumblr #astro tumblr #10th house astrology #4th house astrology #bruja tips #Midheaven/imum coeli axis #elevated planets #good question #zodiac signs

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antigoneidk · 4 years

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Save me|arvin russel

based on this request: Hey! I just came accross your Arvin Fic and I loved it very much. Could you do one where the reader’s family just moved in and they’re neighbours with the Russel’s and reader happens to become Lenora’s bestie and she has a crush on Arvin but he’s already dating but he also happens to develope feelings for the reader but he’s always cold towards her like whenever they run into eachother at church or when their families are hanging out together and the reader assumes he dislikes her but one day her parents fix her marriage with a guy and she doesn’t like cuz he’s a jerk so one time at a family dinner the reader’s dad is planning to announce her engagement reader asks Arvin for help and the sneak out to a dark hallway in the house and make out cuz they know the guy was following them and Chase him away and then they confess? Omg this was long I’m sorry lol 😅 But you’re an amazing writer. Much love♥️

a/n: thanks again for the request and your sweet words❤this took me a lot of time to write lol didn’t know that it’ll take this long.

word count: 4k

I opened my eyes, my eyesight still blurry from the nap I took moments ago. The sunlight burnt my eyes, like someone threw hot oil to my eyes. My six-year old brother moved slightly in my arms but continued his sleep. I wanted to stretch my legs as they felt sore and heavy after almost seven hours inside this car, on the other hand I didn’t want to bother the little boy that looked so peaceful and innocent in his sleep. So I leaned my head to the window and admired the trees-it seemed like an endless forest-all moving fast from where I was.

We were moving in a new city, miles away from our hometown. My parents thought it was for the best, a new start for us, new people, new experiences. I wasn’t looking forward to this change in our lives, in mine-especially this quick. I loved my routine back there, my three girlfriends, our neighbors, the park only two minutes away from our house, my little room, my escape from the real world, the old lady that greeted me with a smile on her lips every day while I was making my way to school.

I knew deep inside me that there was a reason, serious one to be exact. How did they find a house so fast in a town that I’m sure they had no idea that existed, or why they never talked about this topic in the house, or discuss it with their kids. And why they didn’t pack all of our things, why they didn’t sell the house, how did they found the money to buy the other one, why so far away from my comfort zone. So many questions were running through my mind, the pain from all the thinking making me sick.

I scanned my two parents in the front seats. They looked completely out of this world, so blank. My mum had her arm outside of the car, letting the cold air hit her fingers with the few rings that adorned them. Her hair in a ponytail-her favorite hairstyle-pulling the skin on her face a little back. She wasn’t old at all although her eyes were always tired, red, puffy, like our grandmother, her mum. However the rest of her face looked softer, giving the idea of a sweet lady, something that wasn’t so true.

I turned to the man next to her. Our dad had his one hand on the steel, the other outside of the window, his fingers holding the cigarette tight. His eyes were nailed on the road, his lips pursed the whole time, his hair pulled back, his jaw sharper than a knife, his figure tough, no emotions, a portrait of a man after a war.

They were people that hid very well love, happiness, pain, sadness, sympathy. At this point I was convinced that they never fell in love, but how they ended up together was a mystery-and that’s how it remained. Maybe there was a deep connection between the two of them and only for them. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe it was a mistake that they had to pay for-me getting into this world. Maybe it was never their choice.

Towards me and my brother there was no difference. Not that they were bad to us, or showed any sort of violence. But we never got to experience that kind of love from our parents, the warm hug after a horrible nightmare, that bright smile wherever we did good in school, the beautiful weekends with family dinners, the love between family members. It was more like a competition of who had the bigger ego, who could survive the loneliness, who could handle their emotions only to them selves.

My little brother had lost years ago. I thank God every day that he didn’t turned to a small emotionless monster but to a sensitive soul, a kind young man that had manners and shared everything with me, from a accident he had at the park to his biggest fears that scared him to the maximum. He was my weakness, my everything, the reason I stayed with our family when I had the chance to run away, the reason I want to finish school and run away with him for a future he deserves. But he was still six years old-I had to be quick.

“We are here" dad’s croaky voice woke me up from my lethargy. I stared at the house in front of us. It seemed smaller from our previous one, the style reminding me the house our grandparents live in. Also it looked old enough to get destroyed by a small thunderstorm and rip our heads in half, the front wooden door opened for everyone to enter.

“Hey baby, we’re home" his eyes opened slowly, his small arms squeezing my waist for a moment before his body sat straight, his gaze facing the building in front of us. Our parents had left the car already, leaving the two of us alone. I could sense his excitement for our next adventure in a new town-yet his fear of this unexpected change, just like me.

“It’s going to be fun, come on" I tried to sound as enthusiastic as possible to help his mood to cheer up even more. I opened the door and got out, the warm sun hitting my bare legs and arms, my black dress covering the rest of my body. I stretched my sore body, feeling my back cracking and the pain flying away. I closed the door and made my way to the inside of our new home, the pain in my stomach getting intense with every step of mine, a bad intuition holding me back.

I walked up the stairs holding his hand tight in mine. As soon as I stepped inside I wanted to run miles away. The walls were paint in a grey color, reminding me of the cloudy days where I’d stay inside my room, dreaming about life, or thinking of ways that I can change it, or wondering about my soulmate, who’s walking on this earth, breathing the same air, watching the same sky as I, how he’d look like, how he’d come into my life and drag me to places I probably don’t know.

“Can you show us our room?” I asked my dad the time I saw him standing in front of the fireplace, in the living room-I supposed this was it. He turned for a moment and scanned us from head to toe, it was a thing he liked doing often, but I never succeeded on reading his thoughts whenever he did it. Was he proud of us, was he disappointed, was he angry with the fact that he created two individuals that had nothing in common with him? Only God knew.

Without any words he got closer only to pass us and take a few steps before stopping outside a closed door, the one out of the other three that they were there. He opened the door and waited for us to enter. My brother let go of me and ran towards the room while i followed him with slower steps.

It wasn’t as big as my other one, and surely didn’t looked like the place I could ran to. I didn’t like the vibes it gave me, I was trapped in cell with no possible exit. I was sad and not in my safe place. The color on the four walls, faded yellow with a few shades of orange combined with the light outside, made it warmer than the rest of the house and more friendly-I couldn’t deny it-still I didn’t liked it.

I got out of the room and walked my way out, not wanting to spend more time inside. That’s where I found my mum and two other women-the one seemed in my age-talking. I stayed in my place keeping my eyes in them. Both were smiling, lovely people. The older lady, in a white dress and black shoes, had her short white/grey hair in a hairstyle I saw for the first time but it looked good. Her hands down her chest, giving me the impression of a woman with a hard past and strong personality that has had overcome a lot of obstacles. Her face with wrinkles mostly around the area of her eyes testified the tiredness after all of this years. The girl next to her, with a blue dress, had her red hair down her shoulders just all of the teenage girls, including myself. She had her arms next to her body and her right leg on the top of the left leg, probably because of the awkwardness or shyness. However, she watched my mother with respect and maybe in awe I wasn’t sure. And that’s when our eyes met and she smiled my way. I did too and started walking to her anticipating to hear her voice.

“Hello" I said and stood next to my mum and her. “I’m y/n"

“Hi I’m Lenora" she introduced her self, her voice calm and sweet, and extended her hand. I copied her movement and shook her soft hand, suddenly a warm wave hitting my body and relief every bad thought. I joined the rest of them trying to keep up with them for a while before starting another conversation with the new girl. I learnt a few things about her, that her mother was dead and probably her dad too even if she had faith that they’d meet one day. The day her mother died, she was a baby and Emma, the lady next to her, was the one in charge for raising her as she was the last one that saw her mother alive. She visited the church every Sunday and her mother’s grave everyday. It was a sad story of a girl that brought so much light with her appearance.

“And this is my brother Arvin right there" she turned behind her and showed me a boy, a few years older than us, standing outside of his front door and staring at us. He had one inside of his pockets and the other one next to him, bringing close to his lips every now and then so that he can suck on his cigarette. He had a hat on his head, covering half of his face. His body structure draw the figure of a boy-or a young man-that seemed distant from other human beings-also ready to fight everyone that prevent him from his goals. “He isn’t as friendly but he is a kind soul trust me. Hey Arvin come here"

He hesitated to come to us and assumed that maybe he didn’t want us there. I didn’t want to be there either but at least I wasn’t as rude as him. After a long time he finally threw his cigarette away and got closer. From the way he walked I could tell that he was the bad guy, the boy that no one messed with. And for a second I wondered if Lenora was lying to me.

“Arvin this is y/n” he took his time to check me from head to toe, not sure if he looked at me as a threat for his little sister or as a threat for himself. They don’t treat new people well, that’s what my friends have told me back in town. They will make sure that you gonna have the worst time living there, it’s in their mindset.

“Hey" I said trying to sound friendly, also distant and cold to match his way. His brown eyes locked with mine sending terror and fear to every cell of my body, my heart beating so loud, my breath desperately trying to let go of my lungs. I swallowed the air and bit my tongue inside of my mouth suddenly not knowing how to act, what to say, why he bought all those bad feelings. I wanted to move my lips, but it was like my system had shut down, not compromise with the commands my brain gave.

“Come inside, Jessica is waiting alone" he spoke to Lenora in a low adjective voice and with a strong accent, ignoring my existence now. “ It’s not right" he added after a while taking a cigarette out of his pocket. I watched as his fingers made a curve around the white death-that’s how I liked to call it-placed it to his rough lips. There was some dirt in them, his veins popping up blue against his pale skin.

“You’re right. Um..y/n do you want to meet Jessica, his girlfriend? She is just a year older than us but she would love you. And I think that she is also from where you’re from, right Arvin?” he had a girlfriend? He was able to fall in love? People that were in love weren’t supposed to be softer, kinder? All the books I had in my purple room gave me that impression of the world. Were the writers lying?

“Thank you but I don’t feel so good, probably from the trip. Maybe I need some sleep, but I’ll see you around right?” I asked.

She nodded her head with a smile and followed her brother on the opposite side. I noticed how huge influence he had on her, how she obeyed him with no hesitation, how she walked behind him like a lost puppy, how fast she got inside after he glanced back at me one more time and said something to her, knowing I wouldn’t listen to his judgment. I left the two ladies alone and met my brother outside our door, staring back at the house next to us. He had his arms crossed and a dead stare reminding me of our dad.

“What is it?” he left his arms fall and moved his eyes to my silhouette that stood next to him. I cupped my hand to his cheek and rubbed my thumb against his smooth childish skin.

“I don’t like him" he said feeling my terror, reading my thoughts. I pressed his head to my waist and hugged half of his small body, unexpectedly a warm wave of protectiveness hugging my spirit and creating a shield around us. I knew that if this young man was older he would have done a scene just because of the vibes he got from Arvin, or any Arvin. Unfortunately his petite form couldn’t help him at that moment.

“I don’t either"

______

A few weeks had passed, Lenora and I had got closer for my surprise. No that we were the same, our mindsets were completely different, our perspectives in a situation wouldn’t match as I thought they would-she was more innocent that me, with no experiences at all-yet she was the sweetest person I had met, the only one that wanted to learn about me, my interests, my opinions about certain topics, my favorite food, my music taste, my life back in my hometown, my friends.

Even at church, she was always next to me, giving me information for all of the people inside, the preacher, the couple in front of us, the older men in the back. She talked with nothing but lovely words-even for the people that had hurt her- and I really appreciated that from her.

Arvin-on the other hand-was nothing like his sister. He kept his cold-hearted manners towards me, my family. Never giving attention to any of us, usually standing some feet away with a cigarette between his lips and his signature pose, his hands inside his pockets and his head looking straight ahead.

But what attracted me to him was his way to travel with his mind and completely forget about the rest of the world. How difficult his expressions were to read, how his eyes softened for a moment, how he suffered in silence, how helpless, weak he seemed, how he was losing control and the powerful personality he present to the rest of us. I would stare at him for where the others were talking and taking notes of every of his movements in the back of my head. And he would scratch his nose, that’s how I knew his mind was back at his problems, and he would see me. And every time I would take my eyes away as fast as possible and look at the ground or my shoes, sending shivers down my spine and that unwelcoming vibe of his. However I wanted to approach him, willing to listen, help. A mysterious thing was calling me, it was scary, new, dangerous, also getting my adrenaline higher than ever, the feeling fascinating me.

“The Russel’s are gonna be here any time soon. Get yourselves ready" our mum announced leaving our room without closing the door on her way out. I exhaled loud and left my book by my side, scanning the wall at the top of me. I didn’t want any interaction with people tonight, especially with them, him. My body didn’t listen, just stayed in my bed, not eager on moving any time soon, paralyzed. I was shaking in the thought of being in the same house as him, his aura was bad for me, and especially my little boy that had so much in his mind but couldn’t express them how he wanted, like a grown man.

I put on my white dress and let my hair down. With every second that passed I said a prayer for something to happen and this dinner to get canceled-just what I was doing when I helped my mother set the dinner. But as soon as I heard my father talking, greeting our neighbors, I knew that it was pointless.

I greeted Lenora with a smile and a warm hug the pressure falling off of my shoulders. Then Emma and Earskell followed and after them Arvin. He was wearing his blue jeans as usual and a black shirt. He had his arms in his back pockets at the same time he walked inside giving me nothing but a short look and then smiling slightly at my parents.

I tried to avoid watching him for the rest of the night, still he was the main star in their conversation, always talking with his rough, low voice, giggling with some adult’s jokes, shifting on his chair a little when something would upset him. He had placed his arms on the table, showing his big muscles. Bet Jessica had her time of her life with those.

I couldn’t concentrate to what the girl next to me was saying anymore, or pay any attention to what they other ones were saying. It was only him that was running through my mind and how would I get him to notice me for more that just a second. How would I get closer to him, actually have a conversation like I do with his sister, how could I make him see that I am not a threat.

God, he had his way of dragging my eyes to him, be the worst person, a loser that had all my attention with no effort. An asshole that did nothing but hurting me with his awful attitude. And I would still search for him everywhere, thirsty for his hatefulness, his disdainful looks.

“Are you listening to what I’m saying?” the young boy at the corner of the room threw his pencil towards my way and hit my face, close enough to my eye. I made a grimace and put my fingers at the top of my cheek, while looking at my brother with wonder. He had his lips apart and seemed furious from where I was.

“Why did you hit me?” I asked.

“Mum said that you have to go on the living room. We’re having guests"

“Who?”

“The Russel’s and some others but I don’t know them. They look kind of scary to me"

Here we go again.

I left my room with him beside me. I tried to prepare my self, inside and out, not so much for the new people that had visited us, but mostly for Arvin even though I knew that he wouldn’t laid his eyes my way. I did have hope that one day I’d make this dream come true, but until then I couldn’t do anything else than waiting and anticipating.

When I entered the room, and while I was expecting to almost get ignored from all of them, my mum stood up from the sofa and walked to us. I saw a smile coming from her lips, something that she never did with me, my heart beating fast from all the unexpected warmth I felt from her.

“And this our daughter y/n. Come sit with us, she was studying so that’s why she was late. This is our new guests, Mr. Agapov and his son Julio” my dad introduced me to the two men, me still being in shock due to his lies and his happy mental state and not actually listen to their names. It took me some time to take my eyes from my parents and notice who they were. And I wish I never did.

Julio Agapov. Probably the stupidest guy I have ever met in my life. A miserable kid that knew nothing but how to slip under a girl’s skirt and take advantage of that for his enjoyment. He never respected a woman’s body, he didn’t know how to treat a girl right, the path to her heart and mind. He was the jerk that would whistle while you’re pass him, the boy-that thought he was a man-that changed girls like shirts, or maybe even often than that.

“We know each other, we’re going to the same school" I heard him talking. “She’s very nice girl, despite the fact that we didn’t hang out a lot. My friends always talk about the “new face" of our school” he turned to me and winked, making my stomach flip inside me.

“Well take that as an opportunity to learn things for her from now on" the older man next to him, his father, said and lots of questions passed my brain at a fast speed. Why would we get to hang out now? Why would he get to know me? What was the reason behind this? How my parents learnt for their family?

“Excuse me?” I wondered and looked at all of them. “Can someone please explain to me what is happening? Why would he get to know me now?” I asked my father and for a second he dropped his mask before putting in back on, calmly.

“You’re getting married y/n. Everything’s ready except from some small details. Julio is your soon to be- husband now and you’re committed to him and no one else”

I felt like an item with no soul like a painting that was useless and dusty hung on a wall and was getting ready to be sold. I was standing there speechless, helpless. So that was the reason for all of the moving here? For me to get out of their way with a man that surely didn’t want me far away from my home? Miles apart from my little brother that needed me the most now, my friends that were the ones that really accepted me? Shouldn’t I get to choose who I’m going to let into my life? Into me? Shouldn’t I be the only one that had the right to select my man? Shouldn’t I get to fall in love first?

“No" that was all that my voice could say under my breath. No I didn’t want Julio Agapov. I didn’t want to let this man to be my first. I didn’t want him to touch me or kiss me, hug me. He wasn’t the one I imagined before getting to bed. He wasn’t the boy I was in love with. And he never would be.

I left this crowded room to join mine in a matter of seconds. I didn’t care that it might seemed rude or anything close to that. I felt cheap and humiliated by my own family. I never expected from them to do such a thing as this. I knew that they did not care as much, and it was alright now after all these years, but this had topped the line.

It wasn’t that much long when the door opened and the person that even my imagination couldn’t handle stepped inside and the aura changed quicker than expected. Always with those goddamned jeans, his dark blue, almost black hat at the top of his head and a packet of cigarettes hanging from his right pocket.

“What are you doing here?”

Y/n had a really normal question but Arvin didn’t know the answer to it. What was he doing there? Why he went there at the first place? Wasn’t he going to smoke?

“Are you okay?” he asked in return. She looked down at her feet and laughed. It sounded funny to her how he asked this when he already knew the answer. She was getting married to a boy she didn’t want so that her parents can have less in their mind. She was feeling great.

“You don’t care" she got up from her bed and walked to the window. Y/n felt him seconds later next to her, copying her movements.

“No I don't” he agreed with her statement. Yet, he felt the need to protect her, just like he did with Lenora all of these years, in a way that he didn’t know how to explain. She was the only one that could make him feel that to his bones. There were endless nights that he would stay up and analyze his emotions just so he can find what was causing him that and how he would fight it. Every night though was like an dead end road with no possible exits.

Both of them kept their eyes on the trees across them. She felt protected now the Arvin was there with her. Her heart was going crazy, her mind went wild. He had threw all of her fears away, she was feeling nice, capable of anything. And if he would ask her to follow him in a different city, away from them, she would say yes a million times. He had an influence to her thinking, the power to control her.

“Why are you here Arvin?” he was now focusing on her and her lips that had let out his name so lovely and beautiful. It surprised him the fact that he held his breath for a moment really without knowing, unconscious of his reactions.

It didn’t take a lot for her to take the courage to kiss him, the sensation of her lips against his waking up the butterflies on her stomach. Y/n felt the four walls falling, everyone disappear and a force taking her to another dimension.

His hands pulled her waist closer to his body, her fingers travelling from his neck to his chest and back. Their tongues intertwined, their kiss turning more to a little fight. He didn’t know why. Why he was doing that and why he was feeling like that but he enjoyed it. He liked how she was leaning against his body, how her fingers burnt his skin, how his tongue explored her mouth, how he wanted more.

Her fantasies weren’t even close to what she was experiencing now. How safe she was inside his embrace, how everything seemed far away from her, how her blood was boiling through her veins, the need of more knocking at her door.

None of them knew that Julio was watching them. What his mind was thinking, how he suddenly he needed y/n his, to take revenge of Arvin, to see y/n suffer. He was a bad person that never thought of the consequences that his actions had. He was taught to always get what he desired one way or another. And this moment was one like the rest. He was going to get y/n either she liked it or not.

“Please save me” that was what she whispered to him when they pulled from each other. They both needed to save one another.

#tomholland #tom holland imagines #tomhollandx #tom holland x reader #arvin russell #arvin russel imagine #arvin russel x reader #arvin russel x you #arvin russel x y/n

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demonologist-in-denim · 3 years

Text

“Okay,” Dean declared as the Winchesters, Cas and Crowley ambled into the mostly empty museum, “this place is awesome!”

For any imaginative child – or grown man denied the joy of childhood – the interactive children’s museum and library was very much a magical place. The walls were brightly painted, with puzzles or buttons that lit up. There were large foam constructions to climb on, and nooks to hide in, rope bridges and swing sets, an obstacle course and one of those nebula lightening balls that made kids’ hair stand on end. According to the map of the vast museum, there was a room where the entire floor was a pool of bubble solution, and kids hopped from island to island, using huge wands to blow massive bubbles. In another room, kids could be the bubbles, climbing inside inflated suits and bouncing around a room full of air jets. An entire wing of the museum was given over to a library, where shelves revolved to reveal hidden rooms and spiral staircases led up into miniature observatories. It was a place of childhood wonder and imagination.

All that fun, however, was being put on hold by unwelcome disappearances – and odd appearances. Lately, museum and library staff were going missing, and in their place, children were suddenly appearing. The children all went unclaimed at the end of the day, and made quite a bit of fuss when adults attempted to help them find their families. They insisted they weren’t really children at all.

“A case involving children,” Crowley griped, “how delightful.”

“Come on, Crowley,” Sam laughed at both the demon and his brother’s excited exploration of one of the exhibits. “We were all kids once. With imagination and joy and – you know – optimism about life.”

“Speak for yourself,” Crowley muttered. He grabbed Dean by the elbow and dragged him over to the cartoon-styled map of the museum. The FBI agents and the consulting Child’s Services counselors had just come from a meeting with the museum’s director regarding the case, and were scoping out the place. Normally, one pair would have done the preliminary investigation while the other pair looked into lore and the victims, but the museum was massive and too much for just two people. And it was clear that Dean was going to be a bit of a handful on this case.

Cas wasn’t helping much either.

“You were a child, once.” The fallen angel smiled irritatingly and glanced at Crowley out of the corner of his eye, thoroughly enjoying ribbing the reformed demon. “You wouldn’t have enjoyed a place like this? Is there not some small – very small – part of you that – ”

“I’m going to spare you from finishing that utterly ridiculous sentence, Feathers. If this is Neverland, than I am Captain Hook. Which would make you lot the Lost Boys and that one – ” He eyed Dean as the hunter enthusiastically dug a penny out of his pocket and set to spinning down the museum’s donation funnel. Crowley would murder them all before admitting something in him softened at the sight. “ – the boy who will never grow up.”

They all watched Dean for a moment, watching the penny as it spun round and round.

“Right,” Sam said, nodding towards the entrance to the main exhibits. “Who’s up for some exploring?” The four passed through the turnstile and into the museum.

It was rather obvious what was happening, of course. Something or someone was turning the museum and library staff into their childhood selves. Crowley wasn’t yet clear on the how or why of it. Or how to reverse whatever was happening.

What he did know was to take the necessary precautions against the Winchesters, Castiel or himself being turned into children. The absolute last thing he needed was for Sam and Dean to be downsized to hyperactive, bloodthirsty “wee-chesters” with himself and Cas responsible for their care and the case. Or worse – much, much worse – for all of four of them to be de-aged. In which case, the only real solution, horrible as it would be, would be to call his mother. Crowley could only imagine the delight Rowena would take in that particular situation. Unless, of course, reversing the spell proved to be difficult, in which case she would have not one, but four very rambunctious and very unwelcome boys under her care.

Rowena was not even remotely fond of children, much less her own son at that age. And it wasn’t something Crowley had any interest in reliving either. Thus, the necessary precautions were in place.

Which left him free to enjoy, from an emotional remove and with dismissive amusement, the wonders of the children’s museum.

Room after room opened into another immersive, interactive exhibit. A room where they walked on bridges and ducked under overpasses built for marble races. A room lit up in blacklight with huge, glowing blocks where kids learned about the light spectrum. More than once, they nearly lost Dean.

“Dude! Dude!” Dean grabbed Cas by a shoulder and shook him. “That room is a giant ball pit! And slides!” The hunter stared up into the two-story high room designed to look like an alien spaceship, where slides of all different colors and lengths slithered down into the ball pit. A child walked by eating a multi-colored swirled cookie from the museum’s café. The treat was the same size as the kid’s head. Dean stared after him. “Duuuude…”

“I am beginning to suspect,” Crowley mused, glancing back with bemusement as Dean shuffled after them, craning his neck to look into every room they passed, “that whatever is causing the staff to become children likely has to do with their own over-enthusiasm for the museum.”

“You think so?” Sam asked. Almost to juxtapose his brother, he straightened his suit’s tie and walked like the professional FBI agent he was pretending to be. “I would have guessed it was the work of a witch.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean hopped on the moving sidewalk and rode ahead of them, looking a little too proud of himself for it. “If that’s the case, why bother? In my experience, witches turn adults into kids to eat them. But there are plenty of kids running around, so why not just snatch any of them?”

Castiel furrowed his brow at Dean and glanced around them, concerned. “You should not talk about snatching children so loudly in public.”

“Feathers makes a good point.”

“Yeah, okay, thanks, Mr. Pretend Child Services.”

Crowley adjusted his cardigan and glared at the hunter. He still wasn’t clear why, exactly, he and Cas needed to play at the counselors while the Winchesters got to be the investigating agents.

“Maybe it is some sort of benevolent entity,” Cas offered, obnoxiously hopeful as always. “Perhaps it only wishes for the staff to enjoy the museum and the library as much as their young patrons enjoy it. And it doesn’t understand that it is causing undue harm.”

“Yeeeah,” Sam smiled weakly at the fallen angel. “I suppose that could be it.”

The foursome stopped at the end of the corridor, before a massive pile of books stacked to create a doorway which marked the entrance to the library. Beyond, light choired through the room in sparkling peals, shelves upon shelves climbed the walls, and in the center rose a great tree. Not a real tree, as would be immediately obvious to any adult. A sign declared it to be The Great Reading Tree, and rope ladders and staircases climbed up into its branches, where hammocks hung and platforms with railings looked out over the room. There were soft burrows carved into the tree at the base and into some of the larger branches, where children could nestle in for a read. The top branches entwined with the ceiling and drifted out over the room. Bookmarks dangled above the boys’ heads.

“Don’t,” Sam warned his brother, “even think about it.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but couldn’t keep the massive smile off his face. It was clear just how badly he wanted to climb The Great Reading Tree. Even if he wouldn’t fit in any of the hammocks or burrows or any of the rest of it.

They walked through a room bathed in ultramarine, with floor-to-ceiling aquariums creating a child-sized maze. Dean stopped to ogle the dwarf lanternshark and scare the pufferfish into inflating. With bored exasperation, Cas reminded him not to tap on the glass. In a room without lights, the floor tiles were lit in bright colors and chimed musical notes as the boys stepped on them. Dean danced the chorus of “You Can’t Always Get What You Want,” and Crowley may or may not have tapped out the opening notes of Brahms’ Symphony No. 3. They tottered their way through a vortex tunnel the length of a football field. Dean had to be quite literally dragged from the room where some ingenious engineer had managed to combine air hockey and bowling.

Towards the end, they walked through a holographic, interactive exhibit of the solar system. Sam studied the rings of Saturn with scholarly intensity. Dean flicked asteroids across space. Cas held the world in his hands, turning Earth this way and that, pondering, with that deep furrow carved into his brow. Pretending disinterest, Crowley wandered towards the sun. He put his hand up to it, felt a muted warmth supplied by some sensory system or other. Pretended, for just a moment, that he was the center of their little universe, rather than second-rate Pluto.

“You ever walk among the stars, Cas?”

The fallen angel looked at him over the top of their world.

“Did you?” He asked, though it wasn’t so much a question as a quiet commiseration, a reminder to them both that they had more in common with one another than with the humans with which they now chose to keep company, to consider family.

They explored every exhibit in the museum, allegedly looking for clues about the case. There would be time for that later, though, once the museum closed. For now, it was admittedly fun to simply wander through and familiarize themselves with the museum.

Maybe, Crowley mused to himself in secret, there was a little bit of childlike wonder in each of them after all. Even in him, if only a little.

The maze of corridors and rooms led the four boys back around to the main entrance, with only one exhibit left. A floor-to-ceiling green screen photo booth, with a touchscreen interface that allowed the museum-goer to choose the background. And large green foam blocks and shapes to maneuver, sit or climb on, hide or lift to create a fully-immersive photo experience. On the opposite wall, the potential photo appeared, allowing photo-takers to see themselves and adjust accordingly. The final photo was available in both digital and print at the museum gift shop.

“Dude! We gotta do this!” Dean was already swiping through the available backgrounds.

“Yes, by all means,” Crowley drawled. “Let’s leave a record of our being here, as well as making fools of ourselves. That will surely never come back around to bite us in the arse.”

“Hey, you know what? You don’t have to be in the photo if you don’t want to be.” Dean replied, with a tone that said he wasn’t about to let the demon ruin his fun. “Me and Sam and Cas? We’re gonna be pirates.”

“Wait,” Sam started to say, “I didn’t agree to – ”

“Come on, Sammy!” Dean called happily over his shoulder. The screen on the opposite wall lit up with the image of a massive pirate ship, floating in what could only be, Crowley realized with some amusement, Mermaid Bay. A jolly roger flew from the mast and a crocodile lurked in the waters below the boat. Trailing among the sails was a sprinkling of golden glitter. Fairy dust.

Crowley shook his head. Neverland, indeed.

With Cas’ confused assistance, Dean stacked and arranged the foam blocks so that he and Sam could appear as if over the railing of the ship. More blocks were stacked to a precarious height, especially given that the blocks had to bear the weight of a grown man, and Dean appeared in the crow’s nest of the ship.

“Check it out!” Dean laughed. “We look awesome! Everyone ready?” He held the remote control clicker in one hand, ready to take the photo.

Crowley looked at the three – Dean up in the crow’s next making a fierce scowl; Sam with his hands up to his eyes, pretending to be looking through a spyglass; Castiel, so eager to go along despite his utter lack of understanding, absolutely beaming at the camera. Little boys at play, all three of them.

Crowley sighed, and stepped into the bottom corner of the green screen. He lifted a foot to “brace” against the open treasure chest resting on the shore, crossed his arms, and offered the camera his most supremely pleased smile.

There was a loud, lens-shutter sound that the exhibit’s child audience would recognize and understand, and then their little tour of the museum was over.

Out in the main entrance, Sam delegated responsibilities, sending Dean and Crowley to interview the museum and library staff turned into children, under the premise of reunited the supposedly lost children with their parents. Sam was going to look into any related lore, and Castiel was to remain at the museum, keep an eye on the staff, and see if he couldn’t ascertain anything that might be of importance.

“Okay, but before we head out,” Dean insisted to Crowley, after they had parted ways with his brother and the angel, “I’mma visit the café, get me one of those cookies. Maybe a nacho-flavored corndog or some astronaut ice cream. You want anything?”

A decent cup of tea was entirely unlikely, so Crowley sent Dean off on his own, with strict instructions to return immediately after obtaining the desired treats, and not go wandering off again into the museum. He even threatened with the possibility of acquiring one of those child leashes, but Dean just laughed, patted him on the shoulder and made off towards the museum café.

In the absence of any unbelieving eyes, Crowley wandered over to the gift shop. He scrolled through the various photos taken from throughout the day in the green screen room. Ostensively to look for anything that might pertain to the case. But when he came to the photo of the four of them, he quietly paid for a digital copy to be sent to one of his private emails. And for a printed one, which he thought would go nicely in a frame and which he might present to Dean later, with the insistence that the photo be hung in Dean’s room or someplace that no one but the four of them might see it. Crowley had a reputation to maintain, after all.

And then, remembering something, Crowley pulled out his phone and opened up his Bumblr app. He checked the date, and smiled to himself. How fortuitous.

He made a new post and tagged one of the supernatural fans with whom he occasionally liked to chat, keeping himself up to date on the fandom and, surprising no one but himself, even making a few friends. This fan also happened to enjoy the work of J.M. Barrie, and Crowley was fairly certain they’d appreciate this particular photo of himself and the boys, who were known to the fandom as rather dedicated Supernatural LARPers. He supposed his reputation could handle a little fun, now and then.

“Happy birthday, @emblue-sparks,” Crowley tapped out under the photo. “From everyone’s favorite ‘boys who refuse to grow up.’”

He clicked post, and smiling, wandered back into the museum in search of Dean.

***

Surprise, Em! Wasn’t sure I was going to get this written in time, but where there is a will, there is a way. Hope you like it and have a wonderful day today! Eat lots of cake for me.

Thanks to everyone for reading! If you’re wondering exactly why – or even how – Crowley became a member of the in-world spn fandom, you can find out here.

#spn #spn ficlet #crowley #one of the boys #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #my fic #happy birthday!!!

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autumnblogs · 3 years

Text

Companion Piece 4: Reproduction

This was initially going to be a standard daily reading post, but I decided to turn it into a companion piece since it turned into a bit of an essay.

https://homestuck.com/story/1071

Time for another main theme; and actually, I would like to call it the main theme!

Homestuck is about reproduction.

Why did I wait for this panel to talk about it? The answer is that it’s one of three panels (at least - there might be more I’ve missed) that clue us in to the fact that the same thing is going on in each of the three situations where it appears.

Dave is the first victim. Tavros is the second victim. Jake is the third victim.

https://homestuck.com/story/1072

“thats really all there is to say on the matter.”

The code phrase that goes along with the imagery of our hero thrashed on the ground, messaging on their phone.

More after the break.

According to my reading, Homestuck is structured around a trio of relationships that take the form “Abusive Mentor -> Reluctant Student” where the pairs are respectively Bro -> Dave, Vriska -> Tavros, Dirk -> Jake.

It should be pretty obvious that reproduction in the biological sense is something that Homestuck Is About - Sburb, the main fixture of the webcomic’s mechanics is the reproductive cycle of universes, the way that reality propagates itself. Shipping is all over the place in Homestuck, and from Act 1 onward, characters are entertaining the possibility of relationships with one another as the author teases the audience with the possibility of any two particular characters getting together, before circumstances conspire to make them incompatible.

But Homestuck is about other kinds of reproduction too. Cultural reproduction, for example. As the guardians pass down rituals to their respective wards, as the Trolls’ dancestors communicate with them from across time through journals, treasure troves and the like, as the kids absorb pop cultural expectations about what it means to be men and women, the Culture that surrounds them is reproducing itself through them. They conform to the image of the times by adopting the symbols of mass media, and by playing out the rituals that define living in 2009.

Personal reproduction, too, exists in Homestuck as a microcosm of the large-scale cultural reproduction going on in the background radiation of the characters’ lives. Each of the abusive mentors is focused on transforming their desired ward into a copy of themselves. Bro tries to beat all of the softness out of Dave, and expects him to be interested in the same things that Bro is interested in. Vriska subjects Tavros to brutal physical and emotional violence because she sees him as weak and wants him to be strong - she wants him to be cruel and violent, more like her ideal of a strong troll. More like her image of herself as the ideal troll. Dirk spends an awful lot of time telling Jake that he needs to be more like Jane, telling Jane that she needs to be more like Jake, because the reality is that he wants both of them to be more like he is, and as Jake’s rough-housing “buddy” he denies him things that he needs to survive on the basis that they will be worthless to him unless he can seize them by way of violence.

In all three cases, the attempt to reproduce the self in the student serves not to empower them but to subordinate them to their mentor. Dave becomes traumatized and learns to hate and fear the sound of clanging and grinding metal, fear that he’s living under constant surveillance. Tavros becomes so incapable of dealing with stress and violence that he spends most of the second half of his session dreaming uselessly on Skaia. Jake becomes so afraid of touching another person that he decides that y’know? He’d rather just be alone for the rest of his life.

Reproduction is in the very fabric of Homestuck, all throughout the variety of instances that Doc Scratch will refer to later as Circumstantial Simultaneity. Certain poses are replicated between totally different characters as they have emotionally similar experiences that tie into the same core themes of the comic.

Certain phrases are repeated ad nauseam as the comic calls attention to its own recurring, recursive nature.

Each of the first three quarters of Homestuck - Acts 1-4, Acts 5-1 and 5-2, And Act 6 up through Game Over set up these three relationships, and once each one is set up, the rest of the comic is spent knocking it down, before the final quarter of the comic ultimately serves as the stage for each of the students to determine how they’re going to move beyond their abuse.

Because cycles of abuse are a kind of reproduction. There’s no easier way to turn a human being into an abuser than to subject them to abuse. And Homestuck seems to suggest that cycles of reproduction are frequently subverted into cycles of abuse. Any time reproduction is used for another reason than to build up, to beautify, to make something exist just so that it can exist - any time reproduction is used as a form of hegemony, to replicate one’s self instead of producing something new, it turns stagnant, and toxic.

There is no place in Paradox Space for stagnation, for trying to keep things the way that they are, for the preservation of particular images and particular forms the way that we remember them.. There is no place in Paradox space for immortality, the self-congratulatory, the masturbatory, the incestuous, the cancerous - for individual cells, or for individual selves to live forever, and keep copying themselves ad nauseam. Every living thing in Paradox Space is slated to die, because it’s how Paradox Space cleans up the old, and makes way for the new. Death and Birth are always intertwined. You can’t hold onto your Mom or your cat forever, Rose. You won’t live forever, Dave. You can’t watch Con Air the same way ever again, John. Your friendships have to come to an end some day, Jade. But every time something in Paradox Space dies, every time the act of reproduction takes place, it makes Paradox Space a richer, healthier place. The old is lost, but old things are recombined with one another, and diversify, leaving behind things that bear the hallmarks of the old, but are each special and different from the old, and from each other, in their own unique ways.

Reproduction, in the world of Homestuck, is an act that has to take place entirely for the benefit of the children, not for the benefit of the parents. Any time the reproducers use Reproduction as a tool by which to profit, to hegemonize, to immortalize themselves, it creates something that makes Paradox Space a weaker, sicker, frailer place.

#reproduction #sburb #doc scratch #bro strider #vriska serket #dirk strider #dave strider #tavros nitram #jake english #companion piece #commentary #not liveblogging

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casually-inlove · 4 years

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Hello. In one of your responses, you wrote: "I also have things that I don't necessarily agree with." Can you tell us about it? I am very interested in your representation of this manhua. What do you think is written well in the story, and what is not? What would you add or remove? What is missing and what is too much in history? I would very much like to know your TianShan headcanon. I have too many "wants". I'm sorry if I was rude.

Dear anon, this was not rude at all. Indeed, you have many questions, so much as I try to be concise in my posts, this one is going to be very lengthy. Let me start with a little disclaimer. Everything below is entirely subjective. It is in no way meant to undermine anyone's enjoyment of the series, nor is it supposed to be an attack against the author. I value the comic's episodic nature and light-heartedness myself, otherwise, I would not have stuck around. It is also true that for the past half a year my interest in it waxes and wanes. Besides, I am well aware that certain groups of fans grow dissatisfied with the manhua direction. That said, I must state once again, OX has every right to write the story as they please, while the fans, no matter how displeased they may be, do not have the room to make demands of the author. So then, without further ado, some of my quibblings follow below. Beware of the wall-of-text.

1) The plot and characters get stagnant at times — these two go hand in hand. I suppose it is a prevalent gripe with 19 Days, and I am sure everyone has experienced it at least once. Some of it stems from the very way the story is told: the manhua timeline moves slowly in comparison with the readers' timeline. It works for depicting slow-burn relationships and subtle changes in the characters' outlooks. The problem is, more often than not, the latest chapters are inconsequential to either plot or character growth. They do not have the substance or the conflict to them. When OX had introduced the characters, while undoubtedly charming and loveable, they were practically walking tropes. Jian Yi, the bubbly airhead. ZZX, the stoic childhood friend. HT, Mr Popular. As time passed, OX did the clever (and the right) thing — they have subverted these stereotypes, by showing us that the characters are not who they appear to be. Thus, we learned that Jian Yi is a lonesome, affection deprived kid who on occasion dreads going back home because it's empty; his bright grin is there to hide his sadness. We also learned that HT had a dysfunctional family and had been exposed to violence since a tender age; we also learned that he used to lead an empty life devoid of close interpersonal connections and passions, etc. I am not going to write about Mo because it is obvious and self-explanatory.

That sudden change in the perspective is what made those characters fascinating. A few of these developments co-occur with the addition of the “darker” mafia/gangster subplot. Indeed, the introduction of the criminal legacy theme (which is true for Jian Yi, He Tian, and Mo to an extent) allowed to show the wounds and troubles these characters had to face. It also dangled the prospect of an intriguing plot direction — a mafia-related story that is disguised as a school-themed slice-of-life. It was the underlying gangster plot-line that hooked me up; I kept asking myself: Are they connected (the Jian family, the He family)? Were they responsible for what happened with the Mo family restaurant? Will their backgrounds converge at some point? How does Jia Yi's kidnapping fit into all this? That sort of stuff. Alas, right now that subplot seems to be put on a backburner, which is a shame because this is the plot-line that leads to future events, such as Jian Yi's disappearance. The kidnapping is still going to happen and the threat looming over Jian Yi is still real, yet OX does very little to explain anything about it. Naturally, revealing everything at once is out of the question, but if it were me, I would have opted for unveiling bits and pieces now and then. To start with, it would have propelled the plot forward. Apart from that, it would have given the readers some food for thought and kept the intrigue fresh — they would have been cracking their heads to piece the puzzle. Finally, the characters' darker backgrounds provide the opportunity to give them development. For instance, how would Mo's view of He Tian change, if he learned that the latter had to face his warped father to save Mo (ch. 245 and further on)? Or how would Mo react, if he learned that He Tian lost his mother (presumably) due to his family shady dealings? Would it make him understand the other boy, relate to him on some level? Etc.

The comedy and fun, light moments are precious, but I miss those moments when the manhua challenged my impression of the characters. Right now, the plot stagnates in the sense that we know that someone is threatening Jian Yi, but we aren't being given any clues or updates on the matter, as if the whole thing wasn't important. So, in response to your question “what would I have removed”, I would say that I would probably drop quite a few school-centric chapters in favour of “criminal” subplot. Just a bit: maybe show Mr Jian's messages, or Jian Yi's mother discussing the situation with him, or He Cheng receiving some reports on the situation.

The character recent portrayal also disappoints me on occasion. They started as stereotypical manga characters, then they were given some depth, and now they are close to becoming yet another set of stereotypes. Yeah, I get that Mo is a tsundere and enamoured He Tian is an idiot in love — OX has been depicting them as such for the past year. It would be cool to take a look at other facets of their personalities now and then too. While it’s understandable that only a few weeks have passed since the beginning of the story, OX should remember that years have passed for the readers; keeping the audience engaged should be among their priorities.

I suppose I do have a bias here because as an adult I have little interest in all things school-related, and in general, I am not too fond of slice-of-life (I typically avoid reading it).19 Days attracted me because it had some universal themes, like dealing with past and legacy, finding your path, healing from the old scars, learning to handle difficult relationships within a family, and of course its low-key “mafia” subplot. It could be that OX truly doesn't have a meticulously chapter-to-chapter thought-out plot, hence why the manhua meanders at times, or it could have something to do with Mosspaca's internal agenda. Perhaps, it is the latter and the company somehow insists its artists stick with simplistic plots for the sake of keeping their target audience. Even so, there's a catch here, which was brought to the attention by @agapaic: the original reader audience has aged up already so to keep them hooked it would be wise of OX to “mature up” the comic as well. Not in the sense of 18+ content, but in the sense of introducing more mature subjects alongside the comedy and slice of life. Perhaps, they are not looking to keep the fans but to attract the new, younger ones. Who knows.

2) Drama and comedy imbalance. It is a pet peeve of mine which I consider to be one of the prominent manhua flaws: there is lots of slapstick comedy which ends up being out of place on occasion. I do realize the comic is humorous, however, there is no denying that OX introduced themes and topics that are no laughing matters. Jian Yi's and He Tian's loneliness, bullying and ostracizing, extortion racket, absentee parents, youth gangs and violence — just to name a few. There is a lot more, but you get the picture.

It is also obvious that three out of four main characters carry the remnants of childhood trauma with them, which directly affects their present selves. All the same, these topics practically fizzle out as soon as they get introduced, or get swept under the rug with comedy. Considering the humorous nature of the comic, it is given that dispersing some grimmer topics with playfulness will be used now and then. To my mind, however, OX relies on that abrupt drama-to-comedy switch too heavily, which makes the transition steep and often out of place. At times, it creates an impression that the author does not take these issues seriously. There have been numerous episodes when emotional moments were subverted and then dropped, without gaining climax and closure. For instance, the moment that sticks out to me the most is when He Tian attempted to tell Mo why he liked him. The visuals made it clear that it wasn't easy for He Tian to say out loud, yet OX never gave the intense moment the needed closure.

Mo brushed He Tian off and the latter just rolled with it, as if it never took him any courage to say those words, and then everything was swiftly engulfed by slapstick humour (the ball-slapping scene). A panel showing a glimpse of He Tian's face sinking to indicate he was somewhat let down by Mo's nonchalant response would have been appropriate — in fact, it would be natural for someone to get hurt when their confession is taken lightly. Likewise, I half-expected OX to show a bit more of He Tian's reaction towards Mo's story about his meeting with She Li. We got to see his expression darkening when he learned that She Li gave Mo the ear piercings, yet this time — mind you, when Mo suggested that She Li might have murdered someone — we never see He Tian react much. For the record, it was He Tian who asked She Li a rhetorical question about being able to take responsibility for taking a life.

Furthermore, I believe that someone romantically invested in another human being would have naturally shown more inquisitiveness upon hearing a story like that. Sure enough, some would say that Mo would not have liked talking about a traumatizing event, and that is fine as well — just show it. A single panel of He Tian being concerned and trying to inquire further and Mo refusing to talk would have been a very neat detail that could have potentially smoothed the transition into humour, while keeping our heroes in character.

3) Sometimes there is too much focus on the couples. The manhua has introduced several reoccurring supporting characters which are directly linked to our main quartet. For example, Mo had bonds before meeting our boys: his henchmen, the Buzzcut. Likewise, He Cheng was the one to raise He Tian; he shaped the boy's outlook on life. These characters all played important roles in making our boys the people they are today, and yet we know so little of their bonds. Maybe the Buzzcut is unimportant in the larger scheme of things, He Cheng, however, is not only linked to He Tian, but he also plays a part in the underlying mafia/gangster subplot. It would have made sense if he was the one to shed some light on the situation with Jian Yi and He Tian's traumatic past. I would have loved to see our boys interact with other people as well — it would have served to show the variety of relationships out there: friendships, familial bonds, mutual respect between the leader and underlings, etc.

Anyway, I am going to stop now. I could name a few more, but this text is already more than 2000 words long. I have made some posts with my nitpicking before, so if you wish you can read them here.

link & link

Once again, this is all entirely subjective and it is not meant to be perceived as me saying that the manhua is poorly written and no one should enjoy it. Writing and creating compelling plots is a tough job, especially when it comes to long pieces. It also goes without saying that the author should keep their target audience and marketing goals in mind. 19 Days appeals to a great number of people of all ages and that means that OX succeeded in creating something compelling. Their writing is indeed flawed at times, but there is no way around it. It is impossible to excel both at being a great artist and a good writer. While there may be things that each of us would want to change (when comes to characters or the plot), it is still important to remember that it is not our creation. We can only decide whether to keep reading and enjoy what we get or move along. There is no point in attacking the author or generating constant pessimism.

#19 days #long post #that...was a tiresome writing #Anonymous #q&a time

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eirian-houpe · 3 years

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The Library Beneath the Clock Tower - Chapter 51

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 51 - Bad Penny

For Belle, days lost their light, and even the prospect of her best friend’s arrival could do nothing to brighten her mood. She had spoken to Ruby again as soon as she’d gotten home from that fateful picnic at which everything seemed to go wrong.

Almost as if she had been expecting her to call back, Ruby picked up after the first few rings

It made her feel even more defensive, and she thought she sounded, even to her own ears, like a petulant child in response to Ruby’s demand,

“So, tell me. Everything”

And so in fits and starts, she unfolded the tale of everything that had occurred between her and Gold, though leaving out the ‘juicy details’ much to the Ruby’s disappointment.

“I know how I feel, Ruby,” she said at last. “And yes, the sex was good - amazing actually - but… I feel more for him that just that. I feel like I’m somehow using him, or that I was lying to him if I didn’t tell him how I feel, and… well now that I have, it seems like he doesn’t want to know. Unless…”

“Yes?” Ruby prompted.

“It doesn’t matter,” Belle shook her head. She couldn’t possibly be right. It was a crazy theory.

“Just… think about it,” Ruby told her, “And try talking to him. You won’t solve this by suddenly avoiding each other.”

“Since when did you become the expert on relationships,” Belle teased, but underlying that, she knew that Ruby was right.

“Since… forever,” Ruby said. “Speaking of which, and especially now that you need me, I was serious, you know? I’m coming up.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, I—”

“Are you kidding? My best girl needs me, of course I’m coming.”

And just like that, it seemed, Ruby had decided that a return trip to Storybrooke was the right thing for her to do. It would take her a few days, she said, to get everything sorted, but she would be there.

Belle knew that Ruby was right, of course, but it seemed that Gold hadn’t got the memo. Every time she tried to approach him, to talk to him, he seemed to avoid her. He passed by her in the street without even a word, even when she tried to speak to him. In public, if he had to address her at all, he returned to calling her ‘Miss Marchland’ and it hurt her heart to think that only a few days previously they were crying out for each other in the throes of ecstasy. In all honesty, he was being a giant dick about everything and she probably shouldn’t even care; shouldn’t even give him the time of day, and yet…

She couldn’t get him out of her mind, and she didn’t want to.

Thoughts of Gold were like feeling surrounded by comfort, surrounded by rightness. He was home. Being without him was the worst kind of feeling she could possibly imagine, and as days passed and stretched toward a week, she began to feel more and more despondent. Another day passed and she decided it was the stupidest thing she had ever done; to tell him and expect him to feel the same.

She was cleaning in the library when the thought struck her, and struck her hard enough that she had to pull out a chair and sit down. She had, with her pushing and her rushing, probably ruined the best thing to ever have happened to her. She knew his past, knew the way his ex-wife had treated him, and here was she, gushing about how she felt, what she wanted from him. What a fool she was!

Angry with herself she pushed up from the chair, snatched up the stack of books she had been re-shelving, and marched to the stacks, thrusting books, almost carelessly into place. She leaned down to force the last book home, when her eye caught sight of the black dust jacket of a book that had been kicked almost underneath one of the selves. She knelt down, and flattened her hand against the floor so that she could use it to coax the shy, timid book from its hiding place. It was just as she succeeded, that she caught sight of where exactly she was, and blushed deeply; right beside the spot where she and Gold had first consummated their mutual need.

She sat down, her back against the shelf and snatched up the book into her hand, where she could see it. Not a woman to believe in signs, ordinarily at least, she let out a soft whimper as she read the title: The Eternal Trust.

Before he could talk herself out of it, she pushed to her feet, book in hand, and began to march out of the library doors, across the street, almost without looking - nearly getting herself mown down by an over-sized SUV in the process - and down to Gold’s Shop.

She pushed open the door, still at a fair speed, and dropped the book onto the counter top where Gold had, prior to her arrival, been lost in his ledgers.

“Belle,” he said, his tone full of surprise, and the use of her given name almost made her falter. “This is a surprise. Is everything all right?”

“No,” she said flatly, somewhat derailed by his positive response to her presence. She had expected for him to reject her out of hand, instead he seemed to be welcoming and open to conversation where he had not been previously. “No, everything is not all right. Far from it.”

“Well, then, perhaps we’d better—” he began, but she was not about to lose her nerve, or her resolve just because he was being so reasonable. She had a mind, and feelings and she intended to speak them both.

“You ignore me in the street. You call me by my family name as if I were some kind of business associate,” she held up her fingers, pointing to them one by one to help get her point across. To her surprise, Gold did not try to interrupt. “And frankly, getting angry when someone is trying to tell you how they feel - that they want to know you better - is not just unkind, it’s also downright disrespectful!”

She felt to silence then, frozen in place, a tableau of the anger brought about by emotional pain. Gold on the other hand sighed softly, and began to move around the counter toward her.

“I’m sorry, Belle,” he said quietly as he moved, “I… I really am, but everything I said then, and to be fair, had told you before is as true now as it was then. I’m… a difficult man to love.”

He reached for her immobile hands and took them gently into his own. She felt her muscles resist being moved by him, but didn’t snatch her hands away. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, looking down at the movement, his breath trembling a little as he took each one.

“That… that doesn’t mean I couldn’t try,” she said, leaning down a little to peep up at him, her lips pursed in an expression of hopeful supplication. “I want to… to take that chance.”

Gold let out another sigh, and slowly lifted his eyes to hers. “You don’t know what you’re asking, Belle, what you’re letting yourself in for,” he said. “That little… outburst at the picnic is nothing compared to the way I can be. I’m a monster, Belle. How could you ever want to love me?”

He lowered his gaze again and she freed one of her hands, stepped a little closer, and cupped his cheek in earnest. “No, Lennox,” she said, looking up into his downcast eyes. “You’re not a monster. You’re a man, a good man whose been pushed beyond his limits.”

“Belle, I… I don’t know, I…” he stumbled over his words and she slipped her hand to the back of his neck, gripping him tightly almost with a little shake.

“Well, I do,” she told him. “And I’m usually a good judge of character. You’ve been hurt, that’s all, and you’re afraid that it could happen again, but I promise you, I could never do that.”

“Milah, she…” he trailed off again as she shook her head.

“What she did to you was unforgivable, Lennox,” she said, “but she’s gone now, and I’m here, and all you have to do is let me in; trust me, and I promise you, I will show you what a good man you are.”

“Oh, Belle,” he whispered, and freeing his other hand from hers, gently brushed back the hair from the side of her face. “I don’t deserve you.”

He leaned down to her, and for a moment their foreheads rested together, and they just stood, breathing each other in, before almost as one they drew back, just barely, and tilted their heads, so that their lips could brush together.

His mouth was soft, just as she remembered and—

The bell above the door jangled, was followed by heavy, clumping footsteps, and then a brash voice became the icing on the unwelcome cake.

“Sorry to interrupt such a touching moment,” he said in a voice that drawled of the exact opposite. “I was told that the apartment above the library had a new occupant, but they didn’t seem to be at home, so I thought… if you can’t get satisfaction from the monkey, find the organ grinder. So, here I am.”

“You!” Gold snarled, and stepped forward in front of Belle, guiding her behind him, as Jones, the man she remembered seeing at the Mayor’s Ball, came to a halt in front of them.

“Good to see you again, Cuckold,” the interloper said. “Then again, I told you I’d be back, didn’t I? And this time, with an order from the courts, see?”

He held up a folded sheaf of papers, an almost maniacal smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were full of spite and malice. Gold reached out and snatched the papers from his hands, unfolded them and looked down to read them.

“Take your time,” Jones said, “I can wait.”

Belle stood on the tips of her toes to read what she could over the top of Gold’s arm, steadying herself against his elbow.

”… apartment above the Storybrooke Public Library and all of its associated private access points …”

Belle frowned as she read the words, and then skimmed her way through the legal garbage to get to the heart of the matter.

”… was, in accordance with the divorce settlement between Ms Milah Gold, and Mr Lennox Gold, herewith granted to the benefactor of her estate…”

Her head snapped up, and in spite of Gold’s unspoken protests skirted his restraining arm and brought herself face to… chest with the gaudily dressed bearer of bad tidings.

“Who the hell are you!” she demanded.

“Killan Jones,” he told her. “At your service, or rather… not really as it would appear I am now your landlord, being the ‘benefactor’ mentioned in this order from the courts,” he flicked at the paper that Gold was still holding. “And unfortunately for you, I want you out.”

“You can’t do that,” she protested, and poked a finger at his chest.

“My, my,” he mocked, “Mayor Mills said you were a feisty little firecracker, but… alas, love, I can, and I have.” He produced an envelope from the inside pocket of his leather jacket, and handed it to Belle. “I’ll save you the trouble of opening it shall I? Notice of Eviction.”

“The apartment is included in the lease for the library,” she folded her arms across her chest and fixed Jones with a defiant expression, “for the use of the caretaker.”

“And wrong again,” Jones said, clearly in his element. “You see, since the library was closed for so long, and there was no caretaker, the previous real-estate provision for that also lapsed, and the two became separate again, and sadly, Mayor Mills neglected to renew that provision when she reopened the library, so…” he shrugged entirely unapologetically. “…as I said. The apartment is mine, and since I’ve come a long way to attend to matters myself, and already have a new tenant in mind, I want you out.”

“Over my—!” Gold snarled, taking a step forward again.

“Ooooh, so tempting,” Jones interrupted, then turning back to Belle, leaned in a solicitous way against the nearest display case, as he murmured, “Now, I’m not an unreasonable man…” He looked her up and down, somewhat lasciviously, making her flesh crawl as if covered in a thousand, thousand fleas, before he added. “I’m sure we could come to some… arangemen-t.”

He pronounced the T with emphasis as he pushed up off the cabinet, and took a step toward Belle. He got no further, and she jumped back in alarm as a sharp crack sounded close to the floor, and Jones’ knee buckled, sending him sprawling, even as Gold stepped forward, cane raised again for a second strike.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, punctuating each word with a vicious blow, with his cane, to Jones’ supine form, “ever. Lay. A finger. On. Belle!”

“Lennox!” she cried out to him. “Lennox, stop!”

“Oh he won’t stop love… not until he’s had his satisfaction,” Jones managed between strikes of Gold’s cane.

Belle ignored him, “Stop right now,” she implored Gold, “This is not the way!”

Gold did stop, but only to look in her direction and tell her, “He’s had this coming for a long time, Belle. It’s no less than he deserves.”

“You see,” Jones mocked. “You see the kind of man he is?” For the briefest of moments, Belle actually considered walking away and letting Gold do what he wanted to, but then Jones continued, goading him, laughing in both their faces, “Go on then, Gold, finish me off. It’s what you’ve always wanted - revenge for taking Milah from you, when the truth is, you just weren’t man enough for her. Maybe I should show this little doll what she’s missing. Who knows, might even let her sta—”

Gold gave Belle a helpless, open armed shrug, and then raised his cane again, meaning to continue his beating of the slimy little toad who was still mocking them from the floor. Belle caught Gold’s arm, and shook her head, before pushing him back slightly, away from Jones.

She walked over then, and looking down at Jones, nudged his ribs with the toe of her shoe.

“Get up,” she said, and when he didn’t immediately move repeated more firmly and more loudly, “I said get up!”

Jones shuffled back a way before pushing himself first to his haunches, and then to his feet. She couldn’t help but feel gratified when she saw his slight wince.

“You, sir, are a despicable little man,” she said, with loathing and disgust in her voice, and even though she knew she had no where to go - though she knew she would always be welcome at Granny’s - she continued, “I will pack up my things and leave the apartment, and we’ll hear no more about your sordid attempt at extortion. Otherwise, I might have to speak with the Sheriff.”

“You do that, love,” Jones invited sarcastically. “You’ve got 24 hours, after that I can’t make any promises.”

“Oh, no. I’ll go right away,” she said curtly. “I won’t stay a single night in a property that has anything to do with the likes of you.”

“I’ll come with you,” Gold said, his voice still sounding thick with anger, but also something else that Belle couldn’t quite identify, maybe pride; perhaps admiration. “We might need some help moving your things.”

Belle nodded, smiling her thanks at Gold, and taking his arm as he drew along side her, and the two began to walk toward the door.

“I’ll go fetch the sheriff then,” Jones told no one in particular, though Belle suspected that his comment was aimed more at Gold than at her. “Make sure none of my property gets stolen or damaged.”

As Gold drew level with Jones, he leaned closer and in warning, through snarling teeth, said, “You do that… dearie.”

#rumbelle #au #cursed storybrooke #angst #smut #the library beneath the clock tower #The Bookshop on the Corner

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arotechno · 4 years

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The Heartless: Chapter 3

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Chapter III: in which the biggest victories are often anticlimactic

The night before we were set to head out, having mapped out an ideal route through a couple of neighboring villages to the southeast, I simply could not silence my thoughts long enough to fall asleep. Fear had bound me to the limits of the Village and the surrounding woods for years. Who could know how much the rest of the kingdom, so far removed from the tiny, isolated village I knew, had changed in that time? Petra would know what the outside world was like, but admitting my fears to her was out of the question; as the older one, who was supposed to keep her out of trouble, I needed to save face.

I stood up from my cot and began pacing circles around the dining table. I needed to relax; if a child could have that kind of courage, then certainly I could, too. Granted, she was young and naive and had a vastly different childhood than mine--but was that fair of me to say?

My pacing was interrupted by a door creaking. Bertrand emerged from his study, scraggly beard more unkempt than usual. He studied me briefly, grey eyebrows raised.

“You’ll wear a hole into the floorboards,” he mused.

My shoulders sank. “Of course, the floor is your main concern.”

Bertrand paused, eyeing me from across the room for a few silent beats. “You leave in the morning, yes?”

I nodded. “Only for a week or so.”

Several carefully concealed emotions passed across Bertrand’s face; his mustache twitched almost imperceptibly. Then, his usual stony expression returned, and he reiterated, “I was being serious about the floorboards,” and said nothing more before returning to his study and locking the door behind him with a resounding click.

I shook my head dismally and returned to bed.

* * *

I woke up to the same drab, brown ceiling as always, the wood rotting away rainy day after rainy day. Blinking away sleep, I rolled out of bed and changed my clothes in the glow of the rising sun pouring through the window. The door to Bertrand’s study was left ajar, and for a moment I thought about saying goodbye—but I decided against it, for fear he’d only try to change my mind. So I stuffed a few stale crusts of bread and supplies into my satchel and left, not daring to look back.

The heat had begun to set in, and the air was thickening with each passing day as summer tightened its grip on the kingdom. I met Petra at the village gates beyond the great oak tree just after sunrise, with my over-stuffed satchel slung cross-body and my bow and arrow at the ready on my back. Petra greeted me as giddily as ever, bouncing on her heels with unyielding energy.

“Are you ready?” she urged, already hopping the fence to the other side.

I willed my legs to move, but they wouldn’t. “Petra… Are you sure this is safe?”

Petra frowned. “I leave the village all the time. Much longer than you’ve been aware, in fact. No one’s ever watching.”

What did she mean, no one’s ever watching? “Petra, the royal guard patrols this area all the time.”

“Have you ever seen them?”

“I— What? No, I’ve never really—”

Petra gestured broadly with both her scrawny arms. “I have walked through here every hour of the day and I have seen a guard perhaps once or twice, and never have they questioned me. They keep the gates locked as a scare tactic, sure, but nothing is stopping you from hopping the fence.” She put her hands on her hips and frowned. “Have you really never even once tried to leave, just to take a walk down the road?”

I felt exposed. She, a child, had seen right through me. Sure, I had taken walks through the woods on the opposite end of the village, and I could see the gate from the oak tree where I spent most evenings. But never had I even considered the possibility of leaving until Petra had convinced me, and not once had I stopped to wonder whether the royal guard were ever really watching, or if they ever really cared who went in or out so long as we didn’t cause them any trouble. Perhaps as long as we kept our mouths shut and vowed to stay in the shadows and on the fringes of society, they did not care what happened to us. After all, clearly no one was truly preventing Petra’s escapades, nor the entrance of the sorts of troublemakers who chased after her.

“No,” I finally admitted. “I’ve never done this before. This is the first time.”

“Why?”

I did not give a response, and after a few moments Petra seemed to decide not to press me for one; perhaps she already knew the answer. Instead, she stepped back and gestured expectantly at the fence. Steeling my resolve and taking a deep breath, I hoisted one leg over the fence and then the other. My feet hit solid ground, and the world did not come to an end as I once expected it would; for the first time in seven years, I was outside the boundaries of the Village of the Heartless. It felt every bit as anticlimactic as you might expect.

We headed southeast on foot, down to a border village not unlike my own hometown, full of tiny cottages and dirt roads and street vendors selling their wares in the market square. No one paid us much attention; to the townspeople, we were no different from them, save for perhaps our appearances. Petra’s ill-fitting clothing and my bow and arrow made us stand out far more than the secret we were harboring seemed to be able to. This, of course, had been how I was able to conceal my identity as a child: from the outside, no one can tell how empty you are--it’s only when they get too close that our true selves come out eventually.

From the look of it, none of this was on Petra’s young mind at all. She waltzed through the town’s bustling streets as though she were its divine ruler, with all the undue confidence of someone young enough to believe themself untouchable and the track record to support it. I had once expected that her brief run-in with death those many weeks ago would have deterred her to some extent, but I had been wrong; whereas I was cautious, eyes always peeled, trigger-happy hands itching for my bow at the earliest sign of trouble, Petra was unabashed, brazen, a master of quick escapes and daring pursuits.

Or maybe she was just lucky, and too young to fear consequences. But then again, if there was anything my 17 years had taught me, it was that age and experience are often two vastly different things.

We browsed some of the market stalls from a safe distance (neither of us had more than some spare change to our names). There were farmers selling their early summer crops, bakers with baskets overflowing with still-warm loaves of bread and pastries stuffed with fresh jams. There was even a vendor selling medicinal potions in tiny glass bottles, which reminded me briefly of Bertrand, but I quickly pushed the thought from my mind and continued walking. At the far end of the square, there was a counter lined end-to-end with sweet cakes and fresh-baked raspberry pies that glistened red and moist in the summer sun, just like the ones that once sat sparkling on kitchen window sills as a promised reward for clean plates and helpful hands.

Petra’s stomach growled audibly. I reached into my bag and retrieved two not-quite-stale rolls, one for me and one for her.

“Come on,” I prompted, nodding at the stretch of dirt road that led back out of the market square. “We should go.”

When we stopped to rest that evening, it was up in the trees on the edge of town, where we would not be disturbed by animals nor discovered by late-night passersby. I watched the people pass by below; workers returning home, couples strolling hand-in-hand, gaggles of laughing children running through the streets, doting parents walking by with their babies. I thought of the Village of the Heartless, its unlit lamps and perilous nights, but also its peaceful mornings and quiet afternoon laughter, and tried fruitlessly to reconcile the two images in my head.

“What was your home village like?” Petra asked quietly, eyes fixed on a group of kids about her age that were playing a game in the street below.

“Not all that different from this one,” I answered simply.

“I see.” Petra fussed absentmindedly with the hem of her shirt, mouth set in a soft frown. “Were there a lot of other kids your age there?”

If I’d had a heart, I imagine it would have clenched. Instead, I felt an aching sort of sadness set deep into my bones. “There were,” I confirmed.

“So you must have had a lot of friends,” Petra pried, both a statement and a challenge in one. She stared firmly into my eyes expectantly.

I sighed. Petra’s budding interest in my past was only going to end poorly for the both of us. “I once thought so,” I replied honestly. “But in the end, when the veil was lifted, maybe it was only ever just Basil.”

Petra hummed thoughtfully, but she did not ask any more questions. Instead, she leaned into the crook of the branches she was perched in, and we sat in silence as the moon rose high above the horizon. Petra closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, while I listened to the steady heartbeat of the village below. I barely slept a wink.

#The Heartless #aro #aromantic #aro writing #aro writers #aspec writing #aspec writers #writeblr #op

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