#EXPLICITLY SAYING THAT ALLOWING HER TO CUT OFF HER HEAD WAS A SIGN OF TRUST AND LOVE TO RUN AWAY

[alittlextrathatway]

So I had a thought...

Season 9's miscommunication was totally foreshadowed in 8x09.

And by foreshadowed I don't mean because Gabby came back and that's the source of the problem.

Some people may not find this shocking because, like me, you head canon that 8x09 was closure for Matt and Gabby, but I'm here to propose that it's not just a head canon or an "interpretation".

Because I'm here to say, it was literally closure and the first time Brett put a meaning behind Casey's words that he didn't intend to fit her own assumptions about his feelings for Gabby.

Let's look at that scene between Brett and Casey at the end of the episode, shall we?

"Hey!"

"Good morning."

"How'd it go with Dawson?"

"Great, actually."

"Oh, that's...so so good to hear."

"Thanks for talking me into that."

That was it. That was the extent of the conversation. And Sylvie's response is to assume that being with Dawson is what made Matt happy which, in turn, allows the audience to assume that as well.

(Inserting cut here because this is gonna get long.)

But I'm here to suggest (as I've done in fanfic time and time again) that being with Dawson isn't actually what made Matt happy. (Not that he'd explain that to Brett and certainly not with Foster standing right behind her.) What made Matt happy is finally achieving closure with Dawson. Why do I think this was closure even though Derek wants us to think it wasn't?

Well, for starters, both Monica and Jesse have called it closure.

But aside from that, before their hook up Gabby asks if it's a mistake because she's leaving in the morning and Matt says, "I know and I'm staying. But that doesn't make this a mistake."

That is not something you say when you want to seriously rekindle a romance, guys. That's something you say when you know you're in the middle of a one night only event. Both Gabby and Matt knew this one night wasn't going to lead to anything else. Nothing had changed between them since she left at the beginning of season 7.

Gabby is living a life that makes her happy far away from Chicago and she's very successful at it so why would she stay? Matt is settled in Chicago. His family and work family are there along with the job that he loves. Why would he leave? This wasn't some romantic reunion intended to be the beginning of them fixing their marriage. This was the goodbye they never got the first time around, for Gabby at least.

For Matt this was a chance for him to have a say in how their story ended. He chose to go to Gabby's room and he also chose to leave without saying goodbye the next morning. Also not something you would do if you were wanting to rekindle a relationship.

Matt closed the door on Gabby that night and decided to move on with his life. That is the real reason he's happy when he shows up at the Firehouse. So, when he thanks Brett for talking him into it he's actually thanking her for helping him achieve closure only she doesn't know that because, once again, Matt answered the "How'd it go?" question in the vaguest terms possible.

Does that remind anyone of "You were right. I needed to hear it."? Or is that just me?

The more I think about this the more I am convinced S8 was about Matt achieving closure and finally moving on. As much as S9 has hurt my heart, it is slowly allowing me to see the larger journey from a different perspective (When Derek says Brettsey is years in the making I truly believe him. The evidence is all there.)

S7 was about proposing the idea of Brettsey to both characters. By the end of it, Sylvie thinks she's reading too much into it and I think Matt thinks Sheffield's return is a sign that he and Sylvie should stick to being friends.

Upon reflection, I think the early part of S8 was about Matt trying his damndest to stay friends with Sylvie Brett. Likely because he wasn't sure if he was ready to move on or completely over Gabby. So early in the season we see him hooking up with Smart Girl and then trying to simply be a good friend to Sylvie. We see a little jealousy with Ryan but ultimately he does encourage her when it comes to him and then continues to encourage her when things with Ryan come to an awkward end.

We all love what he says to Sylvie there but I think we can agree that while it shows how much he values and respects her, it's a largely platonic sentiment. He's trying to be her friend despite the crush we can obviously see he's still harboring (though this is the only episode in the early part of the season where the crush truly shows itself).

Gabby's return is only a couple of episodes after that. Matt is hesitant to go to the gala and I think that's because he's not sure it'll help him achieve the closure he wants. He may have a bit of a crush on Sylvie but above all else they're friends and he trusts her to give him fair and accurate advice. So, in my opinion, he goes and finds out it was exactly the closure that he need it. (Except for that voicemail which I am convinced is Derek ship baiting again as he did in 9x09 and probably also him planting the seeds for the doubt that caused Matt to say "I don't know" in 9x02.)

Now, what begins to seriously happens after Gabby leaves?

Yep, you guessed it, Brett and Casey begin to grow closer. Matt begins to seek out reasons to spend time with Brett and actively invest in their friendship. It slowly develops into a deep connection that is well beyond platonic as the season progresses. To me, it appears that he's leaning into his feelings and beginning to let himself move on. Maybe he doesn't realize that's what he's doing as it happening but that's definitely the end result.

It is not a coincidence that all of that begins to happen after his one night with Gabby. He was holding back in 8x01-8x09 but after he gets his closure all bets are off. He wants to be around Sylvie -- to be near her, talk to her, and learn everything he can about her.

The timing of that should not be lost on us and that timing means that 8x09 is actually the very first time Brettsey miscommunicated and is, in fact, the source of all our problems in S9.

My theory: Derek brought Gabby back not to further Dawsey but to cause a complication for Brettsey.

I am convinced and I will remain convinced until the show explicitly tells me I'm wrong.

Derek has been playing the long game with them this entire time. He'll continue to mess with our heads however he can because that's simply what he does, but it's clear he truly has been planning this journey between Sylvie and Matt for years. Brettsey endgame is coming, but Derek's gonna drag us through hell to get there so buckle up, guys.

Buckle. Up.

Sorry, this got so long, but I had an epiphany today and had to type all of it out immediately to get it out of my head. I found it very encouraging so hopefully someone else will too! <3

#Brettsey #chicago fire #sylvie x matt #brett x casey #matt casey x sylvie brett

[that-other-him]

In the belly of the Leviathan

Warmind!Au Destiny story inspired by and tying in with @hdreaper 's own story just posted. Please enjoy!

Fear was something of an old hat to Winter. Memory skips left her anxious, quarantine duty made her anxious, being cut off from Rexy, her frames and the network made her anxious, the anxiety making the memory skips worse made her anxious...

But the fear she'd been living with for the last month blew all of that out of the water.

Ra-1, the fist of Rasputin, the Dragon Ascendant, had personally sent her a message to say that if she didn't start doing exactly what he told her, he'd activate the code-black killcodes built into her Rasputin Exo body, and blow her Exomind into electronic spaghetti. After all, she was wired into the Charlemagne network, and had a documented set of fears he could abuse. She'd gather confidential data for him, she'd send him warnings of Charlemagne's actions, and she'd allow his scientists to try and duplicate Rexy, and the fear of final death would keep her in line.

But.

But but but.

Rasputin's records of her had been accurate...once. Yes, she was still afraid, but her body was no longer a Rasputin model. It couldn't be; that whole area was considered an infohazard now, and her last body was never coming home. And without that final threat, she'd found the courage to do something...stupid.

So here she was, on Ra's flagship in deep space with Charlemagne's blessing. She'd met up with lance troops a few times for debriefs, but recently she'd been allowed to spend time on the flagship itself, ready for Ra to send her where he wanted her. But that same set of interface skills that had allowed her access to Charli's files had also granted access to just a few of Ra's.

Winter paced back and forth in the tiny cabin she’d been assigned. She wasn’t sure if it was some kind of power conservation action, but the light down here barely cut through the shadows. She could have headed up to one of the main decks where things were a bit less claustrophobic, but Ra’s soldiers were everywhere there, and being the only blue-lit Exo on the entire ship guaranteed her the kind of attention that, if things went wrong today, could get her killed. She checked the ship’s clock fruitlessly. Somewhere out there, right now, Ra himself was boots-down on Riis. The data scraps she’d found didn’t say why, or for how long, but there was no question that he was just a little vulnerable right now.

Just a little would have to be enough; her Guardian contacts, who she’d affectionately nicknamed Fireteam Fuzzy, had cut their way through all kinds of monsters since she’d met them, and she’d made damn sure they knew exactly how dangerous he would be. She’d helped Fuzzy find their targets and coordinated some bounties for them down in the Quarantine zone, and when she’d outlined her proposal, they’d agreed to pass it on without question. It could have been typical guardian bravado, but she knew they’d lost friends to Ghostbuster rounds in the attack on the farm a while back. Maybe they actually trusted her.

Maybe that trust was going to get them killed.

Pushing that thought away and herself to her feet, Winter shoved her way past the door and started striding away towards the lifts. One way or another, with the Ira Terra still out in the styx, any news of the strike would take time to arrive, if her information had even been good in the first place. If she was going to stew in uncertainty, she may as well do it somewhere that felt less like a prison cell. Ra may have been a terrifying, merciless, wannabe-tyrant, but the facilities he provided for his troops were actually first rate. She’d find a sim-station no-one was using and throw herself into some story until the guillotine had, one way or another, dropped.

She had made it to the first brightly lit corridor of the barracks floor when her whole body exploded into pain.

Protocols cut in, protecting her mind from the overwhelming agony, partitioning and quarantining it. The feeling of burning alive dipped, sank, then seemed to drain from her whole body into solely her left forearm. When she could see again, she was crumpled against the wall of the corridor, chest heaving, digital heart still pumping on overdrive. It felt unpleasantly like the worst of the memory blips-she was in pain, alone, with no idea why or what to defend against. She cast her eyes down and to her left, and just like with the blips, her circumstances slotted into place. Set into the casing of her arm, where her network interface and uplink were supposed to be, were a smoking ruin of burned and self-destructing circuits. Her only remaining Rasputin hardware, her connection to her frames, to Rexy, to the ship’s system.

Ra-1 had just tried to kill her.

Oh, if she had thought she’d been afraid before, it paled in comparison to the terror that swallowed her now. It felt like her heart was going to burst out through her chest. There was no way her guardians would have told him she was responsible, right? They knew she was undercover, and even in the heat of the fight, he could have sent the kill codes at any time. They’d keep her secret...

...until their dying breaths.

There was a crackling noise that initially failed to cut through the panic, until it resolved unto the familiar voice of the great warlord, and even as the announcement rang out the ship’s engines powered into life and rumbled the flagship into thunderous motion.

“Attention, warriors of the Broken Lance. A guardian strike team has just made an attempt on my life, using information given to them by a traitor within our ranks, Winter-1. The guardians have been dealt with, and I have already ensured she has been rewarded as a traitor deserves. However, an example must still be made. Have her remains gathered and waiting for me upon my return to the Terra. Her masters shall have her broken husk returned to them. A commendation to the squad who has her corpse in my office upon my arrival. Ra out.”

Oh.

Hmm.

Ah, ok.

Winter was pretty sure she’d just lost a minute or two by the time her awareness came back to her. She still felt like she was about to die (fully independent of the hundreds of trained and eager killers probably now closing in on her position) but the freeze instinct was graduating to flight. She had an exit strategy, at Charlemagne’s insistence. It wasn’t a good strategy, but the warmind had explicitly ordered her to try. She reached out with her interface to the subroutine she’d left running on the ship’s server, and-

Ah. Her eyes once again turned to the sparking, melted mess where her interface was supposed to sit. It felt like one of her senses had been scooped out; a huge, gaping wound where the network was supposed to be. Nevermind just the escape protocol, without the access codes built into it, ninety five percent of the systems in the ship would no longer recognise her as a person, including the ones required to log into any network access point on the ship. She knew where her escape protocol was located, and could theoretically trigger it if she could reach an unsecured terminal.

But right now she could already hear tramping boots approaching from the barracks and she had no choice but to run.

She lost count of how many times she blipped as she led a desperate game of cat and mouse through the guts of the ship. The Ira Terra was bigger than the Stultorum had been, back when she’d served upon it, but if the ship ran about the same, the cargo deck mid-flight would be on skeleton crew with nobody caring if an unsecured terminal was technically a security violation. So she kept heading down and back, focusing on that one thought to the exclusion of all else. When she blipped in this time, she was halfway down a corridor created by two shipping containers, moving towards the illuminated sign of a shift breakroom. She took the next step and immediately fell nearly to the floor, sprawling gracelessly and nearly braining herself on the container. Oh-she’d been shot. That explained why her right side and upper leg were one big mess of static and pins-and-needles. She supported herself on the side of the crate and limped forward, conscious of the shouts and stomping boots echoing from somewhere in the distance behind her. She made it to the door, shouldering it open, almost collapsing with relief when her flickering vision was met with the friendly glow of an open terminal. She immediately dragged herself to it, closing the chat and shipwide alert windows to immediately start digging for her protocol.

She must have been five seconds in when she heard the shatter of breaking crockery behind her.

Slowly turning to face the noise, Winter looked into the eyes of the exo washing the dishes in the kitchenette, set into the corner of the breakroom. For a moment, both were still, surprised, the other Exo’s hand still in the air where it had been holding the coffee mug a moment ago. Then his eyes flicked to the screen of the terminal, where a moment ago had been the bounty on the only blue-lit Exo on the ship.

She didn’t even question trying to engage him. She whirled back to the screen, fingers flying as she desperately raced to run the command. The man had no weapons, probably no combat training, but he crashed into her from behind and her leg went out from under her, skull bouncing off the frame of the screen as he tried to wrap his arms around hers, voice bellowing that he’d found her. She was so close it burned, even more intense than the pain. She gripped one of her hands with the other and shoved it over her shoulder as hard as she could, outstretched thumb punching into his optic and causing a very human scream that no amount of mechanical upgrades would prevent. His grip slackened, and she pulled herself out of his arms and high enough to see the screen.

There were shouts behind her, the sounds of guns being brought to attention, the exo at her feet was tightening his grip again, and her vision was fading into black on the edges.

She hit the last key on the screen.

Everything went white, then black, silent and cold.

It was maybe ten seconds before the first ship thundered across her line of sight in the perfect silence of vacuum, the many supporting ships of Ra's fleet rushing to keep up with the flagship as it finished positioning itself for the jump. Even its coasting speed had brought it far enough away from Winter to render it a tiny dot in the distance, before there was a flash of light and the ships were gone.

Her transmat had been a random distance in a random direction, untraceable, and searching for her would delay the ship's travel to pick up Ra. She'd be left behind in the void, passing beyond its signal jamming, allowing the beacon hidden in her circuits to finally begin transmitting. A waiting friendly vessel would be on route to pick her up, provided the fleet hadn't shot it out of the sky.

Which left Winter here, curled in a ball as the moisture on her clothes crystallised. In theory, Exos were built to be vacuum-resistant, but she had a feeling that resistance didn't account for there being two bleeding holes in her dermis.

The thought drifted through her brain as her senses shut down one by one:

Who would claim her first: the cold, the bleeding, or her rescue?

She found herself thinking that she didn't want to die again.

Slowly, the black faded back to white.

#destiny 2 writing #warmind au #Winter-1/2/3

[mushroommushy]

Enter Bunnix

The Bubbler

Breaking news! Local teen calls Mr. Agreste out on being a shitty father!

- Adrien’s birthday! He’s turning 14

- Alix is still older though at 15

- She got him some Heelys since he’s been begging to use hers all the time

- And planned on giving him hair dye just to get on Gabriel’s nerves

- Nino had been talking on a private group chat that excluded Adrien about planning a birthday party for him

Nino: This is gonna be Adrien’s best birthday party!

Alix: Of course it will be.

Chloe: He’s never had one.

- Alix, Sabrina, Nath and Chloe were a little worried, due to Gabriel’s history of not allowing birthday parties

- But forcing his son to go to galas he doesn’t want to attend is perfectly fine!

- Bunnix showed up at Adrien’s window at literally seven in the morning to say happy birthday

- Then Ladybug popped up to say the same thing an hour later

- Gabriel saw that and was very much confused since why the hell did two superhero’s thank a random kid happy birthday

Nathalie: Maybe they know him sir? Or admire him?

- He’s considered using his son as leverage

Adrien, at Plagg: Did you just. Eat a ribbon?

Plagg, coughing it up: Yup.

- Adrien was very nervous about leaving his house because fangirls exist

- Gorilla gave him a hug when he came downstairs and Adrien was vibrating like he drank 7 cups of coffee made with Red Bull from happiness

- He wants affection and will cling to people if needed

- Jalil had stayed up the entire night studying for his exam and when Alix walked downstairs she shoved him on the couch

Alix: Sleep ya dork. You look like a zombie.

Jalil, muffled from his face being in a pillow: I have an exam

Alix: At 2 Pm. Sleep.

Alim, from the kitchen: *Extreme amusement*

- Alim loves how close his kids are

- He can go and check on Jalil and Alix is just clinging to him while he’s working

- Alix defending her brother from those who pick on him

- He does worry about Alix seemingly being gone more lately though

- He can tell that she isn’t getting much sleep either from something

- And also he’s wondering when did his daughter start developing muscles

- But he just assumes Nora must be training her or something like that

- For context, Nora and Jalil are the same age and are best friends

- That something would be midnight Mr. Pigeon attacks and patrols

- She really wants to know why the fuck Mr. Ramier is out that late

- She suspects he may be drinking but who knows

- Wouldn’t be much of surprise

- Alim has known Gabriel for ages and can get away with yelling at him a little bit

- So of course he scolds him on being an uptight dick about not letting his kid have a party

- Doesn’t get him to change his mind though

- Once Adrien got to school, Alix smacked him on the back of the head with his gift and ran off cackling

Adrien: *Flips the bird*

Nino: WOAH DUDE I THOUGHT YOU WERE A SUNSHINE??

- Alya was very much not expecting that to happen and was a little stunned

- Marinette was more confused at what happened while Chloe was trying not to laugh

- Nino is very determined to get his friend a birthday party

Nino: I’m sure he’ll let you have a birthday party!

Nathaniel, whose tried several times: *Insert press X to doubt meme*

- Marinette still wasn’t able to gather up enough courage to give her present to Adrien

- Chloe didn’t shove Marinette though

- She did wish him a happy birthday however and gave him Ladybug, Chat Noir and Bunnix plushies that she had custom made

- She also has some of her own but will die before admitting to it

- Alix was dragged off onto the photo shoot with Adrien while hissing

- This was because Gabriel was still trying to market them as a couple despite Alim cutting it off

- The latter is not happy about this when he hears about it

- Alix has also been getting attacked on Twitter and such by Adrien’s fangirls despite not liking him

- She just wants to forget about it

- This is when Mari finds out about Alix and Adrien being ex’s

- Which she was not expecting

- Marinette delivers the present to Adrien and screamed at the camera

- She signed it this time thankfully

- Nathalie called Gabriel out on his bs and told him to buy his son a present himself

- Nino was turned away by Gabriel because he wasn’t presentable and banned him from the house

- When he heard a throat being cleared as he turned away he assumed it was Nino again and was about to dismiss him

- It wasn’t Nino

- It was Alim

- Who was not amused with the photo shoot

Alim: I believe I explicitly told you that my daughter as well as your son were uncomfortable with the relationship. Then my daughter calls me telling me that you forced her to act like they were a thing again? Maybe your son wouldn’t talk to you because you distance yourself so much Gabriel. But I make an effort to tell my daughter to talk to me. So the next time you try to control my daughters life it will end badly.

- Alim is a good dad, and has had adoption papers for Adrien for years

- He just needs signatures

- Adrien was also not happy when he came home from the photo shoot with Alix and saw Nino stomping off

- Alix went up to join her dad

- Adrien at this point has trusted Alim more than his father for awhile and stayed behind him

- Gabriel, like the coward he is ran off to hide from Alim and to Akumatize Nino

- Nino is akumatized into Bubbler with the intention of getting rid of bad parents rather than all adults as he does understand that not all adults are bad

- He doesn’t look stupid this time because I despise Bubbler’s design with a passion

- Alim immediately picked up Alix and Adrien noticing the bubbles outside, and a few adults floating in the sky

- Alix and Adrien just gave each other a nervous look

- They appreciated Alim’s care but they couldn’t go transform with him around

Alix: Should we split up? It might be safer.

Alim, immediately: Absolutely not! I’m not letting you two get hurt.

- Alix and Adrien are considering telling him their identities because he is trust worthy

- Thankfully they don’t have too

- Because Bubbler broke into the house with a smile

Bubbler: Adrien!! Glad to see you have a decent adult around. Now I can throw you a party!

Adrien: Nino?!

Alix: Oh boy..

- Bubbler leaves Alim alone since he isn’t a bad parent

- He also leaves Gorilla alone

- Nathalie isn’t spared however and Bubbler demands for Gabriel’s location to which she doesn’t respond

- He just growls and sends her sky high and leaves, gathering the rest of the classmates

- Marinette was already transformed having seen the bubbles

- She just hoped that this would maybe end with some in jail if they were really bad parents

- She was searching for the Akuma until she saw Bubbler carrying a terrified looking Rose across buildings

- She had a bit of a hard time catching up with him until he stopped at the Agreste mansion and dropped Rose off in the back yard with the other classmates for the party

- Bubbler started the party with most students looking a little nervous

- Most of their parents were left alone

- I said most not all

- Nathaniel, Chloe and Sabrina’s parents were all taken by the bubbles

- Alim is pulling out adoption papers again

- Bubbler is honestly more amused by that

- He likes this parent and is planning to drop his classmates bad parents because they are his friends

- Alix can’t really slink off to transform and with Bubbler watching him Adrien couldn’t either

- Chloe still pulls the slow dance thing

Rose, dancing with a random dude: I’m a lesbian.

Random dude: Neat. I’m gay.

- She made a new friend with her dance partner, a black haired boy with bright green eyes

- Alix was taking slight amusement in Max tripping over himself because he can’t see shit without glasses

- Ladybug shows up, and switching the music with her lucky charm record

- Several kids tripped and it took Alim glaring at Alix not to laugh

- Alim was the responsible adult and ushered all the kids inside to hide

- Which thankfully gave Alix and Adrien the ability to transform

- Bunnix and Chat fought Bubbler while Ladybug fed her Kwami

- Chat did flirt a little with Bunnix

- This is how Ivan, Kim and Sabrina started shipping Bun Noir

- She just smacked him with her umbrella lightly

- Alim was panicking because he managed to loose both his daughter and Adrien and couldn’t find them

- Ladybug got back, using her yo-yo as a shield against the bubbles

- She also bonked Chat because she wanted to

- Bunnix was cackling

- Bubbler used the green bubbles on them, trapping Chat and Ladybug in one and Bunnix on her own

- Bunnix hearing Chat’s comment she just went: Dude please go to therapy your dad is a dick and I’ve met some shitty people

- Bubbler just sent them up into the sky

- Chat used his cataclysm white Bunnix exited with her burrow

- Bunnix was waiting where they landed and slowed them down so they didn’t skid

- Bunnix and Chat’s timers started up

- The fight ensued on the Eiffel Tower and they successfully deakumatized Nino

- Ladybug used her cure and sent the adults back down to earth

- They did their pound it and Bunnix and Chat ran off to get back to the mansion

- Alim was a little mad at them for disappearing but they just said they were nervous and couldn’t hear him looking for them

- Gabriel is now scared of Alim a little bit

- Adrien gets taught how to use his heelys by Alix and sleeps with the hero plushies every night

#Enter Bunnix

[incidentreport31]

Episode One: In the Middle of the Street TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts.]

[Intro music players.]

ANNOUNCER:

Three-Eyed Frog Presents: Incident Report Number 31.

[Theme song fades to a stop.]

[click recorder on]

ARCHIVIST:

Test. Test. One, two, three. (mutters) Bloody hell, why does it smell like something died in here? Well, guess we can’t prove something didn’t, eh? The recorder seems to be working, at least.

My name is Val West. I’m the newly appointed head archivist at The [REDACTED] Institute, which documents people’s possible experiences with the supernatural for both emotional support purposes and to get recovery time off of work, school, et cetera if the trauma is deemed severe enough by their employers or other supervisory staff.[beat as they scoff] Supernatural doctor’s note, innit...

The Head of the Institute, Mr. Neil Banks, has asked me to record these accounts because, well, there actually isn’t really a good reason. [mutters] Didn’t spend eight years getting a masters in library sciences to read stories into a dusty tape recorder, but, we all have to get by.

I do, at least, have people to assist me: two researchers: Zach Zamuel-Imogen Baker, and Christine Lewis, along with, I’m told, a very well-respected psychologist: one [hesitant] Dr. Oliver Possum, who will be advising me on any cases where there is necessary psychological follow up. I haven’t actually met any of them yet, but hopefully they will be helpful.

I was also explicitly told not to look behind the bookshelf to my left, so I will be looking behind the bookshelf later today...right. Guess I should get started, then.

[Sound of papers tapped on desk to organize them]

ARCHIVIST:

[They clear their throat.] For the consideration of Ortolan Bunting Law Firm: Ayla Stephenson’s encounter with a house that did not exist and her subsequent request for thirty hours of paid time off. No date given. Fine by me. Not gonna lose sleep over improperly filled out paperwork. Well. Start? I suppose? Yes.

[ACCOUNT.]

I feel the need to start with this, so you fully understand what I’m trying to say. I have a feeling you’ll just dismiss my story otherwise. I’ve lived here going on ten years now. Moved here on the promise of a job from the same company that I still work for today: Ortolan Bunting Law Firm. I drive the same route to work every day. I mean, I looked up the quickest way on the map when I first moved to town, and hey, who am I to question that? If it works it works. No need to make something difficult when the map’ll just figure it for you that first day, right?

I guess I’m getting a bit off topic here, but my point is that I’ve been going the same way for a decade, which is to say that I know the route to and from work like the back of my hand. Sure, maybe I don’t pay attention to every detail every day, I mean after ten years, the drive is almost an unconscious thing-

ARCHIVIST:

(mutters) Not a great way to build up your story’s credibility but, I digress.

[ACCOUNT.]

-but I still know all the road’s quirks, even if they don’t stick out to me after all this time. I know that the first left turn light on the way lasts for about two seconds and if you’re more than two cars behind in line, you’ll have to wait a whole cycle to go. I know there’s a business center that, god knows why, has their logo done in comic sans just off to the right before I merge onto the highway. Once I’m on that freeway for about fifteen minutes, I can see this drive through coffee place on one of the adjacent streets. Every single morning the line’s backed up out to the street- you’d think there’d be a better way to do that, but that’s more of a personal gripe and certainly not the point. On my way back from work, I take a few side streets to avoid rush hour traffic on the main road- just the way the map recommended on my first day, of course, I’m not looking to get lost in the backroads. There’s a few old houses, sometimes I see elderly couples sitting out on their porches. Sometimes they wave and I do have the decency to wave back, though some of my colleagues might not believe you… I’m afraid I’ve been a bit put off by this whole experience and have been taking it out on some of my coworkers. All the more reason to give me the [THE ARCHIVIST sighs this last part out as they are once again pulled out of the story] time off that I so kindly requested.

ARCHIVIST:

That last line is crossed out. It appears that Ms. Stephenson was reluctant for her Firm to read that bit if this ever got back around to them. To be honest, the way that this is going, I’m not so sure that plea would have done anything for her, but I am, of course, to remain the impartial academic in my work here, so I suppose I’ll allow the defacing of Institute paperwork just this once, even if the scribbles are rather unprofessional.

[ACCOUNT.]

There're a few empty lots there too. I think at one point, the city wanted to buy them up and make a park, but I don’t think they ever got around to it. Really don’t think they will now. I’m getting ahead of myself. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve been going the same way day in and day out for ten years… I’d notice if something was different.

ARCHIVIST:

I’m assuming… that is the point of this report yes? [beat] Continuing on.

[ACCOUNT.]

Nothing that day was really any different, I’d say. Just drove to work, hit all the usual landmarks: waiting to turn at the light, glancing at the comic sans sign, thinking that that coffee shop is definitely obstructing traffic, the usual. Went to work, got through the day with… minor amounts of stress… I mean it’s legal work, it isn’t fun, but somebody’s gotta do it. Got off right at five, gathered up my things and left. I took my usual streets, not really minding anything, but I noticed no one was out on the porches. That’s not unusual, I know, people can be inconsistent, it’s not a big deal, but looking back? Maybe they knew something was off… I mean if I’d lived in that neighborhood I certainly would have.

[Eerie music begins playing.]

I always drive with the radio on, can’t stand being alone with my thoughts on a busy street where road rage can make its way into my thoughts. Guess I should’ve mentioned that earlier, huh? Either way it seems important that I say it’s part of my daily life. I do it every day, and I’ve never had a problem with reception in that area, so when the sound started to glitch out, I thought something was wrong with my car. It was frustrating, sure, but not a big deal, even if I don’t necessarily enjoy the sound of static more than the average person.

I went through the usual useless attempts to fix it, of course. Smacked it a few times, turned it off and on again, but nothing changed. In the end, I just turned it off as I kept driving. Figured my own thoughts were better than the white noise that faded in and out of my speaker at an unpredictable volume. Things were fine for a few minutes. I’d almost gotten to the end of the street when I realized something wasn’t quite right.

At first, I thought maybe the light was just reflecting into my eyes weird. Maybe I’d just seen something out of the corner of my eye that there was a fine explanation for. Because… I knew this road. And there had never been a house there before. I was sure of it. A whole house isn’t something that could go up in a night, but you know that, you aren’t an idiot.

[Record scratch, cutting the music off.]

ARCHIVIST:

[pretentious bastard] I’d certainly like to think so, yes.

[ACCOUNT.]

But there it was. It wasn’t right next to the other houses, a few lots down the road instead. Other than my knowledge that it wasn’t there before, though, it could have blended into the neighborhood without anyone noticing.All things considered, it was a pretty nice house. Sure, it was done up in that fancy Victorian style and therefore inherently a little unnerving, you know how those old places just seem a little haunted even if they’re perfectly put together?

Still, beyond that, it was fine. Not broken down in that sort of creepy ghost way that you see in movies, or anything. The paint was pretty well done, only a little aged from the sun, and all the wood on the wrap-around porch was together. I mean if I was building a murder house, I would’ve splintered the boards and peeled up the exterior wall a bit, something along those lines, you know? It looked like someone could have been living out of it. Totally normal.

I know what you’re thinking, that I got out and had a look, but I can’t say I did. As the sun was going down? While I was all of a sudden unsure of my own thoughts? Really? No way in hell. I’m not an idiot either. So I kept driving. As I passed by, I got this strange feeling… like I wasn’t alone on the street. I don’t know if I imagined it or not, but with how much I was already questioning what I knew, I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer, and I sped away, not wanting to stick around any longer than I had to. Now, when I got home, I went through stages of denial before realizing that, hey, it wasn’t my damn neighborhood, and therefore not actually a problem that I would have to deal with.

At least until I was driving back from work the next afternoon. Funny how that works… your problems don’t just disappear because you’ve chosen to ignore them. Although ignore is a strong word considering I spent all day at work worrying about whether or not I should trust myself and whether or not I would see the house again when I drove home… I could’ve gone another route, of course. Could’ve gone even one street over and left it at that.

But that isn’t how it works, is it? I was so unsure of my own thoughts that I’d rather put myself in a situation that seemed potentially harmful than not know if I was wrong or not. [beat] So I went down the same route, just like I’d been conditioned to for the last decade. Once again, the couples were inside. They had to know something was wrong, I mean I was able to realize the house shouldn’t have been there and I didn’t even live in the neighborhood. I slowed my car to a snail’s pace as I inspected all about the street that I could. Not really sure what I was looking for if I’m being honest, but when I got to the house, I’d convinced myself that, yes, in fact, it was as real as the rest of the places on the block.

I don’t think it was really a conscious decision when I stopped the car. I’d just been going so slow already and… well I’d reached my target, hadn’t I? I sat and gazed over the house for a few moments. Looking over the perfect condition it seemed to be in, to no avail. It seemed to be perfectly normal. Maybe… Maybe I was really just in my head about all of this. Was it really that hard to believe? I should’ve just left, stopped staring at this place. Sitting there wasn’t going to change the fact that it was there, whether or not I could really trust my mind.

But… then I saw the curtains in the front window move. I snapped my gaze over to where I’d seen the motion and there was a little boy staring at me through the glass. He looked off to something behind the curtain before looking back over and waving, grinning a gap toothed smile at me. I... Well I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that so… I waved back. What else was I supposed to do? In an instance, I became convinced that I’d really just made the whole thing up. If there really was someone inside and nothing untoward seemed to be going on, the kid had seemed perfectly happy after all, then it had to be a real house. And really, if it had been some big spooky master plan, then why would he have acknowledged me? I’ve been to the movie theatre. I know children in horror flicks can be creepy, but just straight up waving at me like I was just another neighbor and nothing was going on? Didn’t exactly set up the sinister mood that I figured would have come from the place.

And then a hand shot out and. The kid recoiled as it shut, looking disappointed that he’d been caught doing something it was evident he wasn't supposed to. And I snapped back into trusting myself and sticking with my gut. I didn’t like the look of that. At all. Unfortunately, my whole life, I’ve generally been prone to the third fear response rather than either of the useful ones: I freeze. This time was no different. I couldn’t bring myself to drive away.

[In the background, eerie music begins playing.]

I sat there in dead silence for what felt like hours with a vague feeling of unease hanging in the air when the door opened. A man stepped out, wearing this fine tailored suit that I’d seen clients wealthier than I would ever be wear into my office and carried himself with the confidence of a person that knows no one is going to cross them. Despite all that, his face was soft. Approachable. Kind, even. Seemed like the kind of guy that knew he had money, but was willing to help you if you’d just say thank you afterwards.

As he approached my car he called out to me: “Hello there!”

Nice and friendly. Even with the strangeness of a few moments ago and my lingering unease, I could hardly bring myself to believe that this man would do anything to me. Sure, I was still stuck to my seat in fear, but he seemed perfectly safe. Maybe that’s just what it’s like to be charismatic though, looking back. I wasn’t sure what to do at that point, but my pre-programmed social response got the better of me and I rolled down my window to meet him.

“Hi.” I said. Just a simple greeting until I could really figure out what was happening.

He put one hand on the top of my car and leaned down to meet my eyes. As he spoke, his smile never faded: “So… I take it… you can see this place?”

Well, I was so taken aback I wasn’t really sure what to say, so I just nodded. And the next thing he said, well… threw me a bit off. He stood up, brushed off his pants calmly, turned back to the house, began walking, and he just said-

[Record scratch, cutting the music off.]

ARCHIVIST:

Now there’s a profanity here that I will not repeat, but it seems Ayla’s statement finishes there.

[The Archivist sighs and shuffles their papers.]

ARCHIVIST:

There’s not much followup to be done here. Ayla gave us a street address, but didn’t actually tell us which house it was. [mutters] Perhaps she’s more of an idiot than she claims to be.

Regardless, upon investigating the street, nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, though none of our staff were familiar enough with the area to tell which houses should and shouldn’t be there. In my personal opinion, this is a mere case of a poor attention span. I can’t blame Ayla, I suppose, but was it really worth coming here and telling a whole dramatic story over it?

[scoff] There are some other areas of this statement that leave room for questioning and research, such as the radio static and the house’s residents. For now, however, I will be filing this one under “Irrelevant” in my mind. End recording.

[Recorder clicks on.]

[Recorder clicks back on.]

[There’s footsteps as HR walks down the hall. They knock on the Archivist’s office door. Meanwhile, the Archivist can be heard moving something.]

HR:

[muffled] Uh, hello? I’ve got something for the Archivist.

ARCHIVIST:

Oh, uh, yes, of course. Just let me— [They curse as they are heard tripping over piles of statements.]

[A pause.]

HR:

...should I come back at a later time, or—?

[The door suddenly swings open.]

ARCHIVIST:

Right. Blimey. Sorry about that, mate. What’s all this, then?

HR:

Er, are you the head archivist?

ARCHIVIST:

That depends, who’s asking?

HR:

Your HR. I’m also an intern under Mr. Banks, which brings about a whole array of other useless titles, but for your purposes, I’m just HR. My name is Luca.

ARCHIVIST:

Oh! Lovely. Mr. Banks told me I’d be seeing you. Um, pleasure to meet you.

HR:

Thanks, you—wait, wh—?

ARCHIVIST:

[trying to change the subject] Say, why are you here, Luca? Any plans for after your internship? I mean, surely, you have a field of study, a career plan?

HR:

[slowly, growing increasingly confused] Oh, um, yeah. I, um—well, I started here—um, yeah, after my internship, I. Uh.

ARCHIVIST:

It’s alright if you don’t have a plan, y’know. Took me a while to figure all my stuff out, and, well, I got out alive, didn’t I?

HR:

No, it’s just—I know I have something, I just. Um. [desperately trying to change the subject] What are you doing in there, exactly?

ARCHIVIST:

[beat] Oh, just some housekeeping.

HR:

...and that required you to move an entire bookshelf?

[A long pause.]

ARCHIVIST:

Listen, I know what this looks like.

HR:

Doesn’t he have a weird thing about that?

ARCHIVIST:

[passionate] Which is exactly why I did it! I mean, they’re not the heaviest bookshelves in the world, so it’s certainly not a matter of safety.

HR:

[mutters] As if Mr. Banks has ever valued the life and safety of his employees.

[Both are heard walking back into the office towards where the bookshelf was.]

ARCHIVIST:

[cont.] Which means there must have been something weird about the bookshelf—and I was right. See, look, there’s like a weird...hole. Thing.

HR:

...I’m guessing that’s why Mr. Banks made me bring you a shovel?

ARCHIVIST:

Hm? Oh, right, the shovel. Kind of forgot I had asked for that.

HR:

How did you not notice I was carrying it when I came here?

ARCHIVIST:

You see, within the hole, there’s this big mound of dirt, and I have reason to believe that there’s something hidden beneath.

HR:

[They sniff, then, disgusted] Oh god, why does it smell like something died in there?

ARCHIVIST:

That’s what I’m trying to find out.

HR:

Look, can’t you just...I don’t know, leave it? Like, just put the bookshelf back, spray some air freshener, and then be done with it? I really don’t want to have to write this up.

ARCHIVIST:

You expect me to work under these conditions? Having a mysterious hole in my wall with no idea what’s lurking within?

HR:

Look, I just think this is a really stupid idea. If Mr. Banks finds out—

ARCHIVIST:

He’s not going to! You— [they huff a sigh.] Would you just hand me my shovel? I’m going in!

HR:

Whatever you say.

[HR hands the Archivist the shovel.]

ARCHIVIST:

Thank you.

[They are heard shoveling for some time, before the Archivist finally seems to hit something.]

HR:

Is...is that…?

ARCHIVIST:

My god.

HR:

That’s a dead body.

ARCHIVIST:

Appears to be. [beat.] Do you know who it is?

HR:

I mean, they’re sort of hard to recognize now.

ARCHIVIST:

Perhaps the previous archivist?

HR:

I dunno, I never knew them.

[A long pause.]

ARCHIVIST:

Right, then. Back to work. Mind helping me move this bookshelf?

HR:

(under their breath) God, I’m gonna have to write this up, aren’t I?

[Recorder clicks off.]

[Theme music plays.]

[CREDITS.]

Incident Report Number 31 is a podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. This episode, “In the Middle of the Street,” was written, directed, and produced by Val West and Luka Miller with sound design by Luka Miller. This episode featured Val West as the Archivist and Luka Miller as HR. Music is produced by Luka Miller. To keep up with the show and find transcripts, make sure to follow us on our Twitter at @IR31Pod and on tumblr at @IncidentReport31. To contact us with any questions or concerns, feel free to email us at [email protected]. Thanks so much for listening!

#ir31pod transcripts

[bktynes-writes]

Hey friends! Chapter 2 is up because I’m impatient and didn’t wanna wait to post until Tuesday. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters. Read on ao3.

The Blood of the Covenant

Chapter 2: Drinks

Dean's mouth had gone dry. He sat, frozen, hand clasped firmly in the grip of the man in front of him. He was dimly aware of the fact that he had taken far to long to respond, and the look Castiel was giving him now made him even more painfully aware of the knot forming in his stomach.

Novak. The name rang in his ears. He composed himself and managed to shake the man's hand before withdrawing his own and lifting his glass. 

"Novak, huh? What is that, Serbian?" He grinned at the surprised look that crossed the face of the other man.

"Yes, actually." He turned back to face the bar. "Most people don't get that the first try."

Dean chanced a glance at him from the corner of his eye and caught the small smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. Something in Dean's chest tightened as he wondered what it would be like to see him smile in earnest.

"So, Castiel, do you make a habit of jumping into random people's bar fights?" Dean asked. He motioned to Lee for another round. The alcohol in his veins made him less aware that he was sitting with a potential rival and more aware of how attractive he found the man.

"No, I can't say that I do," Castiel replied. "But I'm new in town. And I like this bar. I would rather it not be sullied by unsavoury company." He thanked Lee with a nod as he placed down two bottles of beer on the bar.

"Well, Dean here is about the most 'unsavoury' as it usually gets in here, and you seem to have made his acquaintance rather nicely." Lee provided with a smirk.

"Dean," Castiel said to no one in particular. It was like he was testing the name, rolling it around on his tongue to see how it felt, and when he let it loose from behind is lips in that low growl of a voice, Dean felt his knees wobble, making him very thankful for the stool under him.

"Right, yeah. Dean Smith," He introduced himself, and he didn't miss the look from Lee who, mercifully, did not comment at his use of a pseudonym. "Sales representative with Sandover Enterprises." He smiled.

"Sandover?" Castiel questioned. "The steel distributor?"

"The very one," Dean replied, raising his beer to Lee and giving him a look that he hoped conveyed the importance of his silence. It must have worked because Lee turned and busied himself cutting limes on the back bar.

"I see." Said Castiel. "Tell me, Dean, can I often expect to have to jump in and save you from brutes prowling alleyways and backwater establishments? No offence." He added to Lee, who raised his hands in surrender and continued to obviously ignore their conversation.

Dean chuckled. "No, I'm usually good on my own, Cas. It's just been a long day."

Castiel's lips twitched at the use of the nickname. "Ah. I understand. The last few weeks have been...exhausting."

"Oh yeah?" Dean looked the man up and down, letting his eyes linger slightly on his broad shoulders, his throat where his adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and back to his impossibly blue eyes. "You don't look like a labourer. And I'm guessing this whole tax accountant thing you've got going isn't the case either from the way you swing a punch. What do you do?" He felt like he was in grade school trying to make friends again, asking what their favourite colour was.

"My family..." Castiel began, pausing and looking down at his drink. "Let's just say we've got varied interests." He smiled slyly at Dean, who was suddenly very aware of how his hands were itching to reach out and thread themselves through Castiel's hair. He kept them clasped tightly around the cold glass of his beer bottle instead.

"Well, maybe it's a good thing I ran into you then, Cas," Dean drawled. He let his tongue dart out quickly to wet his lips and didn't miss the way Castiel's eyes flicked down at the movement. "I've got some 'varied interests' of my own." 

Dean could see the man's pupils dilate over the bottle that hung at his mouth. There was a distinct red tinge to his cheeks as his eyes flitted across Dean's face, from his lips to his eyes to his throat, back to his lips. Dean pulled his lower lip between his teeth and smiled at the nearly inaudible gasp that escaped the other man.

Dean heard Lee cough, fake and dramatic, behind him. He grimaced as the trance Castiel's eyes held over him was broken. Cas shook himself and turned his face from Dean to peer sheepishly at Lee, who was now smirking at both of them.

"Well, Mr. Smith, thank you for this...eventful evening. When I say the pleasure was mine, I mean it most sincerely." He took one last long swig from his beer and clambered off of his seat. "Perhaps if I'm lucky, I'll get the chance to see you again." He turned on his heel, trenchcoat billowing behind him as the breeze from the door caught it. Then he was gone.

"Dean Smith?" Lee chided. "Really?"

Dean didn't realize he had turned to watch him leave until he heard Lee speak. He spun around to see a knowing smirk plastered across his face and rolled his eyes.

"What?" Dean scowled, taking a few more gulps from his beer.

"Nothing, man, nothing..." Lee chuckled. "Just the next time you eye fuck a dude at the bar, you should probably have the decency to give him your real name. Maybe your number?"

"Shut up." Dean groaned. "I just heard about the Novaks tonight at dinner, okay? Bela says they're trying to start a war in her district, and Sam and I are supposed to 'deal' with them." He pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars popped behind them. "Why did it have to be Novak..." He said quietly.

Lee roared with laughter. "Because you, Winchester, invite trouble wherever you go, and I have seen that look on your face before."

Dean flipped Lee the bird and reached over to take Castiel's abandoned beer bottle. "Yeah? What look is that?"

"You think he's cute, and you wanna feed him shots until he's drunk enough to let you blow him behind the dumpsters at Antoni's on 64th St." Lee raised an eyebrow as Dean choked on his mouthful of beer.

"That is...oddly specific," Dean said when he recovered.

"Only because it's the same way you used to look at me." Lee shrugged and turned back to his limes as Dean glowered at him. "And that's specifically what happened with us."

"That was thirteen years ago, Lee," Dean said, his voice dropping. "Things are different now."

"I know, I know. Things change, people change even more," Lee glanced over his shoulder, the same shit-eating smirk as before stuck on his face, but this time it didn't quite reach his eyes, "you've always been a hopeless romantic Dean, no matter how much you hate to admit it. And I like to think, after all this time, I know you pretty well, sometimes even better than you know yourself."

Dean looked away as Lee made a few more drinks for some of the other patrons. He couldn't bring himself to look him in the eyes. He was right; Dean did find Castiel attractive.

It was getting late, and as more people rolled in off the street to escape the rapidly cooling night, Lee became too busy to chat with Dean any longer. He finished the two bottles of beer in front of him, bid Lee a quick farewell with a promise to come back again soon, and departed.

He was rather tipsy now, and the alcohol sloshed warmly in his stomach as he walked back through the city towards downtown. He wasn't ready to go home yet, but the conversation with Lee had left him feeling less than willing to engage in meaningful human interaction, and he knew there was a strip club a few blocks away that might offer just the distraction he needed.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and pulled out a crushed pack of menthol cigarettes. Dean didn't often smoke, but the alcohol combined with the thoughts in his head had him craving the sweet sting of nicotine. He stopped on the corner and lit one of the white paper tubes, hissing on the inhale as the minty smoke filled his lungs.

What did Lee know? So what if he thought the dark-haired, blue-eyed man in the trenchcoat was cute? He was a Novak, and if Bela was to be trusted - which he quickly reminded himself was questionable - that made him the enemy. Still...Dean found himself thinking more and more explicitly about Castiel as he continued to walk.

Would his pupils blow wide with desire and blackout that gorgeous blue if Dean touched him in just the right way? What would his already messy hair look like after having had fingers run through it a few times? How would Dean's name sound, groaned and gasped, in that rough voice, made deeper by lust? What would those chapped, pink lips look like slick with spit, wrapped around his - 

"Hey! Watch it, buddy!" Shouted a voice as Dean's shoulder bumped into another man on the sidewalk. "Fuckin' drunk..."

Dean couldn't even be bothered to respond to the man he had walked into. He really had been deep in his thoughts. Looking up, he realized his feet had once again carried him unconsciously to his destination, and he praised his knowledge of the city for allowing him to lose himself without getting lost.

Rowena's club was one of Dean's favourite places - second only to his car - and the buzzing neon sign above the door was music to his ears. Emerald green cursive spelled out "Eden" and turned into a snake coiled around a deep red apple missing a single bite. Dean delighted in the sacrilegious nature of the name. Given the activities that went on behind its doors, it suited the place. The knowledge that Rowena had chosen "Eden" to be intentionally heretical brought a smile to his face; even in Catholic school, Dean had never had much respect for the bible.

He cut the line with a curt nod to the bouncer and walked through the doors into the dimly lit club. Dean felt the tension of the evening evaporate from his limbs as soon as the pervading scent of cherries and tequila washed over him. The black brick walls and tables draped in blood-red velvet made the room feel smaller than it really was. It was hardly past midnight, and yet every table was full of men, mostly suits from the business district here to pretend their sexless marriages weren't failing. Dean snorted. Sam could have his apple-pie life with Jess; at least Dean would never end up like these poor schmucks.

Out of habit, he scanned the crowd and saw a few familiar faces, but thankfully no sparkling blue eyes and no trenchcoats in sight. The brightest source of light came from the rotating floodlights on the main stage. Dean supposed that keeping everything in shadow allowed people to feel more comfortable here. After all, a strip club may be fine and well, but when the money changed hands and gentlemen were lead to back rooms by beautiful ladies, it was best that no one knew each other's names in the morning.

A young woman in her early twenties gyrated and slowly removed her clothes on the main stage to the beat of the rock music blaring through the speakers. Dean couldn't help but watch her as she moved, dark hair falling over pale skin as she thrust her hips sinfully against the stage. Dean once again found his mind wandering, and he forced himself to engage the bartender in conversation as a means of distracting himself.

"Hey there, handsome," She said to him as he sidled up to the bar. "What's your poison?"

Dean noticed the way she leaned enticingly on the bar as she spoke, shoulders back, chest out in invitation for him to stare. He let his gaze linger for a moment before returning her suggestive smirk.

"Just a water for now, darlin'," he said. He could feel the whiskey from Lee's slowly soaking into his brain, clouding his judgement.

"Aw, you're no fun," the bartender pouted, placing a glass in front of him and filling it with water from the gun attached to the bar. "What, are you some kinda teetotaler or something?"

"Nah, nothing like that," Dean chuckled. "Just had a few already and wouldn't wanna forget your pretty face."

The bartender smiled coyly and extended her hand for him to shake. "Pamela." She said.

"Dean." He replied, taking her hand delicately in his own. "Do you just mix drinks around here, or can I look forward to seeing you on the stage later?"

She laughed. "I dabble. But tonight's not my night. I get off around three though, and uh, well, if you're still around, maybe you can too." She winked at him before being called down the bar. Dean watched her walk away, the sway of her hips capturing his attention.

"Well, well, well..." Dean heard the unmistakable accent drawl from behind him. "A Winchester. Alone in my club. To what do I owe the honour?"

Rowena was a tiny woman who had come from Scotland and made quite the name for herself in America's lucrative sex industry. She ran a tight ship with her girls, who did everything from stripping to pornography to escort work, and, in the case of Ruby and a few others, the occasional special favour for the Winchesters. No man controlled Rowena or her girls, and if anyone ended up on the wrong side of the devious little redhead, they were likely to find themselves in a sealed box at the bottom of the river.

"Rowena," Dean stated simply, rotating his chair to face her as she stepped closer to him. Her red gown caught what little light the club offered and shimmered. 

"I expected I'd be getting a visit from you boys soon." She sighed heavily and waved to Pamela, who nodded and brought her a martini glass of something pink and fruity-looking. "I was hoping it would be Samuel coming to call, but I guess you'll do."

"Oh yeah? Why's that?" Dean asked, sitting up straighter in his seat.

"Well, I suppose it's his well-muscled arms, his gorgeous hair, his tall, strong physique..." She mused, sipping her drink with a smirk.

"No, not that, Rowena, and ew," Dean cringed. "Why were you expecting us?

"Perhaps because of those Novak boys that Miss Talbot had Ruby go looking into." Her face darkened. "I don't know what she was thinking, but that poor girl came back beat half to death. She was a good dancer, always made a lot of money on her nights..."

"Where is she now?" Dean asked. "I wanna know what happened."

"Ah, well, we agreed it was probably for the best if Ruby took some time out of town." Rowena swirled the liquid in her glass and looked away from Dean to the stage. "I have other dancers that can fill her slot for the time being."

"Where is she?" Dean asked again, an edge to his voice that made Rowena glare.

"Not here, Winchester. And if you think for a moment that I'm so disloyal to my girls that I would tell you where she's gone, then you are sorely mistaken." She defended. Dean didn't push the issue. Her mind was made up, and there was no amount of bargaining or coercion that would change it.

"Alright, so why don't you tell me what happened then?" He directed. Rowena pursed her lips into a thin line. She was the only person Dean had ever met who could rival him and his brother for stubbornness.

Rowena sighed. "Oh, why not. The more, the merrier, I suppose." She gestured to a table next to the bar where an attractive young man stood guard, keeping the table open. She waved at Pamela for more drinks and slid into the booth's bench, touching the young man's arm gently as she did. When they were seated comfortably and had been presented with a fresh round of drinks - Pamela had ignored Dean's continued request for water and had brought him another glass of whiskey - Rowena continued. "What do you want to know?"

Dean wasted no time. "The Novaks." He said. "Who are they?"

"I can't say that I know too much, honestly." She purred. "But after the incident with Ruby, I did a little research. It would seem that the father, Chuck, had a wife years ago, Naomi, who was killed in some kind of gang war. He became obsessed with revenge and took over a good chunk of Newark, eliminating the gangs, building the communities, doing all sorts of goodwill charity work, all with funds gathered through several nefarious means." 

"What sort of means?" Dean asked again.

She sipped her drink slowly before she continued. "Standard fare. Murder for hire, arms dealing, the occasional art heist. If I had to guess, that'd be what made him target Bela in the first place. I don't know if you've noticed, but that woman can be a wee bit hard to handle. Not the type to make many friends." Dean snorted. He had no arguments there. 

"Now, Chuck and Naomi had four sons before she passed. Apparently, everyone is a bloody Catholic because they named them all after archangels, the poor boys. Chuck started sort of 'collecting' street kids who had lost their families to the gang wars. He took them in, made them a home, and built his own family, not out of associates and partners like you lot, but an actual family of brothers and sisters." She pushed her glass away and leaned forward into Dean, dropping her voice barely above a whisper. Dean had to move even closer to catch her words as the music from the club's speakers continued to fill his senses. "They are ruthless. Especially the four oldest brothers. They will fight and kill and bleed for their family, and they will smile while they're doing it. You think you and Samuel are close? You've got nothing on these boys."

Dean swallowed hard. Rowena wasn't one to exaggerate her claims. If she said the Novaks were dangerous, he had no reason not to believe her. "How much of a threat are they?" He asked bluntly.

"Well, they certainly aren't a problem you should ignore." She smirked. "But, I do have a feeling that some of that Winchester charm could come in handy." She reached out and tapped Dean lightly on the tip of his nose. 

"Thanks, Rowena," Dean said, slipping out of the booth. "And if you see or hear anything else..."

"I'll be sure to call you, quick as a whip." She said sarcastically. He nodded and headed towards the door. Pamela's earlier proposition rang in his ears, and, as much as he wished he could stay and accept, his gut was telling him to return home and relay the information from Rowena to his brother.

He staggered out into the alley again and rubbed his hands together to stave off the rapidly cooling September night. He thought about calling Benny for a ride. The Winchester bodyguard could always be relied upon to answer his phone at any hour and never say no to Dean. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and frowned. The screen displayed several missed calls from Sam and a few from his mother. He grinned widely. They were probably calling him to chastise him for not being present for Sam's proposal. 

Quickly tapping open the screen, he dialled his brother's number. It only rang once before Sam's voice came through the other end.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Sammy!" Dean beamed into the phone, staggering a little on the uneven sidewalk. "So? Did she say yes? Is my baby brother getting married?"

"Yeah, Dean, she did. Where are you?" Sam huffed into the phone.

"Out," Dean stated. "Celebrating on your behalf." 

"Are-are you drunk?" Sam stammered into the phone.

"I mean, pshhh, maybe? A bit?" Dean smiled. He was feeling great. Who cared about that pretty-eyed guy in the trenchcoat at Lee's? Dean didn't care. And he didn't care that he didn't care. "Listen, I talked to Rowena and - " Sam cut him off before he could finish his sentence.

"Jesus Christ, Dean!" Sam yelled into the phone, and Dean immediately began to lose whatever happy buzz he had gained through the night. Sam never yelled at him. "It is 2am, and I've been trying to call you for HOURS! I even called Lee's, but he said you left before midnight, and now you're wasted downtown by yourself and I just..." There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Dean could hear Sam taking deep breaths to calm down.

"Hey, hey, Sammy, listen, I'm okay." He tried desperately to soothe his brother's worries. The panic in Sam's tone had sobered him, and he transformed immediately into Big Brother. His primary focus was back on protecting his little brother, making sure he wasn't afraid. "Everything is fine. I'm not wasted, just a little buzzed. I'm gonna call Benny for a ride and head back to my place. I'll text you when I'm home and call you in the morning, okay?"

"No, Dean," Sam said weakly into the phone, "it's not okay."

Any remaining happiness Dean had from the alcohol was extinguished. His feet stopped moving, and his own voice seemed distant as he spoke. "What's wrong, Sammy? What happened?"

Sam sounded like he was speaking through a tub of water. "It's Dad. You need to get home."

Tags: @valleydean @fighterfortheforgotten

#supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #spn fic #deancas fanfic #deancas fic #destiel mafia au #destiel fic #tw: alcohol #tw: blood #tw: smoking #borderline nsfw??? #idk i mention blowjobs...

[strawberriestyles]

Chapter 5

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles​)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: Reading and responding to my fic are not a priority right now! If you have a moment or need the escape, by all means take a break and read. I will continue posting for this reason. I ask that when you have finished to please take another moment to contribute to the cause. If it's within your means, donate to a fund set up to post bail for protesters. If you don't (and even if you've already donated), take a few minutes to sign some petitions. Share information about organized protests. And LISTEN to the black people around you who are grieving and angry. Do not speak over them. Please, stay safe and healthy. Xx

“Yeah, she’s a heavy sleeper.”

“Oh, trust me, I know.”

Melody didn’t open her eyes as she awoke the next morning, her stretched-out legs aching from their angle against Harry’s bed and her neck cramped. She wound her fingers together beneath her blanket. Harry’s voice drifted from the top of the bed.

“That chair can’ be comfortable.”

“She's never complained.” Vanessa’s voice.

Harry hummed and Melody heard the rustle of his sheets. “She wouldn’.”

“I think Aiden should be ready for you soon. Should I wake her up?”

Another hum. Melody felt Vanessa’s hand grip her shoulder, shake her lightly. “Melody.”

She sighed, opening her eyes for the first time that day. She blinked against the sunlight glinting off of the floor tiles. Harry was watching her, sitting up on the edge of his bed. Vanessa must have helped him into a pair of pants, and Melody was surprised that he had even let her.

“Good morning, you sloth,” Vanessa said, tipping Melody a sly grin. “I swear you sleep more than anyone I know.”

Melody straightened out her neck, pulling her blanket up to her chin. She dropped her feet down from the bed and batted her tired eyes up at the nurse.

“Yeah, yeah,” Vanessa dismissed. “Get up and help Harry.”

“Do you need help?” Melody asked as Vanessa left the room.

Harry shook his head. He was staring at the wheelchair just a few feet from his legs, pulling his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. He looked lost in thought. Melody raised a brow.

“Are you sure?”

He ignored her question. He leaned forward, reaching toward the arms of the wheelchair, and Melody was on her feet in only a moment. She slipped her arm around his back before he could lean too far, catching the brunt of his weight. It reminded her of that awful night she’d had to walk him home from his fight, when his stomach had blossomed black and blue, when she’d feared he was concussed. When he’d kissed her for the very first time.

Melody helped him the couple of steps to his chair on his weak legs, turned to settle him down onto the seat, and then stood straight in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Didn’t need help, right?” she challenged.

“I didn’,” Harry insisted. He grabbed at the hem of Melody’s t-shirt and tugged her toward him. It was a moment before she realized he was lifting the end to peer at her hip.

“Harry, stop.” She tried to step back but was pulled forward again, smacking her knee into the front of his chair and rolling her eyes up to the ceiling as she bit back a wince.

Harry caught her opposite hip in his hand, fingers still wrapped around her shirt. His eyes lifted to her face, brows drawn low. “Yeh okay?” he asked.

“Mhmm.”

Harry watched Melody as she looked back down at him. He peeled her shirt up again, resting the end at the bottom of her ribcage. There was a purpling bruise just behind her hipbone, splotched and fanning out into the surrounding skin. Harry switched hands to hold up her shirt and turned her by her waist, examining the deepest shade at the center of her hip. He shook his head slowly.

“Yeh got this in a fight?”

“Spar,” Melody muttered.

“Are yeh jokin’?” Harry lifted his eyes away from her hip, and that divot had appeared between his brows again. “Someone gave this to yeh sparring?”

“It’s fine, Harry. It doesn’t even hurt, it just—”

Melody cut herself off with a gasp as Harry’s fingers fell to prod gently at the tender skin. She jerked away from his touch but he pulled her back once again, and she was frozen in surprise as he pressed his hand into the bottom of her spine, touching his lips to the middle of the bruise. His breath fell over her skin in a cloud.

“Know what would be a big help to me?” he asked as he sat back, dropping her shirt and pulling both of his hands back into his lap as though nothing had happened.

Melody inhaled quickly in an effort to recover her wits. She shook her head.

“‘F yeh got naked again.”

Melody didn’t even crack a smile. She still felt the weight of Harry’s kiss on her hip, beneath the cotton of her t-shirt. She didn’t know how he could shift so quickly, easing comedy into things that seemed so serious. And this strange dynamic wasn’t funny to her. She didn’t know how to navigate the space between them. This was the Harry that had explicitly broken up with her, claimed that he didn’t trust her. He might be kissing her and looking at her like he was preparing to sink his teeth into her skin, but she really didn’t know if that same energy connected them emotionally. Did he trust her now? Could he trust her again?

“‘M serious,” Harry said. “Can yeh get changed so we can get downstairs? Unless yeh wanna just meet me down there.”

“All right, speed racer. Chill out.”

“‘M chill. ‘M fuckin’ icy."

Melody shook her head as she turned to rifle through her bag for clothes. She slipped out of her sweatpants and into a pair of leggings, but just pulled a thick hoodie over her t-shirt instead of changing it. Harry’s disappointment was palpable.

“You are a child, Harry,” she said with a roll of her eyes as he frowned at her.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s just go.”

Melody shook her head again. She slid her feet into her shoes and then wheeled Harry out of the room, through the hall, and to the elevator. By the time they reached the therapy room, Aiden was waiting by the entrance, posted up against the wall.

“Slow morning?” he asked by way of greeting.

“No, this one just never wakes up on her own,” Harry accused.

Melody huffed half-heartedly. “Can you please shut him up?”

“Gladly.” Aiden grinned at the two of them and followed as Melody pushed Harry through the doorway.

She was surprised by how empty the room was. There was an older woman against the far wall working on her left arm with a therapist, and that was it. Aiden flipped an extra row of lights on before they made their way to their first station. The rain still hadn’t let up. The windows weeped and the outdoors cast a gray gloom over the floor tiles. Melody hoped the weather wasn’t an omen.

Harry sighed as they approached the dumbbells. Melody knew that it was his least favorite activity. Not because it was hard—although he was frustrated that he couldn’t handle the weights he was used to lifting back when he trained with Sean—but because this wasn’t what his main area of focus was. Harry wanted to walk. He wanted to run. And everything else, his strength and flexibility and endurance, that could all wait until he was back on his feet for good. But Melody didn’t fail to appreciate his progress. At first, he’d lacked even the coordination to simply lift and roll a rubber ball.

Aiden helped Harry onto the nearest bench, laying him back, and Melody settled into his abandoned wheelchair. She watched silently as they began through a circuit, working his chest, his arms, his shoulders. She was anxious, jittery. Aiden would determine today whether or not Harry was ready to be discharged tomorrow. He didn’t have to be perfect and he wasn’t going to be completely independent. Melody knew that was going to bother him, but she hoped that if he just showed that he was making enough progress to be allowed home that the new setting would give him some more motivation.

And then there was that new environment that added to her worries. They needed to have a conversation and she wasn’t sure how it would go. Now, probably wasn’t the best time but she was sure if she held off any longer she’d lose all of her gall.

“Hey, Harry,” she began carefully. She glanced up at Aiden, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was hovering over Harry, hands positioned to catch a fallen weight if need be.

Harry huffed in response. He was pouring sweat. It slid along his forehead and dripped to the floor on either side of him. If he was sitting up, it would be stinging his eyes.

“I, uh—” Melody slid her lips back together and took a moment to steel herself. “You couldn’t keep your apartment. The landlord needed to rent it out.” Rip the bandaid right off.

His arms paused, the dumbbells straight above his chest. He was silent for that short moment and then he continued with the next rep, grunting as he pushed his muscles even harder than before. Melody didn’t think this was a good sign. And that idea was reinforced when he didn’t respond.

“Are you gonna say something?”

“What d’yeh want me to say, Mel?"

Aiden no longer looked as focused as before. His gaze flickered between the two of them, unsure of how to moderate if an argument were to ensue.

“I want you to tell me that it’s okay and you don’t mind, or I want you to tell me that you’re pissed off.”

“Well, fine then.” Harry huffed once more as he finished out a rep, nodding to Aiden so that he could catch Harry’s weights. “‘M pissed. But ‘s not your fault. And that doesn’ change anything, does it? Bein’ pissed doesn’ get me my flat back.”

Melody was surprised by his attitude. She’d expected a little bit of a fight, a little more anger, but even as he said he was pissed it was like his emotions were dissipating. She wondered if he had made a conscious decision to control himself. In easier situations he would have been ready to hit something.

“Are you okay living with me, then?” she asked, emboldened by his reaction.

Harry was silent as Aiden helped him shift up into a sitting position. He took the weights back and began with a new exercise, glaring at himself in the mirrored wall before him. Melody watched him grit his teeth with every rep.

“Do I have a choice?” he finally muttered.

Melody couldn’t help the wounded expression that found her face. She took in a sharp breath. Harry’s eyes met her reflection as she made to stand up.

“Mel,” Harry grunted, dropping the dumbbells to his sides. He looked like he was about to try standing himself before he thought better of it, and he squeezed his eyes closed for a short moment. “Tha’s not what I meant.”

“And what did you mean?”

“Nothing. I just—” He huffed, almost grunted, and shook his head. “Nothing.”

Aiden whistled under his breath. “Dude,” he mumbled.

“Fuck off, mate! I didn’ mean that, okay?” Harry stared hard at Melody through the mirror, muscles along his jaw straining. “‘Course I don’ mind stayin’ with yeh. Just would’ve liked if it wasn’ just because I have to, yeah?”

She blinked at him, very aware of the way Aiden was rocking back and forth on his feet. “You could live with Sean. I just thought...”

“Definitely don’ wanna live with fuckin’ Sean.” Harry tilted his head. “Will yeh sit back down, please? ‘M sorry.”

Melody shifted until she was looking across the room at the older woman and the other therapist before she sat back down. Her front teeth gnawed painfully at her lower lip and she could feel Harry’s gaze still on her, but she didn’t turn her head. She remained silent even when she finally reverted to watching Harry work, even when they moved onto his legs. She didn’t speak until Aiden did.

“Well, I think you can leave tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” Harry said at the same time Melody asked, “Really?”

Aiden smiled at them, although he looked like the decision had caused him some inner turmoil, like he was somehow condemning them. Melody, however, wasn’t paying him any mind. She was watching the way that Harry’s face had opened up. He was clutching the bars on the little walkway so tightly that his knuckles had whitened and she almost—almost—forgot the uncomfortable reaction he’d had to coming home with her. For now, she let her fingers sift through the hair at the side of his head and drank in the way that he grinned.

Chapter 6

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles series #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #boxer!harry #boxer!au #harry styles ferocity

[marsandchariot]

Mercury Retrograde through the lens of Reversals

No matter their ubiquity, Mercurial retrogrades always seem worth discussing—whether as a scapegoat for mishaps or as an invitation to subvert our typical approaches and modes of living in relation to communication, coordination and planning. Mercury is the planetary androgyne, ruler of Gemini and Virgo, and the messenger between the underworld and the surface world, facilitating an exchange of information between what is perceptible and what is not. Robert Hand describes Mercury as “neither the maps themselves, nor the languages, nor the mechanical media in which data is stored, nor…any of the representational signs themselves. It is the process of creating the maps or the languages, of storing the data or the signs, and of making sure that maps created in one medium correspond to the original set of experiences, ideas or signs that the map represents.” Beyond material practices, such as reading and writing, we might also see Mercury’s mapmaking technology incorporate psychic, spiritual, and mental health tools.

We decided to consider some principles of this retrograde through the lens of the Star—Aquarius’ equivalent—paired with the Magician—the equivalent of Mercury—in reverse. As in the case of retrograde versus direct, a reversal is not strictly the binary opposite of the upright position.

Looking at the Star and the Magician, it’s hard at first to see the similarities. But both have something to say about balance, given the positioning of their arms, the actions of their hands, and both figures are surrounded by verdure .

However, the way these figures inhabit their surroundings is quite different. In the Star, there is a sense of freedom and openness. Often this card conjures for me the image of Milton’s Eve in Paradise Lost when she is drawn to and mesmerized by her own reflection in water (a moment that also makes me think of Lilith). She turns away because of the insistence with which Adam demands her attention, prescribing the narrative that she should be concerned only with his needs and desires.

But, within the Star, one is able to remain in that space of meditation and reflection in service of their deeper, at times imperceptible desires, and in doing so they are better able to attune themselves to the vibrations of the collective. An inner space in service of receptivity and attunement is an ideal space of creativity, where ideas can self-generate without judgement, and pour out, seemingly without end. Without disruption.

Here is where we see concepts of Mercury creeping in. The Star is about the free-flow of ideas, tapping into the unconscious to see and contemplate what is drawn forth, what fills the cups and fertilizes the earth (or The World, the card that seemingly “ends” the cycle before beginning again with The Fool’s leap into the unknown). The Star asks how these ideas might manifest in the material world. What kind of inner environment are our thoughts creating and cultivating? How does ideation contribute to expressions of our desires? Our highest selves?

And of course we cannot ignore the stars, the card’s namesake. Above the figure’s head, the cluster of stars in the light blue sky conjure up the ever-presence of the constellations and their mythologies. They genuflect to how and why we read our birth charts, a snapshot of the stars and planets in the sky at the time of our entrance into the physical world, in order to understand the influence and trace impressions left by archetypes in the makeup of ourselves.

The bird over the figure’s right shoulder (from our perspective in the Smith-Waite card) is simultaneously among the stars and sitting in a tree--either caught in the act of landing or preparing to take off. As Rachel Pollack points out in Seventy-Eight Degrees of Wisdom:A Book of Tarot, the bird “is an ibis, a symbol of the Egyptian god Thoth, who was considered the inventor of all arts, from poetry to pottery. Literally he taught the first artists their techniques, but on a more symbolic level, we can say that all creative action stems originally from the pool of unformed energy.” In the image of The Star, the figure simultaneously gazes into and draws from and disperses water, a symbol of this vibrant and unformed energy.

Somewhat similarly (but importantly different) the Magician has all their creative tools at the ready. Like anyone who practices an art or skill or ritual, the Magician has collected all the tools they will need and has set the table with them. With their Hermetic pose--“as above, so below”--the Magician calls to their muses or gods or guides, creating (both literally and figuratively) a bridge for communication. The card signals an understanding of this relationship between the physical and the spiritual, the inner and the outer, the importance of this connection, this communication (here is Mercury again).

However, where the Star expresses/embodies this relationship nakedly and mostly only via cups and water, the Magician has on layers of clothing and all the different kinds/methods of tools at hand (the pentacle = earth, the cup = water, the sword = air, the wand = fire). The Magician tells us we have the ability to create, that we have all the tools we need, but asks how we will use them. Will we use them? Do we know how to use them? Are we acting as a conduit? And if so, for what? Or are we skipping this important first step of opening lines of communication which the Magician is enacting for us, focusing on material means rather than psychic or spiritual cultivation?

It makes sense that the Magician is linked to Mercury. The archetype reminds us that all of our tools for communication/expression need a space at the table. All of them need tending. The cup represents our emotions; the pentacle, our material conditions; the sword, our thoughts/words;,and the wand, our actions. No wonder when this card is reversed (or when Mercury is in retrograde) we feel as if we are fumbling, that we have lost control of how we form expressions, as well as how we receive them. The tools we usually trust are overwhelmed by the frequencies they encounter. Even on our best days, it can seem difficult to align all these facets of our relationship with the world, being reversed (or in retrograde) makes it all that much harder.

We can also think of The Star in reverse. During a Mercury retrograde in Aquarius, as a collective we might feel even more psychically blocked, like all of our thoughts are stuck, or we are not easily understood; like we can’t get anything out of our head and materialized in the physical. We might feel unable to find the right words, create narratives that make sense; we feel we are disconnected from reality when what we are more feeling is a disconnection from our inner selves. Maybe we feel too much the demands of others, allowing ourselves to be distracted. Perhaps our thoughts are feeling more like mud than flowing water; instead of a reflective pool we see only the dregs of the earth.

Aquarius zooms out to look down, gaining perspective by separating and floating above. By this vantage, Aquarius seeks to understand and design solutions to meet the needs of the collective. But sometimes the presence of the collective looms larger in the imagination than it does in lived experience. You may feel a pull to perform or provide in a way that creates undue pressure on yourself and your individual activity. Even in solitude, you may feel a lack of time for yourself or energy for your own interests. When the demands of others resound louder for us than our own needs, and we lose track of what those needs are, we are vulnerable to injury and self-desiccation--mentally, spiritually, physically. Sometimes it is easier to imagine and respond emotionally to a lack of collective compassion than it is to cultivate compassion for ourselves. Wherever Mercury is transiting your chart, issues related to that house (and planets with which Mercury is copresent) are lighting up for you. Wherever this is occurring, it is likely that what’s needed is to unplug from whatever theater of others’ perceptions you are enacting in order to impose judgments on your own inner world. Once you disengage from this enactment, you may better receive the input provided by your feelings. It is this feedback--rather than the feedback of judgment--that can inform you on next steps to take in working through blockages imposed upon your activity at this time.

The Star can remind us to look at how Mercury is affecting us personally in our own individual charts so that we can productively work to counteract any “negative” responses or at least to prepare, like the Magician, with whatever tools are at our disposal, and, like the Star, in congress with the flow of energy within.

MERCURY RX TRANSITING AQUARIUS IN 1ST

It may feel difficult to transmit or communicate your needs in the way you’re used to. What strategies—especially nonverbal ones—that otherwise yield results are for these next few weeks falling flat; what you’re putting down isn’t getting picked up. Ask yourself what you are attempting to attract—is it assistance? Reassurance? Solidarity? Praise? Channels you usually trust to bring in important feedback feel blocked, or murky. You’re not being rejected; your signal just isn’t cutting through the fog right now. You may have to ask explicitly for what usually arrives naturally, or you may have to change the way you’re communicating the sense of gap or need you’re experiencing; it’s not as perceptible or legible as you think.

MERCURY RX TRANSITING AQUARIUS IN 2ND

You may experience issues in articulating professional or otherwise transactional boundaries. Things you’re accustomed to doing for others feel during this time like they outweigh the returns you receive. This retrograde might give you a sense of, “What have they done for me lately?” Instead of stewing in this feeling, consider boundaries for the future; don’t let moods determine what you’re willing or unwilling to do. Re-draw your contracts and commitments, and instead of centering your highest energy and capacity, take some consideration for days when your energy is low and your capacity is slim. If you set professional boundaries with these in mind, your commitments will not pose as much of a burden on the days when you would rather do anything but honor them. Our senses of personal injustice can make us feel incredibly alone. These boundaries will be your advocate when you feel unsupported, your proof when you are disbelieved.

MERCURY RX TRANSITING AQUARIUS IN 3RD

Generally speaking, since about this time last year, normal routines have been upended. You may be experiencing a specific or micro increase of this disruption. This could be anything—from finishing a TV show you were religiously watching to no longer having access to a regular medical prescription. You’ve reached the end of a supply of something nourishing—perhaps sooner than you anticipated. It’s okay to grieve even the smallest expirations of our daily rituals and routines; we can’t always predict how deeply felt these losses may be when they occur, and they can set off emotional chain reactions that feel much larger and more all-consuming than the ritual itself. Forgive yourself for reaching “the end” without something to take its place, and try to open yourself to whatever will next captivate your attention. Devote time to closing the gap between the end of one thing and the beginning of another, without putting pressure on yourself to immediately fill the gap. Time spent searching for something to do is as worthy an activity as the new task or routine that will eventually occupy you.

MERCURY RX TRANSITING AQUARIUS IN 4TH

You may be experiencing issues in regard to living situations. I think it’s important to consider this phrase not just in relation to the circumstances in which you currently reside, and the attendant issues of rent, roommates, etc, but also as it applies to childhood, memory, and permutations of wider-spanning political or ecological situations. In framing political stances or inquiries, we are often implicitly asking about our rights to life, and what the standards of living ought to be; we situate ourselves as one surface in a tessellation of needs that though theoretically fit together in congruence are necessarily different in expression. How is it that we can live with others? What is our past experience of others—living together or not—that informs the way we see ourselves as part of a community among them? 4th house issues may describe the ways in which we are haunted by childhood experience. When a cosmic body enters the 4th house, it is stirring up past or congealed—but not quite healed—topics. What feels irresolvable usually feels inexpressible; if something feels difficult to express it may be due to an attempt to express a vulnerable truth that in our past was not heard or was misinterpreted in some way. To be misunderstood and disbelieved by our family, in particular, plants the seed that we may never be believed or accepted by the people closest to us. It may feel easier to make an announcement to the world than to one close friend. How does our audience change the way we attempt to resolve our issues in language? Instead of seeking validation or consummate belief, to whom can you turn in order to feel heard? If there is not an individual in your life who fulfills this need, is there a way in the meantime to crystallize your language so that when a trusted friend presents themselves, you are prepared to share with generosity, lucidity, and confidence?

MERCURY RX TRANSITING AQUARIUS IN 5TH

You may have to adjust your expectations for what you’ve been working on. Maybe things have been flowing easily and have now somewhat stalled. It seems like there comes a time, usually towards the 8th month, when a childbearing person can only utter the phrase, “I’m ready for them to be out of me!” 5th house Aquarius placements may feel a similar blockage in production, where they can envision this form that is fully articulate within them and yet not prepared to be in the world. It is extremely uncomfortable. To switch organisms: in the final stages of avian birth, the pores of the eggshell have expanded to allow entry to proteins that feed the bird embryo. This is to say that the stability of the shell is compromised in order to support the growth of the organism held within. Without this compromise, the bird could not be born. So, 5th house Aquarians, I offer two directives—firstly, hold on to what’s inside you, without seeing the discomfort as a failure to produce, trusting instead that the urgency you feel is itself part of the productive process; secondly, make sure you have not sealed yourself off from elements of nutritive change, even if you consider yourself in final or definite stages of your current occupation or project.

MERCURY RX TRANSITING AQUARIUS IN 6TH

You can justify taking time for yourself. You may feel as if you need to create structure to occupy your unstructured time, especially since opportunities to engage with others can suddenly feel few and far between, leaving us lonely or lacking in some way. Otherwise you may feel the need to fill time with a “productive” activity. But we cannot underestimate the importance of planned planlessness, even when it feels almost too abstract to defend from the invitations and schedules of others. If you are feeling overwhelmed, it is likely due to a lack of unstructured time—an important resource in our efforts to physically and psychically recharge. Your unstructured time is not a blank space in your schedule that needs to be filled, but an important period of replenishment, one in which those things to which you may not usually attend will float to the surface in order to be considered.

MERCURY RX TRANSITING AQUARIUS IN 7TH

Our conditions of estrangement are not set in stone. Who do you need to check in on, and how are you going to do it? Zoom and Facetime have gotten a lot of play as resources of connection in light of reduced ability to be together in person, but this may not be the way you want to communicate with everyone you’d like to connect with. Think about the people you have been meaning to get in touch with, and then consider the medium by which you would most like to reach them. Think about the people who are in your thoughts but for whatever reason—perhaps an anxiety of it seeming “too random.” Make a point of reaching out in some way to the person who’s crossing your mind but you’ve refrained from contacting due to ideas of communication only being normal if it’s consistent (though obviously respect the boundaries of someone if they’ve explicitly asked you not to contact them). Consider too your specific reason for reaching out. Honor the impetus for someone’s presence in your mind. You don’t have to reveal what might be considered pertinent information—if what causes you to reach out is a movie, book, etc. you thought this person might like, give yourself permission to make this the center of your connection.

MERCURY RX TRANSITING AQUARIUS IN 8TH

We might consider the illuminative potential of the retrograde as it sheds light on where we confuse judgments with feelings. While feelings offer feedback on our experience of circumstances in our lives, judgments preclude us from seeking alternative actions and reactions to circumstances outside of our control by entrenching us in cycles that confirm our judgments of ourselves and others. We lose touch with the way we feel and instead translate that feeling into an assumption of others’ negative opinion of us. Sometimes it is easier to either judge ourselves or to defend ourselves against this perception of others’ judgments than it is to investigate how it is we feel. We may seek to change ourselves as we imagine we are in others’ eyes, or perhaps we lash out at those by whom we feel judged. What is important to remember is that this emotional activity is something only we have access to--those against whom we defend ourselves cannot see the inner workings of our feelings and judgments. The 8th house can speak to a need to untangle oneself from the action of the interior, or to calibrate emotional experience to actions we can take rather than judging ourselves through the imagined perspectives of others.

MERCURY RX TRANSITING AQUARIUS IN 9TH

As in what’s potentially unfolding in the 2nd house, you may be sorely feeling a lack of returns for what you’re investing in the institution of which you are a part. But this isn’t quite speaking to an issue of money or professional work. It’s more like a situation where you are speaking to God and God isn’t speaking back--not a lack of support, or a lack of reward, but a lack of faith as its own reward is preventing you from feeling connected to both individual and collective purpose, or your individual purpose as it operates within the collective. Frustrations arise from an inability to derive your own reasons to continue participating or contributing. Maybe a community that was previously physical or in person has become excessively diminished by a translation, for example, to Zoom; or, by going on hiatus, a gathering that once provided stability has instead created instability through its absence in a way that feels unsolvable. The dedication you used to feel as a kind of moral directive, in short, is simply not there. Consider the nature of your faith; what does it need in order to survive? Does it need routine? Does it need an object or material representation? Does it need to create, nurture, revise? Faithlessness often contributes to cycles where we feel disinclined to invest energy in what we perceive as inauthentic structures, or structures that are not demanding or imposing enough that we feel the immediate effects of transformation. Remember that these structures cannot convince you of authenticity, and structures alone cannot work positively upon you without your consent; if you are waiting to be forced into alignment, it will not happen. Find opportunities to enter into ritual practices without objectives of self-conversion; decenter your own belief as a kind of challenge that practitioners have to meet in order to “win you over” or “convince” you. The point of faith is not to be scrubbed of your own skepticism--that’s not what truly compassionate institutions are designed to do. An institution that seeks to remove your powers of discernment is not truly interested in helping you to cultivate an individual purpose or process. What matters on your part within a worthy institution is a willingness to explore the options available to you, and to incorporate from those offerings however they feel useful in the project of daily existence.

MERCURY RX TRANSITING AQUARIUS IN 10TH

Similar to action in the 1st house, you may be experiencing a block in what you’re transmitting to others--not just socially, but professionally. You may feel your efforts, into which, due to this current stellium, you’re able to pour tremendous energy, are going unacknowledged or unappreciated. Remember that while your head is feeling heavy with a crown, others may feel this weight elsewhere in ways that are less visible and bring them to places of depletion. It is likely that in many ways your frustration is a version of what others are experiencing, but the way that you experience it in the context of a public or social role can make you feel as if you are alone and everyone is against you. This can feel extremely unfair. What’s needed here, however, is radical empathy, a recognition that your access to language to describe the unfairness you feel is something to which others at this time may not be able to access in their own situations. What you are perceiving as tacit criticism is in reality the general atmosphere of isolation and alienation as it influences the dispositions of others. If you are looking to see yourself reflected positively in the behavior of others, you will be disappointed. It may feel that your efforts are floating into the ether rather than manifesting in any material way. But this is the work of the Aquarian midheaven (which may be located here for you, if Aquarius is in your 10th house). To respond to the needs of the collective means often to work without evidence of efficacy or receipt. Trusting in these effects may help ease the pain in what you experience as invisibility.

MERCURY RX TRANSITING AQUARIUS IN 11TH

Here instead of an imagined collective you may actually be dealing with a group of people of which you are a part, perhaps a group you are even responsible for governing or organizing in some way. And the truth is it is difficult to continue to provide for people when the resources available to us are so lacking, even if we refer only to the resources of knowledge and information. You are at a loss to provide answers. You cannot give a date at which others’ lives as they know them will resume. You cannot tell people how to live. When you are called upon to offer guidance, try not to think in macro terms of how to live, but rather in the realm of dailiness, of what can be done in increments that build towards a practice rather than an outcome. Study your own habits for clues. Experiment in your own life with diverse and alternative strategies. By diversifying your own knowledge sources and practices, you will be better prepared to honor the unforeseen circumstances that arise among the collective to which you are offering support.

MERCURY RX TRANSITING AQUARIUS IN 12TH

In The Twelfth House: The Hidden Power In the Horoscope, Karen Hamaker-Zondag writes, “To immerse yourself in the 12th house, as if losing yourself in another world, is a process that creates much more inner balance than might at first be supposed.” She describes material creativity--as in a craft--as a way to lose oneself; this kind of creativity is not about designing a project or planning an outcome, but on losing oneself in the action or exertion in the shaping of material. This might be work with clay, or wood; it might be a textile project, or cooking. Beyond the acquisition and cultivation of technique, distinctions and evaluations have no place here; a surrender to technique is about a spiritual investment in the moment without the caveat of outcome. A retrograde here is asking for you to climb out from a place of numbness and into a place of tranquility, which is a state of calm that is not empty or anesthetized but closer to a feeling of unconditional attendance--which is a lot like love. To give rein to embodied practice is to accept the possibility of learning from ourselves, even when we don’t intend to reflect and derive meaning from our experience. The 12th house asks us to trust in the unconscious production of wisdom and knowledge, which a ritual kinetic practice can help us to evoke.

Decks used: Star Power Tarot, Pamela Colman Smith Borderless Edition; Many Queens Tarot

#tarotcommunity #tarotblr #astrology #retrograde #mercuryretrograde #themagician #thestar

[daesungfmd]

𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒓.

solo 6  /  wc: 1,921

moral of the story: hwang daesung is a menace. (tw: blood, needles mentioned in a brief anecdote in the context of piercings).

his intentions are cloudy, unreadable ―

he’s a boy who smiles so bright that it seems like he’s in a competition with the sun, talks circles around anyone who’ll listen, begging them to show some interest in the smaller parts of his life. but by the time he’s eight years old, teachers are already writing home about how disruptive he is in class, how he cuts them off mid-lesson to inquire about the color of their cheeks. (”he asked if my skin color is a result of high blood pressure,” one teacher writes, not quite angry, but far from amused. “he doesn’t seem to know how to keep his thoughts to himself”.)

it seems like he never learns, either.

his parents tell him not to answer the door if neither of them are home alone. it’s dangerous, they say, and he humors them by pretending to agree, though his personal belief is that the most dangerous thing in the apartment building is the landlord’s tendency to come looking for day-late rent first thing in the morning with un-brushed teeth. (”does our rent buy your toothpaste?” he asks one morning, in the middle of getting ready for school. the landlord doesn’t think it’s funny, and neither does daesung’s mom as she apologizes on his behalf, stalling while she comes up with some excuse as to why they can’t pay yet. but he sees the smile his dad’s trying to hide, and that makes the scolding that comes later feel worthwhile.)

he listens to the radio too loud while he does chores or pretends to do his homework, turns it up even louder when the lady from apartment 308 comes knocking at the door, undoubtedly to tell him to keep it down in there. there comes a day when he finally opens the door, ignoring every warning his parents had so persistently burned into his mind. before she can speak a single word, he takes the chance to say, “my dad told me you’re angry all the time ‘cause you’re going through a mid-life crisis. i thought you’d be older.” 

he watches her mouth open, close, open, then close again ― evidently, she doesn’t know what to say. when she speaks, her tone reeks of momentary defeat. “your dad told me that you’re eleven, so i thought you’d have learned how to be respectful by now. i guess we were both wrong.”

“i guess so.” the door shuts, locks. he turns the radio back on, louder.

as emotional intelligence puts roots in his brain, acts of blatant disrespect become less frequent but he’s still difficult to predict, impossible to control. a diagnosis of adhd at age 13 turns out to be half the explanation for his fluctuating energy levels, lack of impulse control and forgetfulness, but the consequences of these symptoms are still attributed to having no manners, no home training. condescension from teachers leads to an inherent disdain for a school system that doesn’t serve him, and it turns into hatred the first time his 8th grade homeroom teacher calls him out for the eyeliner he’s wearing.

“the girls aren’t allowed to wear makeup to school, so what made you believe that it would be okay for you to do so?” he asks right after attendance, staring 14-year old daesung in the eyes. he’s lost somewhere between not caring at all and being on high-alert from the embarrassment of the whole class turning to look at him, at his eyes.

“i didn’t realize that the girls had anything to do with me,” he snaps, smart-ass tone contradicting the nervous cracking of his knuckles. “there’s nothing about makeup in the boys’ dress code. if it’s that big of a deal, maybe it should be updated. let me know when it is.”

it’s a terrible way to start off 8th grade year, results in a series of miniature battles between him and the teacher. back-talking that lands him in the hallway with a stack of textbooks held over his head, though they’re dropped on the ground as soon as he’s not being watched ― he takes time-outs as personal breaks, which is later called defiance though it seems like his teacher has no desire to take daesung’s behavioral issues to anyone higher in the chain. on the occasions that he has gate duty, he always calls daesung out, makes him wait ‘til the gates close, then marks him tardy and makes him run laps first thing in the morning.

fair enough.

daesung’s playing a slow game, though, and he eventually lets his teacher think that he’s won. he stops wearing the eyeliner until finals season comes, and then he packs it on heavy, aiming to be called out. the eyeliner isn’t the surprise, though ― it’s the needle and ring in his pocket, pulled out after he’s done scrubbing his makeup off in the sink.

it’s a move made in an act of immature rebellion, and he knows that the purchase hadn’t been the best use of his accumulated lunch money. even as he leans in closer to the mirror, gets the ring attached to the needle and takes aim, he thinks about how the how-to page he’d read had specifically said not to do this in a dingy bathroom, and here he is ―

what’s the worst that can happen?

one, two, oh, fuck. he’s not expecting the blood, and he’s certainly not expecting to have to push and prod the needle until it finally slips through, and he’s not prepared to have to tug at the ring to get it to come loose from the needle and sit presentably on his lip. by the time he’s done, his eyes are bloodshot from unshed tears. he spits one final time, splashes cold sink water against his teeth and against the piercing to wash away the remnants of red. 

it doesn’t turn out to be the power-move he expects it to be, because the school year comes to a close two weeks later and all he’s got to show for it is an infuriated mother, a handful of kids who think he’s lost his mind and a near-infected lip.

it seems to be the last of his raging rebellion ― anger dispels, mischief takes its place. he ends up a trainee under one of the biggest idol companies in the country, and no one fully understands ― not even the other trainees, given the all work and no play expectations shaken by his all play and no work mentality. it feels like all the company employees have his picture and name on some secret list because every time something goes wrong, he’s the first to be questioned. not that he doesn’t deserve it, though; he’s the boy who convinces in-house chefs that yes, he’s supposed to be given bigger portions than everyone else, it’s a health condition. he’s the boy who disrupts practice hours by connecting his phone to blue-tooth speakers. he’s the boy who hides from his responsibilities in narrow, dim corners. he’s the boy everyone expects to drop out, or be kicked out ―

not to be selected for a competition show.

it clears his assumptions that the company has some kind of personal vendetta against him, but it doesn’t make him take the situation more seriously in any way. during his first personal interview, he’s asked, “what do you think you bring to the competition?” and instead of giving an immediate answer, he plays dumb. he doesn’t know why he does it. it’s an impulse, maybe meant to draw time out, make things a little more complicated than they have to be.

“this is a competition?” he questions, and after slowly nodding along to an explanation that he’d already heard an abundance of times, his answer is, “i’m bringing the spirit. i’ll make it fun.”

as the show progresses, the clueless act strengthens ― he’s always asking why, why, why, like a kid on a mission to irritate their parents. criticism sets in, both from instructors and at-home viewers. he hardly cares.

by the time that debut comes, everyone’s made their minds up about him already.

he’s shameless. he’s dense. he’s dumb.

he supposes that they’re not wrong, though; there’s certainly something shameless in the way he interrupts and talks over others, on a constant mission to steal the spotlight. it’s too much, he’s told. he’s too much. a reputation that follows him around for years to come, even once he picks some locks and sneaks his way right into the public’s hearts. he’s annoying in an endearing way, and after a bit of trial and error, he learns just the right ways to draw laughter from crowds ― decides that if he can just make people laugh, they’ll learn to love him. if he can bring a little bit of happiness, then the inconveniences that come with his presence will always be forgiven.

it’s this inherent trust in his ability to be forgiven that he continues to push his luck, break rules, let reminders go in one ear and out the other ―

he’s told that dating is discouraged, but dating fans is completely banned. naturally, his first girlfriend is someone he met at a signing. when he gets caught―not by a manager, but by a close friend―his excuse is that he didn’t know because she never explicitly stated that she knew anything about impulse. (a blatant lie, if her profile picture of their logo is anything to go by).

he sweet-talks his manager into letting him use his card for dinner, promises to return it soon ― then goes clubbing instead and buys rounds for the pretty girl who keeps one hand on his knee, then on his shoulder, then around his shoulders; getting closer and closer, then leaving as soon as he stops paying. (i was hungry, he lies, and i wanted something expensive).

he’s reminded well in advance to be prepared for one of impulse’s trips abroad, then waits until twenty minutes before boarding to reveal that he doesn’t know where his passport is. watches chaos unfold, and pulls his passport out of his pocket with five minutes to spare. “i guess i didn’t stick my hand deep enough in my pocket,” he shrugs, howling with laughter during a sprint across the building, convinced that his group and manager’s annoyance with him won’t last. 

he’s called out for scratching his head too much, comes across a compilation while sneaking around on stan twitter. he can hear a manager’s voice in the back of his head, telling him he should never post anything that could cause a scandal or address any rumors without consulting the company first. naturally, he spends three hours perfecting an apology letter for having lice ― something that isn’t true, but causes a minor stir all the same.

before he knows it, he’s twenty-four and he’s still too much, always too much. it doesn’t matter how mellow he thinks he’s becoming, the reminders that he needs to grow up seem to be lurking around every corner. he nods along absently, but nothing seems to change, and he only reveals the mature side of him―the part that became an adult long before adulthood hit―in fleeting moments, or when he’s with his closest friends.

in any other situation, he remains hwang daesung, the jester. the menace. the prankster. the inconvenience. whatever nickname is bestowed upon him, he’ll accept; he has no interest in telling people what they should or shouldn’t think of him. 

he never has.

#𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆. solo. #inspired by bad behavior by the maine #tbh daesung does shit just to see what happens #that's what life is about!

[sondepoch]

X: Neutral Route (Luciel)

Where Futures Begin

Life used to be simple for you. Peaceful. But the Savior had other plans for you, and in moments, she ruined what you thought was your one shot at happiness. Blinded by anger, you escaped the Mint Eye, but that triggered a series of events that would bring you further into the world of brothers Saeran and Saeyoung. And further into the twisted world of your love for them.

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

MASTERLIST

Luciel tried to comfort (Y/N), tell her that everything would be okay, but the devastated look in her eye left the redhead at a loss for words. That was Ray? He thought in disbelief. That person was mental! He spoke like a psychopath!

In seconds, though, (Y/N) had pushed her way past Luciel and was speed-walking out of the door. From her shaking shoulders, Luciel noted with sympathy, she was crying.

He felt sorry for the girl. He knew himself how hard it was to abandon people you love; he couldn't begin to imagine the pain she must have felt as that 'Ray' person spoke to her with so much hate.

If Saeran ended up hating me the way Ray seems to hate her, Luciel thought, I don't think I'd be able to handle it.

Luciel shook his head, sighing at the situation. He glanced at the laptop on the bed. From the way the machine sizzled and popped earlier, the redhead knew that Ray had managed to overwork the device and fry its insides in that terrifying 'pop' he heard earlier. The laptop was on (Y/N)'s lap, Luciel realized, Her legs must be in a world of pain right now.

Work could wait. Following (Y/N) out the door, he didn't need to see her to know where she had gone.

"Hey," He called, pushing open the door to the cabin, his eyes scanning the ground before settling on a blob of white and magenta on the ground, a little off in the distance.

(Y/N) didn't respond or acknowledge him, but Luciel climbed down the steps and joined her regardless. "You, uh," Luciel scratched the back of his head, "Want to talk about it?"

Yet again, the boy was met with silence, but Luciel was relentless. He wouldn't give up. "That's okay. We can talk about something else." The boy looked down and thought for a moment. What could he say that wouldn't further hurt you? "How about that questions game we played earlier? I think it's your turn. Ask me anything, (Y/N), I'll answer it."

Yet again, (Y/N) was silent. It was a different kind of silence, though. She was thinking.

"How...." Luciel's ears perked up, relieved to hear her voice. "How did you know I'd be out here?"

Luciel chuckled. "Although we're wedging five people into that cabin, it's really only meant for three. There aren't many places you can really go, not with the Mint Eye lurking in these same forests."

"Oh."

A temporary silence followed while Luciel tried to think of an innocent question to ask that wouldn't stir up any emotions or memories. He was careful. He didn't want to accidentally hurt (Y/N). "Uh, what's your favorite food? There aren't many ingredients up here, but I'm a decent chef if I try."

"I haven't had food in years. The Mint Eye gives people a diet of pills and elixirs. What about you?"

"When I'm not on a mission, my diet's mostly chips and sodas."

"That can't be healthy for you," (Y/N) giggled, a small sign that she wasn't thinking about Ray as much.

Luciel grinned, her smile like a victory lap for him. "Still, you haven't answered my question. I'm sure you've had something you liked from before you joined that cult."

"It's not a cult..." (Y/N) sighed, pausing her words. "My orphanage used to give cookies to the well-behaved kids. I had a couple...they were really delicious. I've always wanted to try them again."

Luciel smiled, relieved.

Back when he still looked after Saeran, his little brother would crave cookies and other sugary treats nearly every day. Luciel had spent months mastering the technique behind baking the perfect chocolate chip (alongside a dozen other sweet treats). He hadn't honed his skills in nearly a decade, but he was confident he could give (Y/N) the best cookies of her lifetime.

"My turn," (Y/N) said, before continuing, "Is that your natural hair color?"

Luciel chuckled, "Yeah. It's nice, isn't it? How about yours?"

"I had it bleached at the Mint Eye. I think my hair used to be (h/c)...honestly, I can barely remember what I used to look like." (Y/N) trailed off, her eyes distant once more. "I'd say I looked better before the bleaching."

"It's hard to imagine you getting any prettier than this," Luciel blurted, not realizing how embarrassing his words were until they were delivered.

"Thanks,"(Y/N) murmured, a pink blush spread across her cheeks. "Now it's my turn. Tell me, did you always know you wanted to be a hacker? That you wanted to work with computers?"

Luciel's smile dropped from his face, remembering how different he was from his childhood self. "When I was young, I wanted to be the perfect gentleman. A knight in shining armor for every person who crossed my path. I called myself the defender of justice."

(Y/N) turned her head to him, "And now?"

Luciel chuckled mirthlessly. "I'm a hacker. I'm one of the bad guys. You can hardly call me a defender of justice, with all the sins I've committed." Luciel glanced down at his neck, where a silver cross had hung for almost as long as he'd lived. "I'm okay with going to hell, though. Even if I didn't get to meet my dream of being a protector for everyone, I at least know that the one person I care about most is safe."

"Who?" (Y/N) whispered.

Luciel hesitated. Should he tell her about his Saeran? How he had given his little brother to Rika so she could protect him when Luciel couldn't?

"It's..." Luciel trailed off. "Not your turn." He stuck his tongue out at (Y/N), laughing at her exasperated expression.

"I swear, Luciel, you're impossible." (Y/N) rolled her eyes. "Come on, let's go inside. It's colder than I had thought."

"You're obviously going to be cold if you wear a dress like that," Luciel murmured, gesturing toward the sleeveless, backless fabric that did a poor job of insulating the body.

"It's not like I had anything else to wear," (Y/N) laughed, picking up her dress as she climbed up the steps to the cabin. "And hey, I did bring a robe with me."

Luciel rolled his eyes, pulling the door open for her, "Yeah, and then you fell from forty feet into a bush. Very ladylike."

(Y/N) laughed, flicking the redhead on the cheek, feigning offense, "You said you wanted to be a gentleman, right? Well, a real gentleman would have offered me his coat, wouldn't he?"

Luciel rolled his eyes, closing the door behind the two of them as they both paused and basked in the heat of the cabin. "Will that jacket still be necessary? Or is this fireplace enough?"

"The fireplace, thank you very much." (Y/N) stated, holding her head up high and acting overly snooty before bursting into a fit of giggles, unable to hold the facade, even jokingly, for more than five seconds.

Luciel grinned at (Y/N), pulling her onto the couch by the fireplace where the two of them laid still, relaxing on the surprisingly comfortable material. "I don't think I ever apologized for how I treated you back at the Mint Eye," Luciel said, thinking out loud.

"No need to apologize," (Y/N) smiled, pulling her body up to make eye contact with him. "If I were in your position, I don't think I'd have trusted me, either."

Luciel chuckled, yet again pleasantly surprised at how selflessly understanding (Y/N) proved herself to be. "If you stay so considerate of everyone, people will walk all over you."

"Luciel, less than twenty-four hours ago, I was one of the Savior's council members at the Mint Eye, of all places. I've already been walked all over."

(Y/N)'s words were blunt, blurted in a moment of honesty, spoken without any expectation of sympathy or attention. Perhaps that was why Luciel found himself so torn as she said them.

"That's not fair..." He said, more to himself than to her. "You're too good for this world, (Y/N)."

For what felt like the first time, Luciel looked into (Y/N)'s eyes, and she looked back into his, the two studying each other without exchanging words. In the periphery of his vision, Luciel noticed how soft her hair looked, and how well her body fit into her purple dress.

"One last question for our game," Luciel whispered, bringing a hand to (Y/N)'s cheek, savoring the sensation of her soft skin against his fingertips.

He felt an overwhelming desire to kiss her.

"May I...?"

Even if he didn't finish the sentence, there wasn't a single doubt in his mind that (Y/N) understood his question. And his words were sincere. He wouldn't move an inch forward until the snowy-haired beauty in front of him explicitly told him he could. 

It felt like an eternity before she responded.

"Yes," She whispered, and then the space between their lips disappeared entirely.

The first moment was sweet. It was gentle and tender as Luciel kept his touch light against (Y/N)'s lips. As soon as they broke for air, though, they both returned to each other, hungry for more. The kisses turned rough and passionate, fervent with desire for each other.

Luciel pulled (Y/N) onto him, so that the girl was straddling him with her legs on either side of his lap as she sat in it, Luciel softly angling her head downward to further indulge himself in the sweetness he found inside her mouth.

His hands trailed down from her neck to the base of her back, fingers deftly flying over where he knew her body was cut from treating her wounds earlier. He settled one hand on (Y/N)'s waist and the other on her thigh, pressing her body into his as much as possible as he finally allowed himself to stop resisting and take what he wanted to make his so bad.

Luciel flipped her around so that (Y/N) laid down with her back pressed to the couch with Luciel was on top of her, hungrily staring down at the girl before attacking her lips once more. He left a trail of kisses down from her lips to her ear where he sucked on the tender flesh, (Y/N)'s quiet moans only further edging him on as he moved to barrage her neck with kisses and licks, searching for that one weak spot.

"L-Luciel!"

Found it, Luciel grinned to himself before flooding the spot with sensation, biting and sucking and nibbling until the skin looked raw.

He pushed a handful of white hair out of the way, admiring how soft it was for a moment before continuing to mark (Y/N)'s neck. Barely a few seconds had passed before (Y/N) was wrapping her arms around his neck and moaning Luciel's name out, the syllables never having sounded more seductive than as they rolled off her tongue.

Luciel let himself be pulled into another sensual kiss as (Y/N) tugged his head down toward her, her long fingers tangling themselves in his hair.

Their shared passion was intense, a session of heat and intimacy that they had both been deprived of their whole lives, but it was cut short.

"You fucking idiots!"

Begrudgingly, Luciel pulled himself off of (Y/N) to glare at Vanderwood, who had not wasted a single moment in grabbing him by the collar and pushing the redhead against the wall.

"Woah, woah, woah, boss," Luciel joked, the situation before him utterly unintimidating, "I know I'm attractive, but if you wanted to make a move on me, you really should have done it before I sta-"

"I told you not to fuck around with her!" Vanderwood shouted, pushing Luciel further up against the wall.

Luciel frowned, now mildly uncomfortable as Vanderwood tightened his grip around his neck. "Why should you care? The mission was completed, it's over. It doesn't matter what I do now!"

Vanderwood growled, further angered by Luciel's words. "No! I gave you an order, and you were supposed to follow it! If I were anyone else in this goddamn agency, I would have killed you for directly disobeying me! I'm your handler, not your babysitter—you should be heeding my every command!"

"Slow your roll there, boss," Luciel chuckled, "You sound kinky."

The brunette man groaned, utterly frustrated with Luciel and his utter inability to take anything Vanderwood said seriously.

"What's really the issue here, Vanderwood?" (Y/N) asked, her voice hesitant.

Vanderwood didn't respond, the scowl on his face unmoving. "Luciel, go to V's room."

"Why should I-" Luciel began, only to be interrupted.

"Just go!" Vanderwood hissed, turning to (Y/N). "You, stay with me."

Luciel glanced at (Y/N) hesitantly, slightly worried for the girl's well being. Luciel knew he could handle Vanderwood (especially a pissed off Vanderwood), but others weren't as skilled in the art of manipulation.

Then again, Luciel knew the stubborn look in Vanderwood's eyes all too well. His boss wouldn't be leaving any time soon. "Fine." Luciel offered a sympathetic glance toward (Y/N), mouthing 'good luck' as he headed to V.

He hadn't even closed the door when the blue-haired man spoke, "Luciel, there's something you need to know."

Luciel arched an eyebrow. V was a serious person, especially with MC being captured and then having to be rescued from the Mint Eye, but his tone was more than that. 

Pressing. Grave. Fearful?

"You'll want to be sitting for this," V said, but Luciel made no motion to do so. "Alright, then. I was just speaking to (Y/N), maybe half an hour ago...and she told me about the Mint Eye. Specifically, the people in the Mint Eye."

"And?" Luciel asked, bracing himself for the worst. But even that wouldn't be enough to prepare him for V's next words.

"Luciel, we've found your brother."

MASTERLIST

Neutral Route: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | ✔

Saeyoung’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | ✔

Saeran’s Route: 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | ✔

Word count: 2.3k

Notes: Aahahhh I'm sorry for being late in updating >.> I took a nap yesterday when I was exhausted, and I'd planned to wake up and publish this but then I slept through all my alarms. My bad!

Comment & Like

Next Update: 2/03/20

I do not own the rights to Mystic Messenger or any of the characters within it.

#707 #saeran #707 x reader #saeran x reader #romance #love triangle #sondepoch #wherefuturesbegin #mysticmessenger #mysme #mystic #reader #xreader #fanfiction #minteye #saeyoung #saeran x reader x saeyoung #saeyoung x reader x saeran #saeyoung x reader #saeran x reader x 707 #707 x reader x saeran #twins #choices #COMPLETED

[winterhereinaugust]

Unending - Chapter 3

Lol i impressed myself by finishing this chapter waaaaaaay sooner than expected. Finally getting the tiniest bit of Yunho and reader interaction so hopefully yall enjoy this chapter!

Btw, feedback is always appreciated. and if you noticed any grammatical errors, fire me a message and ill get right on it :)

word count: 3646

Prince!Yunho x Reader

 You woke up the next morning in a daze. You slowly opened your eyes to the bright shine of sunlight bouncing off the surface of the pond and directly into your face. You felt the ache in your back reach a peak so you lifted your arms to allow your back to stretch and pop in attempts to alleviate the soreness. And as you lifted your arms, you felt as the blanket on top of you slipped down onto your lap. You stared at the blanket for a moment before running your hands along it, not remembering whether you had brought yourself a blanket the night before. Come to think about it, hadn’t you sat down next to the pond? How did you end up against a tree?

“Oh look, Sleeping Beauty has awoken.”  You turn to look at Yeosang as he walks towards you holding a chunk of bread and an apple. You give him a small smile as he slides down the tree to sit next to you, placing the bread and apple in your lap. You give the apple a light wipe before taking a large bite and begin devouring the sweet fruit, not realizing how hungry you were.

“You were so tired when you got back last night that you passed out along the side of the pond without thinking. I got a little worried that that soldier had done something to you.” You glanced at him as you placed the cleaned core on the ground next to you before moving on to the piece of bread that remained. You swallowed down your first bite before speaking.

“Do you know how I ended up against the tree? And covered by a blanket? Did you come move me last night?” You went back to eating your bread as you waited for him to respond, Yeosang simply shook his head. If it wasn’t him who moved you last night, who was it? Maybe Seonghwa?

“I didn’t move you last night because I was asleep by the time you would have gotten back, I only heard about you this morning from Hongjoong because he found you next to the pond and was the one who moved you last night.”

Hongjoong? You were surprised that it was him of all people, especially after the look he gave you last night when you tried to explain yourself concerning how Mingi knew you. You knew Hongjoong was a very cautious individual, but you guess he must’ve given up on any apprehensiveness he had about you last night. But you could never be too sure with him unless he said it to you explicitly.

“Oh, okay. Well I guess I should go thank him… Thanks for the food Yeosang.” You neatly folded the blanket before you stood up and began walking towards Hongjoong’s tent, leaving Yeosang who sat quietly as he stared at the pond.

You could hear San and Wooyoung messing around before you could see them. Wooyoung’s laugh has become so distinguishable to you that you’re sure you could find him in a giant crowd. Same with San. You watched as they flew out from the bushes, rolling around on the ground like pups learning to play fight. You ignored them in favour of letting Jongho handle them as you continued on to go speak to Hongjoong.

You were coming around the large stone that was located in center of where you had all set up camp, only to hear Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s hushed voices. You strayed behind the rock so you could somewhat listen in.

“Seonghwa, you’re the closest to her out of all of us, so if she’s told you anything that could affect the Unseen, you need to let me know. If you have any information about her relationship with that soldier, you got to say something.” Hongjoong’s voice was filled with urgency, and you could tell he was simply concerned for the safety of the group, but you still did not want to share anything that you didn’t need to if you didn’t have to

“I’m telling you Joong, she hasn’t told me anything about that soldier at all. And if she had, I would have mentioned it, you know that Joong.” You watched as Seonghwa placed his hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder and gave it a firm pat to reassure him.

“I know you would, I’m just a little worried about (Y/N). She seemed a little hesitant to approach me when she got back last night so I wanted to talk to her personally. But by the time I had gotten around to finding her, she had already fallen asleep at the edge of the pond, so I moved her up by the trees.” Seonghwa nodded his head as he crossed his arms and leaned up against the stone and out of your line of vision.

You could hear him mumble something, but he must have moved away from your location so his voice wasn’t as clear as it was and was very hard to hear. You tried moving closer to where he and Hongjoong stood, but you didn’t pay much attention to where you were stepping and snapped a small branch under your foot.

Hongjoong and Seonghwa immediately twisted in the direction of the sound and watched you appear from out behind the stone; you figured there was no sense in trying to hide now that they heard someone nearby.

“Hey Hongjoong, I just wanted to come return the blanket you lent me last night and say thanks for moving me. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on you two either… I just heard my name and was confused as to why.” Letting out a nervous chuckle, you went and handed Hongjoong’s blanket back to him then turning and giving Seonghwa a wave and a small nod; a silent thanks for him not sharing anything you told him about Mingi. He gave a nod and a smile in return, happy that you were happy. But what he didn’t know is that you had made the decision to share a little bit more about what happened last night with Hongjoong just to provide him some piece of mind.

“Hongjoong… I wanted to tell you… I didn’t lie when I said that that soldier from last night was a kid I knew from my hometown. I just didn’t mention that we both, uh, used to work for the King of Dirus.” Seonghwa stared at you with intense confusion as you outed your past to your leader. You began to rub at your right arm before feeling Seonghwa grab your wrist and direct your attention towards him.

“(Y/N), I thought you didn’t want to tell anyone about that?” Seonghwa kept his voice shushed as if Hongjoong couldn’t hear him from a few feet away. You took his hand off your wrist and into your own, giving it a light squeeze then letting go and turning back to Hongjoong.

“I used to work as the bodyguard of the prince, but after I ran away I cut all ties with the royal family. It’s just a coincidence that Mingi happened to be the one to come and check out our campsite. I promise it’s not going to cause us any trouble, so please don’t worry about it.” Hongjoong stood by silently as you spoke, his gaze shifting between you and Seonghwa, and ending on Seonghwa. You could put two and two together, connecting the dots of Hongjoong’s unhappiness that was being aimed directly at Seonghwa.

“Don’t be upset with him Joong. I made him promise me to never tell anyone about the things I told him which I just told you. If you’re going to be mad at someone, be mad at me.” You stepped in front of Seonghwa as you tried to appease Hongjoong, hoping he wasn’t too mad about you keeping this from him.

Hongjoong let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his forehead as his eyes flicked between you and the ground finally landing on you with a sad look in them.

“I’m not mad, I’m simply upset that you didn’t feel comfortable with sharing your past with me (Y/N). I’m supposed to be the leader of this group. How can I do that when I don’t know how my members are feeling if they don’t tell me in the first place?”

“Hongjoong please listen. You’re a fantastic leader, we all think so. I just wanted to let go of my past as quick as possible, and Seonghwa was able to help me do that, so I didn’t think that it was that important. I promise it’s not going to cause any problems, so can we just leave all this behind us?”

Hongjoong glanced at the both of you before and placing his hands on his hips, looking down at his feet. He finally looked back up at you after a long moment of silence and let out a heavy sign and rolling his neck to alleviate the strain that had started to build up when he began talking to Seonghwa.

“I’m going to trust you when you say that this won’t cause us anymore trouble. However, in order for me to do that, I have to trust that you’re not going to keep any relevant information like that from me in the future, right?” Hongjoong gave you a hard look while placing his hands in his pockets and leaning back against the stone. You nodded and sent Hongjoong a bright smile.

Before you went off back to your tent that never actually got used during this stop, Hongjoong informed you to start packing up since they were planning on moving out in about an hour and continuing on their trip through Dirus. So once you returned to your tent, you began collecting any spare items left scattered about and began tossing them into your bag before taking down your tent.

~~

Everything was almost done being packed up when you suddenly noticed San rushing out of the trees and bee lining straight for you and Hongjoong who were rolling up the maps and letters left out from travel planning the night before. San was running at full speed and almost crashed into you if you hadn’t hopped out of his way in time. Once he came to a full stop, San was bent over panting while trying to usher out some rough sounding words that neither you nor Hongjoong could quite decipher.

“San, calm down, take a deep breath. What are you trying to say?” Hongjoong was rubbing San’s back as he waited for the young vampire to catch his breath. San had his hands placed on his knees, shoulder swiftly lifting up and down in time with his heavy panting. He raised his hand with just his index finger pointing up, asking for one more moment.

Once he caught his breath, San almost exploded with how fast he was talking.

“There are a whole squad of soldiers headed this way, and they do not seem all that friendly!” He pointed at the break in the treeline which he emerged from. And no sooner had he done that, the soldiers began appearing from between the trees and into the open field that was barely 10 meters away from where you were standing.

Hongjoong immediately drew his sword from the sheath he carried on his side and threw a look your way.

“Did you know about any of this?” He spun the handle of his sword in his hand as he swung lightly, trying to loosen up his wrist.

You were thankful that you had already geared up before going to help Hongjoong role the maps as you drew your own sword from the holster on your hip, directing the tip directly at the first soldier leading the squad.

“No! Mingi told me that he simply came to check us out last night and said we would be good to pass through since we hadn’t caused any actual problems! I don’t know why they’re here.” You noticed the rest of the Unseen appear at your side as you responded to Hongjoong, never once taking your eyes off the multitude of soldiers in front of you.

They began circling around all of you, forcing you into a circle as they slowly approached you, leaving no single spot weak enough to fight your way through and run. You backed up, trying to give yourself some more distance between you and the closest soldier, but you could feel yourself bump in to both Hongjoong and Seonghwa who were on either side of you. You were stuck, and you weren’t sure if you were you’d be able to fight your way out. You trusted everyone to be able to handle their fair share, but you could already tell you were far too outnumbered to even have a chance at victory.

You started to raise your sword, ready to go out in a blaze of glory, when you noticed a small break in the wall of soldiers appear. You could do nothing but watch as Mingi and Yunho walked through into the clearing between the two different parties.

This was the first time you’d seen the prince in over 3 years, and the only thing you could do was admire him.

This first thing you noticed that had changed about him was that he had somehow gotten even taller than he already was when you left. Second was that he had finally lost all the baby fat in his cheeks that you always found so adorable. He always looked somewhat boyish, but now you knew you were looking at a full grown man. The wear in his face was obvious, and you could easily tell that he didn’t get very much sleep from the darkness under his eyes, but none of that stopped him from still being as devastatingly handsome as ever.

You dragged your eyes away from Yunho’s figure in exchange for a quick glance at Mingi, who returned your look with a pressed smile and small wave from his hand placed on the hilt on his sword, which you returned.

“Okay, okay, we’re not here to attack you, Unseen, would you please put your weapons down?” your attention was once again ripped away to focus on the voice that was familiar yet oh so different. You stared at Yunho as he stepped forward from Mingi’s side as he placed his left arm across his chest and gave Hongjoong a small bow, trying to convey the squad’s friendly intentions. Even going as far as removing his own sword from its sheath and placing it on the ground at his feet.

Not a single one of the Unseen lowered their weapons, not risking any sort of possible sneak attack or trickery. But Hongjoong stepped forward and lowered his sword, but only slightly.

“And to what do we serve the honour of an audience with the prince?” The subtle sarcasm in Hongjoong’s voice was almost humorous as you watched him approach the young prince with much hesitance.

Yunho showed a small smile at the reluctance from the leader, but he knew coming to the camp, that there would of course been some resistance.

“I’m simply here to strike a deal with the Unseen. It is common knowledge that my little sister has been kidnapped by a clan of vampires known as the Necrolae. I wanted to recruit the help of the Unseen in my attempt to go and rescue her from them.” Yunho spoke as eloquently as ever, clearly he continued with taking those draining speech classes he hated so much when he was young. That was something that currently baffled you. He didn’t sound like the Yunho you remembered, he sounded like a royal.

“And why would the prince be wanting the assistance of a small group of travellers might I ask?” Seonghwa piped up as he stepped out in front of you, blocking your view of Yunho, and clearly his view of you. Silently thankful, you let go of your sword with one of your hands to take a small pinch of Seonghwa’s sleeve to hold as some comforting assurance that you were okay. From the moment Yunho appeared from between the soldiers, you could feel your heart start to hammer in your chest, and you weren’t sure if it was for a good reason or not. You clothes were starting to feel suffocating as you could feel your breathing start to pick up. It felt like you were going to explode.

“Clearly you’re unaware of your own reputation across the kingdoms. The Unseen are said to be an incredibly strong indifferent force that travels across the many kingdoms to those in need of their service.”

You could hear someone scoff from behind you, sounding somewhat like San.

”And I know, we may not seem to be the type of people you’d want to help per say, but your help wouldn’t be any sort of volunteer work. You’d be paid for your services.”

You could see Hongjoong slowly but surely lowering his sword as the conversation continued on, clearly understanding the prince’s intentions the further he explained.

“And how much would that be?”

“I can guarantee at least one hundred thousand dinars, and any further is affected by your usefulness and effectiveness in retrieving my sister.”

You heard someone behind you fumble their weapon about 5 seconds after Yunho told Hongjoong the price; clearly having took a moment to process the actual amount they were offering. You could already that this was going to turn out bad for yourself, you doubted anyone in the Unseen had ever heard of a single payment that exceeded 10 000 dinars for the entire crew. And there was no way any of them would turn this offer down.

“So what do you say? Do we have a deal?” Yunho walked up to Hongjoong and raised out his hand, offering a shake to officiate the agreement.

You watched from behind Seonghwa as Hongjoong stared at the hand presented in front of him for a moment before answering.

“Give us the day to decide and come back tomorrow morning. We’ll have an answer for you by then.” Hongjoong slid his sword back into its sheath as he spoke. And once he did, so did the rest of the Unseen. You slowly sheathed your sword, trying to not draw too much attention to yourself, but clearly that hadn’t worked since Seonghwa had moved from in front of you and back to your side, leaving you completely exposed to the eyes of the prince.

The exact prince who had his eyes intently locked on you as he listened to your leader respond back to his offer.

“Of course, take your time. But we would all prefer an answer sooner than later. Good day.” Yunho glanced back at Hongjoong to offer him a parting bow before returning his gaze to your own and offering a gentle nod in your direction before turning and returning through the wall of soldiers with Mingi in tow.

 ~~

After all the soldiers had finally left, you all gathered around Hongjoong, knowing what had to be discussed.

“Yo! I didn’t even know anyone would ever want to offer us money to help save someone, let alone offer us one hundred thousand dinars! That’s like 10 000 duku berry pies! I vote we go help.” Wooyoung was visibly bouncing with excitement at the prospect of such a hefty reward. Along with San who was also clearly on board with the offer, eyes glazed over clearly thinking about the pies Wooyoung had mentioned.

But regardless of the reward, you were still going to try to convince them all that this was a bad idea.

“Why should we help the prince when he’s clearly got plenty of soldiers at his disposal? What if it’s secretly a ploy just to frame us for some sort of crime and throw us in prison for life?” You were doing your best to sound at least somewhat genuine, but it didn’t seem to be sticking.

However, Seonghwa instantly picked up on your argument and was quick to join in and support you, no matter his thinking that it might be beneficial for the Unseen to help. He knew he couldn’t just leave you to argue on your own.

“Yeah guys, I’ve got a bad feeling about this offer. Doesn’t one hundred thousand seem like a lot to offer a bunch of travelling bandits? Even if it is to save the princess?” You whipped your head around to look at Seonghwa as he spoke, noticing him give you a quick glance and a speedy wink before returning his stare back to Hongjoong.

“Regardless, the prince seemed genuine about wanting us to help save his sister. And all that money would keep us fed for months (Y/N), we can’t possibly pass this opportunity up. I’m sorry, but when they show up tomorrow, we’re going to go with them. Now all of you go reset the camp, guess we’re staying for another night” You knew when Hongjoong made up his mind about something, that there was no chance of changing it.

You placed the bag of maps back down next to Hongjoong’s bag before moving on to find a spot to temporarily set up your tent for the day. You had also decided that you were going to just lie in your tent the entire day and do nothing. You figured that this was going to be the last day of peace that you were going to have for a while, so why not enjoy it by doing absolutely nothing?

But sadly for you, your day of nothing didn’t account for San and Wooyoung wanting to do some light sparring, then Seonghwa asking you to go hunting with him for a bit.

So much for peace.

#ateez #ateez fluff #ateez angst #jeong yunho #yunho x reader #jeong yunho fluff #jeong yunho angst #ateez x reader

[dappersheep]

Cassata Study: Weight and Worth

Alright, I will assume most people reading this have at least found Cassata's backstory and understand that there will be spoilers alluding to it. If not, please don't go any further than the cut and just shoo yourself over to [this link] to read it if you're curious.

Disclaimer: All resource materials at this moment are fan-translated and may differ from official global sources in the future. This is a character study from a couple of dorks fawning over boy-scout designed Cassata (trust me, I thought he'd be wearing pants at least) as per anon request. Views can and will be bias but I try to stay professional.

So let's start with some low hanging fruit.

Introverted: Keeps a small circle of friends and prefers to keep it that way. Can socialise but will not go out of his way to do so with non-friends.

Keeps a lot to himself: Stemming from a lot of factors, some of which is guilt and fear. You can be his friend and he'll still not tell you everything.

Observant of his surroundings: Supported by him knowing the princess' condition was worsening and he has an uncanny ability to sense Whiskey (more on this as a theory later on)

As evidenced by Pizza's line of him looking for cassata, we can assume Cassata wanders off sometimes when he feels it safe, otherwise he sticks close to Pizza and Cheese

Basing from his voice lines, Cassata puts others before him, possibly to his detriment. In 'canon' without the player's MA, that would translate to Pizza, Cheese, and Pizza. No that is not a mistake.

It is also implied in a voice line that he is fine with not getting better treatment.

In the Great Pizza Salt of 2018- I jest, 2018 Pizza Halloween Event, when Cassata's relaxed enough he jokes around with Cheese and Pizza. This is the part of him that he developed while spending time with these two and their MAs during the golden days.

Acts as the mature one in the trio, but as mentioned before, has a jokester side to him should the situation allow for it.

So those are the easy things to glean, and now for the more in-depth part plus some theorizing:

Cassata putting Pizza on a pedestal.

Quite possibly bordering on god-worship without Cassata being fanatic about it. He has sworn fealty to protect his friend both spoken and unspoken at several instances. God, I don't think I need to explain how much emphasis Cassata's bio puts Pizza as his savior and 'need to protect with my life'.

Cassata's guilt and self-worth

If it isn't obvious, Cassata has questionable views of his self-worth despite not being outwardly gloomy like Raindrop Cake.

He has convinced himself that he is the reason that this perfect, happy family was destroyed because of him. That by virtue of 'existing' in their circle, he was essentially signing their death warrants.

He had so many window of opportunities to confess or at least warn the king and the princess about the conspiracy against them, but for one reason or another, he doesn't. Maybe it was his fear that he would be kicked out of this happiness he'd found. He could have been desperate to keep this happiness for a while longer. Maybe it was also imagining Pizza, who selflessly held out his hand to Cassata, turn his back on him once he knew. Likely all of the above.

At the end of it all, Cassata created a dilemma for himself due to inaction. And now he lives with the heavy guilt that he probably could have prevented it all if he had simply spoken up. But there is nothing to do about it except to protect the last two who mattered to him with everything he has.

Still, there is one fear whispering in his ear.

What happens if they find out?

Cassata's involvement in his ex-MA's [and Whiskey's schemes]: A theory

Yeah this part was left so vague all throughout the bio. It took us the longest time up until some weeks back on how could Cassata possibly be involved with spy work when he likely spent most of his time with the trio (Cheese, her MA and Pizza) and it was explicitly stated in bio that he hadn't seen his ex-MA between the time when he was stabbed and when he met him at the door when people were in a panic over the princess (by that time Pizza also disappearing).

And then we remembered that the dagger was a creation of Whiskey's. Whiskey, who probably has so many skills up his sleeves. Whiskey, who could probably do something like enchanting a weapon to cut a Food Soul's link with their MA but at the same time making it that he can see through the victim's eyes and hear what they hear.

*points to Cassata* And Cassata had no knowledge of it whatsoever. He was basically a window. From the bio, Cassata simply assumed him being there with the royal family meant he was a bad luck charm because he was supposed to be a tool to their downfall. What kind of tool? Cassata isn't so sure himself. So whether or not he acted, Whiskey and his ex-MA would have the information they needed.

This could also explain why Whiskey shows an interest in Pizza.

Who was the one who saved Cassata and went far enough to ask the king to adopt him? Pizza.

Who does Cassata have to listen to on a daily basis? Cheese, the princess.... Pizza.

Who does Cassata often look at? Possibly Pizza.

Who was instrumental in helping Cassata find happiness? Pizza.

It isn't farfetched to say that this is how Whiskey decided to insert himself into the royal family during a very convenient time, while conspiring with the king's brother but also because it furthers his own personal agenda/s.

That, and he wants to mess with Cassata by stealing away his ‘god’.  In one interpretation we have, this is his way of reminding Cassata that he did have a huge role in the tragedy that happened, and to remind him of his place as a tool. Tools don’t need ‘god’ or happiness, but messing with Cassata gives Whiskey some entertainment by doing this.

Oh, but still even better? The side-effect to it is that Cassata is hyper-aware of Whiskey's presence because of the 'link' they now share.

Some other fun stuff:

> Given the theory mentioned above is true, how much are we willing to bet he knew Cassata was watching him and Pizza, so purposefully dropped Pizza's head against the stone platform just to see/hear how Cassata would react? In Pizza's bio, we deduced Whiskey wasn't even *that* surprised that Cassata found the hidden room and tore open a wall into it.

> Food for thought, given that Pizza may have been summoned around the time the king became a father, and Cheese likely summoned when the princess was old enough to manifest MA powers to summon, that would put Pizza as the 'eldest', Cheese the middle child and Cassata as the baby brother of sorts. Funny how that looks.

> What is the purpose of Whiskey harming Pizza? Other than reminding Cassata of his place and some side-interests (especially knowing now that this ‘god’ has teeth), he likely wants to test Cassata’s conviction and study him. How much can this young, [then] newly summoned Food Soul take before he either gives up or snaps?

#food fantasy #ff cassata #lore gathering #character study #fan theory

[thornedrose44]

All Will Be Well (Chapter 28 Sneak Peek)

Going the Distance

Week 1

Kara let out what was probably the eighteenth sigh since she started the journey back from Theonia. Leaving Lena was easier this time in some ways because of the promise of return and continued contact.

She wasn’t leaving Lena this time around. She wasn’t saying ‘goodbye’ but ‘see you soon’.

It softened the pain of departure, but it didn’t remove it completely. She still had to walk away from the woman she loved, still had to put mile after mile between them, still had to come home to her apartment which would now feel empty, still had to reconcile that her bed would be colder than she wished.

It was these thoughts that made her linger outside her apartment door, her keys waiting primed in her hand, before fully returning to the life she had taken a vacation from. Her bag was sat by her feet, her clothes inside clean and pressed thanks to the Palace staff, and her free hand was playing intermittently with the new, sleek phone in her coat pocket.

The phone had been given to her as she left. Lena explained it was top of the line, prompting Kara to try and refuse it but she was talked around to accepting when Lena revealed its level of encryption would allow them to communicate without Lena’s head of security having a breakdown. Kara’s laptop similarly was installed with Theonia’s latest anti-spyware and a communication app (designed to look like Skype) that would enable them to video call.

Kara shook her head, pushing the longing that was already growing within her chest to one side and headed into her dark apartment. She deposited her bag next to the door, and went over to the fridge, in the mood for a snack before bed.

Finding nothing suitably high sugar enough, Kara pouted before jolting suddenly as the light in the living room clicked on.

Kara whirled around, her heart jumping out of her ribcage upon seeing a figure sat comfortably on her sofa.

“Uhh… hey, Alex…” Kara greeted, her hand pressed to her chest, feeling her heartbeat steadily return to normal as she recognised her sister, who was watching her with the assessing gaze she tended to reserve for criminals (or errant little sisters). “You’re here… in my apartment… waiting for me… in the dark… not creepy at all.” Kara winced, shrinking under the piercing gaze, and timidly tiptoeing forward.

Alex crossed her arms and raised an accusing eyebrow, “Well, I wouldn’t be if I felt like my sister wasn’t trying to avoid me.”

Kara’s step faltered and her stomach sank upon seeing the hurt hidden in the depths of her sister’s brown eyes.

“Never.” Kara declared, rushing to sit beside her sister and sweep her up into a tight hug that the hardened detective sank into without hesitation. “Alex, you mean the world to me.” Kara promised before kissing Alex’s forehead to emphasise the sincerity of her words.

“Ditto.” Alex huffed in a gruff tone that was undercut by how she squeezed Kara closer to her. “And I’m sorry.” She murmured as she leaned back, her gaze downcast and guilty.

Kara easily dismissed the apology with a wave of her hand.

Kara had set up shop in Alex’s house numerous times over the years, usually for anniversaries of certain losses and when Alex was on a particularly dangerous case. Not once had Alex ever sent her away when Kara needed her and Kara, in turn, would never do so either.

“I’m just…”, Alex began, her hand running through her short red hair indicating her nervousness, “worried about you. You left without a word and then were really secretive whilst you were away.”

Kara’s insides twisted with guilt. She’d spoken with Alex a number of times over the week she was away. During those conversations, she was open about feeling better and being in a good mood but closed off about why, where and how.

Lena had spoken to her over the first couple of days and made it explicitly clear that she had no issues with Kara sharing her identity with her sister. In fact, Lena openly encouraged it having never wanted to be the cause for any rift in Kara’s relationship with her sister.

Even with the go ahead to be honest, Kara found herself still wishing to keep the reality of her relationship a secret. During her first stay at the Palace, as a journalist, it felt inherently wrong to tell anyone about her budding friendship with the Queen. At the time, she put it down to wanting to prove herself as worthy of Lena’s secrets, wanting to be better than all those who’d hurt Lena previously. It felt right to keep whatever was happening between them to themselves as a way to build trust.

After leaving Theonia, Kara’s reason for keeping it a secret shifted. It was no longer about preserving something for Lena, but preserving something for herself. With no hope of them reuniting, Kara had felt like she had lost Lena forever, the only thing she truly had left of their time together was the memories, the shared moments that only the two of them had.

Telling Alex (telling anyone) the truth about Lena, about how they came to know one another, like one another, care for one another… love one another… it would be like losing Lena all over again. Sharing so much as one of those memories by revealing the truth about Lena would take something that solely belonged to her and Lena and give it someone else. Kara hadn’t wanted that, so she dodged the questions and kept her lips sealed.

Now, though?

Now, Kara was unsure why she was still hiding the truth.

It was no longer for the sake of Lena’s trust.

It was no longer to protect a few precious memories that she had originally believed would never be added to.

It was unnecessary to hide it any longer, but still…

Kara found the truth wouldn’t come. Admitting, who Lena was would change things, would change her life irrevocably forever and Kara… wasn’t ready to face that.

Yes, she had spent a week in a Palace. A Palace she’d been flown to and from on the Queen’s private jet. A Palace that was guarded by armed military soldiers.

In all honesty, though, Kara barely even registered any of that. All that mattered was Lena. Not the crown, land, money or power.

Just the girl.

And Kara only wanted the girl. Adding all the other stuff to the story… complicated things and Kara selfishly didn’t want that.

She was in love with the most amazing woman in the world, why should a title and golden crown change any of that?

“You’re allowed your secrets, Kara,” Alex insisted sincerely, patting Kara’s leg comfortingly, “and you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to but…” Alex sighed, biting her lip as she struggled to find the right words, “you’re not acting like yourself… I just want to make sure everything is alright. I could never forgive myself if I wasn’t there when you needed me.”

Alex’s brown eyes were soft and welcoming, as they always were when Kara needed her big sister.

Kara grabbed Alex’s hand and squeezed it tightly, “You’re always there when I need you. Always.” Kara repeated, hoping that Alex could see the love and loyalty shining in her eyes, before taking a deep breath and forcing herself to brave. “Theonia. I was in Theonia.”

Alex didn’t say anything for a long minute, her expression incredulous as she looked for a sign Kara was lying or joking.

“With the chef?” Alex eventually guessed, the disbelief now permanently settled on her face.

“Yeah, about that-”, Kara winced, readying herself to be honest even though her mind was begging her to keep it to herself, to let her stay in the safe little bubble of twisted reality she had created.

“How?” Alex cut in, unable to keep the question back a moment longer. “I thought the borders were locked down tight.” Alex’s free hand moved through a whirlwind of actions as she struggled to rationalise what her sister had managed to accomplish. “Please don’t tell me you smuggled yourself there. I mean I will take on the feds if you broke the law”, Alex declared, and Kara was pleased to find she didn’t doubt the assertion for even a second, “and will go on the run with you in a heartbeat, but… how?!”

Kara chuckled at the mixture of shock, bewilderment and pride currently displayed on her sister’s face, “Sam - the Queen’s chief of staff - organised it all.” Kara explained, “She’s best friends with uh… the chef…”

“Good friend.” Alex muttered with a begrudging tone of respect.

“Sam’s one of the best.” Kara agreed before adding after a moment’s reflection, “You’d really like her.”

“I’m sure I would if she managed to arrange all that for you two.” Alex admitted, her mouth quirking up on one side before she let out a long breath, “Wow… so you spent a whole week with her?”

“Yeah.” Kara breathed, happy and willing to now share this part of her time with her big sister.

“Was it… good?” Alex asked, even though it was obvious from her tone and the warm glint in her eye that she already knew the answer.

“The best.” Kara replied genuinely.

“I can tell.” Alex smiled softly causing Kara to blush and grin.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy before.” Alex confessed, reaching out to fondly tap Kara’s flushed cheeks which were stretched to capacity at trying to contain her smile.

“I love her.” Kara whispered.

“Holy shit.” Alex whistled in amazement.

“Language.” Kara reprimanded, lightly slapping her sister’s bicep.

Alex rolled her eyes at the admonishment before asking seriously, “Want to tell me all about her?”

“More than anything.” Kara sighed out dreamily, settling back into the cushions of the sofa as Alex did the same, their positions intermingling reflections of one another. Swallowing the minor lump in her throat and overcoming the hammering sound of her heart, Kara revealed with a strong and steady voice, “Her name is Lena by the way.”

Kara then waited.

Waited for Alex’s eyes to light up in recognition.

Waited for Alex’s sharp and nimble mind to figure it out.

Waited for reality.

“Lena, huh… Nice name.” Alex commented nonchalantly.

Kara tilted her head to the side in confusion, Alex blinked back expectantly in response, clearly unsure why Kara was pausing before sharing the rest of the details. “Yeah.” Kara awkwardly muttered in agreement, relief mixed with slight disappointment washing over her as she licked her lips and began to tell Alex about the woman who had stolen her heart. “It's… um... a pretty common name in Theonia.”

#supercorp #royal au #all will be well #This chapter is super long and is taking ages to write #Here's an update to reassure you that I haven't forgotten about it...

[blankdblank]

Hobbit - Soulmate Pt 7

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 -

Tags –

@himoverflowers​, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator​, @sweeticedtea​, @ggbbhehe4455​, @thegreyberet​, @patanghill17​, @jesgisborne​, @curvestrology​, @alishlieb​, @jogregor, @admirationofarmitage, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @c-s-stars, @abiwim​, @deepestfirefun, @evyiione,  @lilith15000 , @c-s-stars, @abiwim​, @deepestfirefun, @evyiione

…

Through the walls an alarm sounded stirring groggy Richard from his sleep with a grin at the reminder of your being under his roof. Nipping at his lip as he climbed out of bed he listened as you headed into the bath attached to your room and let out a soft exclamation, “Hot water!” Lowly he chuckled and ruffled his hands through his hair brushing it into place and pulled on a set of clothes and went to put together a simple breakfast you were soon joining him for in your leotard and sweats you were covering with a large sweater and your jacket after you set your bag and shoes on the ground beside your chair. When your plates were empty you planted a kiss on Richard’s cheek on the path to the door after you had added your shoes through his clearing the table. Under his arm you walked to the car as he cleared his throat and rumbled, “You’re finished at 1, correct?”

You nodded, “Yes. If you can’t get me-.”

His lips planted on your cheek cutting your words off, “I will be there Darling.”

Tilting your head back you rose up on your toes to kiss him on the lips as he held your door open for you. Pulling back you caught his growing smile watching as you climbed inside.

…

One had come quick enough and Richard parked in the same lot as before and curiously eyed the same row of cars from that morning all still sitting there leaving him to assume practice had just run late and to follow the same path he had seen you take to enter earlier that morning. Peering through these immaculate halls leaving him feeling a bit out of place he eyed the signs guiding him towards the lingering crowds in the dance halls all buzzing with news of the Bolshoi Ballet Principal Dancers turned Directors that all of the dancers were all grouped around in one of the open rehearsal rooms. In their conversation Richard eyed the pair staring directly through the glass wall dividing your practice rooms where you were with Dean still running through the final act of the dance again.

Akin to a magnet your performance drew him into the empty room he claimed one of the seats along the wall to watch your stunningly fluid and weightless motions and leaps between lifts making you seem as light as a feather with the ease Dean had led you through.

Each move, even in his familiarity with the show from his own role in it in school, seemed brand new and an entire seemingly unattainable level he had imagined such a young student to achieve. No matter who had approached the pair they were still watching you until your final giggling turn when you caught Richard in his spot by the door signaling the final exaggerated reach for your extended leg as Dean posed behind you resting his hand against the one you had extended above you to finalize the ending act motion the director had added signaling the crowd of dancers to fold in around you before the curtain would close. Up right again you giggled and smiled at Richard ready to approach him only to turn your head to the visiting pair that had entered the room through the door in the glass wall that called out, “Jaqieara” in matching thick Russian accents.

With parted lips Richard watched your brisk en point bouncing path to them where you stopped holding the tall position with ankles crossed while your arms crossed behind your back allowing you to tangle your fingers together as the pair, now the same height of you, locked their eyes on yours. Looking on Richard missed Dean and his Cousins grouping around him, Dean bumped his arm with his elbow as the dancers on the other side of the glass divider looked on jealously at their calling you over to speak with them without being told anything about you. “I love it when they drop by for visits.”

Richard glanced at Dean asking, “They visit often?”

Dean glanced at him and nodded with a chuckle, “Yup. Come out to see their Little Pear progressing.”

Richard’s brow rose, “Little Pear?” His head turned to watch you again as he caught the woman turning as she glanced at Richard with a stoic expression, to reenter the room as the man’s hand rose to stroke your cheek in his lean in to kiss your forehead while his other hand reached out to pass you an envelope you smiled and nodded as he smiled at you then turned to join his Wife, stealing a glance at Richard as well with a slightly softer expression before turning away. As the doors closed you turned in a step back and started the walk back to the group as Chuck snickered to himself saying, “That was practically a hug right there.”

Dean nodded then glanced at Richard again nudging his arm, “They’re her Grandparents, Mum’s side.”

Richard’s eyes settled on you watching your walk back to them as you lowered to the soles of your feet and relaxed your posture loosening the ache in your back.

.

Motion by motion you could feel their eyes on you. Each year was the same, always silent, always painful, but you all held the tradition of this forced encounter to pretend like they hadn’t done something so impossibly cruel decades prior. Word of their being there had spread through the students with all watching and wondering why they had chosen your dance to observe, their answer coming as the others in your rehearsal barely drew a moment of attention from them away from you. Every move and breath they watched like a hawk with their stern gazes fixed on you explicitly. There was no reason for them to be here past the prestige they brought to the schools exhibits by bringing such amazing dancers and members of an unsurpassed seemingly perfect dance company in the world, even if all they did was sit silently murmuring to each other and detailing your every moment.

Through the glass walls they still watched and you ignored, hoping they would look away just once allowing you to breath without fear of bursting into tears at the painful loss their presence reminded you of. But nevertheless the doors were opened and they passed through after your final resting position, thickly in Russian accents “Jaqiearae” was called.

Drawing in a steady breath you smiled at Dean in his parting wink and trot to join Richard and the boys. Damn your feet hurt. Your former slippers had ripped in your last practice halfway and you had to pull out your new pair. Still they were far too stiff for a performance just yet when you had started this morning, but no doubt as you toed your way over to the pair and they caught your using their breaking in technique their version of smiles eased onto their faces.

In a glance at your Grandmother you smiled stating, “Babushka.” Then glanced at your grinning Grandfather as your fingers laced behind your back, “Babu.”

Thickly he stated in Russian, “Flawless as always my Little Bubble.”

You smiled then looked to your Grandmother in her cold demeanor stating with a broken regret filed expression in her eyes she refused to voice as she looked on at the mirror image of her lost child not counting your eyes and the slightly curved and muscular form unlike her wispy tall figure. “Certainly your studies and our notes have imprinted on you. There is quite a list of our own Principals that cannot hold that Grand Allegro lift like your partner and yourself. It is pleasing you have found a partner to trust so freely, unlike the rotating set in Julliard.”

Your Grandfather asked, “Have you decided on graduating early or not?”

“Not yet. There are a few things I have to consider through this last semester before my summer semester back out here.”

Your Grandmother nodded, “True. It is a hefty decision. Clearly you have gained an impressive amount of skill from that school. It is not something to squander easily.” Her eyes shifted to the group of teens and Richard, “Who was that man watching you? You smiled at him.”

“He’s my Mate, Richard, Armitage.”

Her eyes scanned over him as she stated, “Your children will be tall.”

As she passed through the doors your Grandfather cupped your cheek smiling at you with a far softer expression he was free to show in her absence, “My little Bubble,” His lips pressed to your forehead, “I am pleased you have found your Mate. Trust me, she will not make the same mistake twice. We wish you the happiness in the world. You are timeless and without flaw when you move with so much in your heart flooding around you, even in her icy state she can see it, tears, always when you dance. So much farther you’ve grown past your Mother.” After a reach in his pocket he drew out an envelope in a deep red with etchings of mistletoe leaves and berries over it, “Happy Christmas. Another will find you in New York for your birthday.”

“Babu-.”

His hand patted yours, “We heard of your sudden arrival. Let an old man spoil you.” His eyes darted to Richard then back to you, “Your children will be tall, with glowing eyes.”

Softly you giggled as he shared his love, a sentiment you returned watching him join her before you turned and lowered finally to the soles of your feet to walk back to the waiting group gathered around your bag they had grabbed.

Your smile grew as you claimed one of the seats to remove your slippers you put up in your bag as you said to Richard, “Sorry, things ran a bit late with our guests.”

Richard nodded glancing at the crowds following the pair heading for the parking lot then looked back at you as you tied your shoes over the socks you had added, “No need to apologize. Everything go alright?”

You nodded and stood accepting your sweater from Dean you pulled on as they hugged you and followed the group of females waving at them motioning to meet them outside. “Ya. As good as it can.”

“Oh?”

You let out a weak chuckle and wet your lips making sure you were alone before you grabbed the envelope from the chair and eyed your bag on Richard’s shoulder as he held out your jacket for you, with a loving expression hoping to simply help, “My Grandmother disowned my Mother when she believed her to be trading down by marrying my Father, her Mate.” Richard’s lips parted, “A couple years later I was born and my Mom died without having spoken to them since. So, I’m sort of a, redemption, for them.”

Richard closed the distance cupping your cheek as your eyes started to fill with tears, and you drew in a trembling breath as he wrapped you in a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “Is there anything I can do?”

Your arms snaked around his middle, “The hug helps.” You mumbled against his thick sweater making him hug you tighter. When you finally stepped back you sniffled and flashed him a quick smile, “Hungry?”

“Sort of. You look hungry, take aways and movie marathon till dinner?” You nodded and his eyes shifted to the envelope, “Christmas card?”

You nodded and slipped it in your bag as well, “With a check for the account my Grandfather opened for me here.”

Richard’s brow rose and you added, “He like to send me money when I’m here. He knows I work but he likes to be sure I have enough to be comfortable here on my own.”

He nodded, “They don’t like your friends?”

“They’re impressed with my partnering with Dean. If you mean the stern looks that’s just how they are most of the time. They did mention us having tall children with glowing eyes.” His brows twitched up again, “They are still Grandparents, demanding babies is part of the job I guess.” Making him chuckle as you led the way out to his car.

“Let’s get you something to eat Darling.” Wrapping his arm around your back.

Pt 8

#Richard Armitage x Reader OC

[storychecker-blog]

(Un)Happy Hogan - A Study in Dead-End Careers

Happy Hogan surely is not Lady Luck’s favorite child, seeing as that his appearances on screen are usually accompanied by a new job description. Since Iron Man, he has held four official titles, as well as an unofficial assistant role pending his sacking from SI. Career-wise, he has a terrible track record.

The Bodyguard

Happy Hogan is first introduced to us as Tony’s trusted bodyguard. Their chemistry in Iron Man is friendly, and both seem used to each other’s eccentrics. Happy is also shown to be Tony’s security detail in 1999. The New Year Eve Party in Bern has Happy jump straight onto Tony, trapping him on the bed when the plant explodes. Overall, the scene in Maya’s apartment shows a bumbling, unprofessional and insecure bodyguard, possibly quite new at his job. In the comics, he was a former boxer who fell on hard times. In the MCU, this backstory has not been verified, however, Happy is proficient at boxing and not quite that good at “dirty” fighting. He has no “real” experience of holding his ground, which does not speak for his qualification as a bodyguard. Even years later, in Iron Man, Happy gives in to Tony’s desire for a car race, which puts them in two different vehicles. As a bodyguard, he constantly allows people to get too close to his boss. Happy is certainly not the best at the job and he is not the only one Tony can afford: However, he is the only one that Tony wants. This has worked for them for almost ten years. It was a comfortable setting, and if Iron Man had not entered the picture, I am certain that Tony would have retained Happy’s services.

The Driver

Once Tony revealed himself to be Iron Man, Happy takes a backseat as his bodyguard. In Iron Man 2, he mostly assumes the role of a driver, taking Pepper and Tony to places. As a non-enhanced human, he is overwhelmed by the dangers Tony brought onto himself by revealing his secret identity. Although Happy is crucial to fending off Vanko, he is not up to the task. Tony had to protect Happy and Pepper on the racing track. For a bodyguard, being protected by one’s boss must be quite humiliating, especially when you know that this is not just a one off. There is also an argument to be made for Happy being a charity case. A man with a flying suit navigated by an AI has no real need for a driver. Or for a car, for that matter. To make matters worse for Happy, Tony also meets Elon Musk in Iron Man 2 which leads to him acquiring a self-driving car by the end of Age of Ultron. The car remains a staple of his garage, making a comeback in Civil War. There is no real need for Happy’s services, which must be all too painfully obvious  to the man himself.

Head of Security

In Iron Man 3, Happy switches from Tony’s personal employment to Stark Industries. Their friendship is not threatened by his change of careers, because Tony had no real need of him. Happy did not abandon Tony - he merely left to find a meaningful task.

Do you know what happened when I told everyone I was Iron Man's bodyguard? They would laugh in my face!

Happy is eager to prove his worth, which leads to his overcompensating fixation on details, such as the badge-wearing. He wants to be anything but a charity case. To Happy, Iron Man must have been a confusing experience, because Tony outgrew him while he was not looking. Without intending to do so, Tony left Happy behind. It is anything but surprising that Happy rejects Tony in Iron Man 3, after years of loyal service. From his perspective, there is no space next to Tony for his set of skills. Tony has no need of either a bodyguard or a driver. Yet, Happy does not really move on: When he meets Killian and his goon, he attempts to play on Tony’s level and check out the shady business associates. As a consequence of that, he ends up in hospital, severely hurt and comatose. Happy once again finds himself to be lacking in the skill department to be useful to his boss. His performance as head of security also annoyed Pepper enough to fire him, because she is much more business-oriented than Tony. His sacking is anything but surprising: Happy had abandoned his workplace during official hours to follow some weirdos in order to impress a third party, that is Tony Stark. Even if Pepper had not been dissatisfied with his performance as head of security, his wilful disobedience leaves her no choice but to sack him.

“Assistant”

During Civil War, Happy is shown to work, once again, under Tony. He is the assigned driver and babysitter for Peter Parker, essentially assisting his boss in whatever requires another pair of hands and eyes. It is not an official position, because during the shared car scene, Tony points out that:

“Happy is hoping to get bumped up to asset management. He was forehead of security, before that he was a driver.”

Tony explicitly uses the past tense, Happy is no longer head of security or his driver. Yet, Tony says that Happy hopes to be promoted to the Avengers Compound’s asset management. That means he now retains a position in the Compound’s hierarchy. He is not with Stark Industries, because Pepper fired him. Instead, Tony created some position for him that equals to Happy being Tony’s personal assistant. Again, it is a job that smells of charity, which probably accounts for his poor mood in Berlin. Happy’s career is stuck: On one hand, he desires to be recognized for his talents, on the other hand he likes working for Tony.  Yet, there is no actual work for him near his boss. Tony now outsources him by putting him on babysitting duties for a superhero wannabe. It is evident that his poor track record at retaining jobs, let alone at advancing his career, is getting to Happy:

That was a private conversation. I don’t like joking about this. It was hard to talk about that.

Both men had an honest conversation about Happy’s lack of job prospects. Tony also acknowledges that Happy is going through a difficult time, which is why he asks of Peter:

"Do me a favor, though... Don't stress him out."

As part of assisting Tony, Happy becomes Peter’s unwilling liaison. From the get-go, Happy is resentful of the task, possibly because he is afraid of being abandoned. In Homecoming, Tony rejects Peter as a potential Avenger, and he is scheduling his move to the Compound after selling the Tower. If Happy does not make the cut to asset management, Tony will leave him behind in New York to babysit. It’s as if his secret fear is finally coming true. He was mostly useless to Tony, but the billionaire did not “notice.” Once they are physically apart, Tony may notice that he has no need for Happy. Peter’s future is strongly tied to Happy’s fate: If Peter moves to the Avengers Compound, Happy may be allowed to move, too. If Peter is rejected from the Avengers, Happy might be left behind. And Tony seems anything but interested in bringing Peter into the fold in Homecoming. Happy’s snappish mood in Homecoming is the result of his own anxiety. He becomes much more at ease once he is certain to be included in the move to the Compound.

The Asset Manager

During Homecoming, Happy is preparing himself and the Tower for moving day as part of his first probationary duty as Asset Manager. It is a tense situation for him, because his career is up in the air. He does not know whether the Compound truly will have space for him. Peter’s childish worries go past him, because he is preoccupied with his own bleak prospects. At that moment, he has no official title, he has no task besides liaising between Tony and Peter, which essentially amounts to reiterating Peter’s texts to Tony. He even told him about the Churros to make a point about Pete not needing a liaison. The more Peter causes trouble, the grumpier Happy gets. If Peter causes trouble, it means that he will have further need of a babysitter.

Once Moving Day passes, Happy is much more at ease, despite almost having lost important Stark technology due to negligence which is not exactly a sign of being good at managing assets. When Happy meets Peter in the toilet, he opens up to the teenager:

I don’t know what I would do without this job.”

This is a silent apology for his atrocious behavior. Now that Tony intends to move Peter upstate as well, Happy is rather relaxed: Whether he will be given a permanent position as asset manager in the new compound or remain as Peter’s liaison, it means he will not be abandoned and left behind in New York.

And Now?

Then there’s Infinity War. Happy has been cut from the final version, but from the extra footage it becomes clear that Happy probably was not promoted to Asset Manager. He met up with Pepper and Tony on their run, indicating that he is not working at the Compound. Again, he seems to be heavily involved in Tony’s affairs, pointing towards another go at “assistant.”

In truth, all Happy ever wanted was to remain at Tony’s side, and to feel equal to the man. Tony does recognize Happy as a friend, as an equal. It is Happy that feels inadequate next to Iron Man and the other superheroes. Nothing would make him happier than being approached by Tony Stark in Avengers 4 and being told “I need you.”

#meta #essay #marvel #mcu #iron man #tony stark #happy hogan #peter parker #spider man: homecoming

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Gatsby! you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Lucius Malfoy

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Reading over your audition was truly a pleasure! You brought him alive for us, and personally there were a few places that you had me falling in love with your portrayal of him. I can’t wait to see what you bring to the dash, and more importantly what having Lucius around is going to be like!

*your faceclaim change to Boyd Holbrook has been accepted

application beneath the cut 

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION

Name: Gatsby

Age: 24

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

Time Zone: EST

ACTIVITY

I am a senior paralegal so, needless to say, sometimes I do become busy. However, I should be able to log on in the evenings unless I have something going on. On weekends, I will be particularly active. I like to write and I like to roleplay. I expect that, provided the roleplay wants me here, I will be able to meet the expectations you have set forth.

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?

The tags.

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Oh dear, that’s difficult. I suppose I identify most with someone like Sirius: Not quite what your family would expect of you, but content with that. A bit dodgy when it comes to your decision-making skills in social situations, opinionated, but with a heart in the right place.

That being said… I have never actually played Sirius… I prefer Death Eaters.

ANYTHING ELSE?

None.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy - I believe, per the naming patterns of the Malfoy men, that the middle name is traditionally the father’s first name. Draco Lucius Malfoy, meaning Lucius would be Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, and Abraxas would be Abraxas Brutus Malfoy.

BIRTHDAY / STAR SIGN

May 16th, 1954 - This puts Lucius pretty firmly in the Taurus range. I particularly like this for the following quote:

“Unlike the Aries love of the game, the typical Taurus personality lovesthe rewards of the game. Think physical pleasures and material goods, for those born under this sign revel in delicious excess. This zodiac sign is also tactile, enjoying a tender, even sensual, touch.”

OCCUPATION

Lucius works for the Ministry. I know this isn’t explicitly stated in the books, but I think it’s fitting. I imagine that his father, Abraxas, probably pulled strings to get him accepted with relative ease rather than letting his son toil for it. I headcanon him as working for the Department of International Magical Cooperation– specifically in the International Magical Office of Law. He is so politik, and I wouldn’t at all be surprised if he was some derivative of magical attorney. He knows what can and cannot be said, he’s calculated, and he is very good at getting out of things. He’d thrive in a law office. Additionally, on the international level, he’d be an asset to Voldemort because he can affect the influences leaving Great Britain as well as at home.

FACE CLAIM

I am fine with Sam Claflin, but I tend to use Boyd Holbrook or Jamie Dornan. My preference would be one of the latter, particularly because I think Sam looks a little too boyish alongside Elizabeth Olsen, but if you disagree, that’s fine!

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER

I actually have always liked the Malfoys best in Harry Potter. Normally, I’m a Narcissa player, but in playing her I have come to understand the sorts of things I like out of a good Lucius versus a mediocre one.

He’s a character of subtlety, for sure. A lot of the pureblood way of life reads old-fashioned to me. I think that Lucius would understand the expectations placed upon him and would absolutely try to uphold those values, but he would also have reveled in the gifts he was born with. So he would know how to act in front of old-fashioned types, but I think he is also deeply in tune with the world around him. He’s stylish, observant, and calculating. There are very few people that can come between his goals/ambitions and whatever means necessary to achieve those things. I don’t tend to play a Lucius who is particularly nice to people who don’t matter to him, either. While he knows how to people-please and has no trouble groveling when it is the most beneficial course of action, he has pride to a fault. He wouldn’t pander to the Weasleys of the world unless he had something to gain.

Lucius has a way with words, he’s charismatic, he’s flirtatious, and he’s not afraid to get what he wants no matter who he has to step on.

That being said, I don’t accept the interpretation that Lucius would ever abuse Narcissa or the people close to him. He can be an asshole (he’s a Death Eater, after all), but rule number one in becoming an overlord is never turn against your queen or your inner circle. He would not risk his comfort among those with whom he shares status for much.

However, he is deeply principled. Lucius supports the Cause, and he believes in blood purity. His family is Pureblood back to its roots, and that means something. However, he also doesn’t particularly love getting his hands dirty. He’ll kill who he must and wreak havoc where it is asked of him by the Dark Lord, but he lacks the same sadistic streak that some of the others have. He wants to reap the benefits of being a Death Eater, but he doesn’t get off on the chaos.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Preferred Ships: Lucissa is my OTP, but I’ll entertain anything with chemistry

Sexuality: Pretty stalwartly heterosexual, but I can see him possibly using someone else’s attraction to him to his advantage regardless of gender.

Gender and Pronouns: Male, He/Him/His

Lucius has never been shy about sex. He likes sex, he can and has used sex in the past to forward himself, etc. However, he does have decorum, so even his closest friends wouldn’t know much about his and Narcissa’s sex life–she matters to him, after all. Thus, he would respect their privacy. In school, Lucius likely had several lovers: he’s attractive, charismatic, and manipulative. I doubt he had a hard time getting women to want to sleep with him. He is not unfaithful to Narcissa, however, and left the days of many partners behind him when they were engaged.

He’s definitely distinctly dominant in the bedroom, though. He’s controlling about a lot of things in his life. I don’t think that would change behind closed doors.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER

-A MOODBOARD: http://www.gomoodboard.com/boards/LomwbpC5/share  (hopefully you can see that!)

-A PLAYLIST:

Undisclosed Desires - Muse | “Soothing/I’ll make you feel pure/Trust me/You can be sure”

Sympathy For the Devil - Rolling Stones | “Please allow me/to introduce myself/I am a man of wealth and taste”

Sinister Kid - The Black Keys | “And that’s me/that’s me/ the boy with the broken halo/ that’s me/ the Devil won’t let me be”

NFWMB - Hozier | “Ain’t it warmin’ you, the world goin’ up in flames?/ Ain’t it the life where  you’re lightin’ off the blaze?/ Ain’t it a waste it watch the throwing of the shade”

Fame - David Bowie | “Fame makes a man take things over/Fame lets him loose, hard to swallow/Fame puts you there where things are hollow (fame)/Fame, t’s not your brain, it’s just the flame/That burns your change to keep you insane"

Make Me Feel - Janelle Monae | “It’s like I’m powerful with a little bit of tender/An emotional, sexual bender/Mess me up, yeah, but no one does it better/There’s nothin’ better”

Gorgeous - Kanye West | “Not for nothing I’ve foreseen it, I’ve dreamed it/I can feel it slowly drifting away from me/No more chances if you blow this, you bogus/I will never ever let you live this down, down, down"

All These Things That I’ve Done - The Killers | "Another head aches, another heart breaks/I am so much older than I can take/And my affection, well it comes and goes/I need direction to perfection, no no no no"

-A FEW HEADCANONS

Lucius’ mother died when he was in fifth year. His father cared very much for her, and Lucius himself definitely was a mama’s boy until he had to learn to get on without her. He doesn’t talk about her much

When his parents went into talks for the betrothal, he thought that he was going to be saddled with Andromeda. Narcissa was a welcome surprise.

A good portion of his family is French. He spent many summers in France growing up on the vineyard his grandfather owns. He speaks French fluently.

He is a wine connoisseur. Lucius loves wine and can tell you a great deal about it.

When he killed his first Muggle, he had to resist the urge to throw up. He didn’t, but he had never had to do something so visceral before.

-A FEW POTENTIAL PLOT POINTS / CONNECTIONS

Lucius chafing under the more visceral aspects of being a Death Eater would probably attract attention of the others. For a man whose status is the most important thing to him, navigating his justification for any reticence might be fun!

I see Lucius and Severus being close friends–he is the one who brought Severus into the fold, after all. So, assuming the RP’s Severus is interested in that, I think commiseration about their places in the Death Eaters would be nice.

I would love to talk with your Narcissa about why they only have one child. Did she have trouble getting pregnant? Did they only want one? I think there’s a lot to possibly explore there.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

“Normally, I might leave such things up to Severus. It seems to be a talent of his, after all.“ He ran a hand over his hair, considering carefully. Most of the magical kit he had was sufficient for his needs. "For myself… Perhaps a spell to render someone more gullible might be interesting. It’s not really that difficult to make people believe what I want, but to not even have to try? That might be helpful.”

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

“At risk of sounding redundant, I would likely choose Severus once more. He’d be familiar with the fauna, and he’s known for his even temper even in stressful situations. As for the item… A lantern seems practical. Lumos can only be active so long before you actually need your wand for more useful things.”

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

Frowning, he lifted a shoulder. “Those decisions that I know will benefit me in the long-run, but may be difficult to explain to my inner circle at the time of making them. Upsetting Narcissa is always something I try to avoid, but if we will be happier at the end of things, sometimes it’s necessary.”

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

“That I’m inconsequential. Without worth.”

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

((I had some trouble finding this, but I saw that the last applicant mentioned the Daily Prophet being burned down))

Lucius is very busy trying to deal with the chaos resulting from the Daily Prophet’s temporary upset. After all, there is finding out why it happened and also figuring out how best to explain it away. The Ministry is abuzz with questions. Lucius would be focused on trying to figure out how to benefit himself and the Cause, while also minimizing possible inquiries from other countries as word got out.

WRITING SAMPLE: ((I borrowed Narcissa. Hope that’s okay))

The clock in the hall ticked steadily in the silent manor. The dim light in Lucius’ study was the only disturbance in the otherwise serene darkness as the house slept. However, there was hardly time for much sleeping when one thoughts were otherwise plagued. Of course, there was always the interminable question of "what was next”? Surely there would be some recompense for what had happened at the Daily Prophet. Undoubtedly, the Dark Lord was brewing a solution as he sat pondering.

When it had happened, Lucius had been… otherwise engaged. He recalled the raid he had been on the night before, remembering the mudbloods that had been hiding in the floor of all places in some blood traitor house. Bellatrix, per usual, had been wild at the chance to dole out what she thought was an excellent punishment for the crime. Lucius, for his part, had simply wanted to be done with all of it. Still, it wasn’t particularly simple to put out of one’s mind the scent of burnt flesh. Of course, he knew it was for the cause, and it wasn’t his place to question his orders. But could he be blamed for looking to the future? They were a threat, surely, and very few at the Ministry didn’t know that something was afoot, though most were intelligent enough not to discuss it where people might be listening. And yet he knew that a threat was something hardly concrete. He was working to maintain his birthright, just as all Purebloods were, but Lucius Malfoy longed for the rewards.

Of course, he was a loyal lieutenant–he would have to be a fool not to be. When the Dark Lord said to jump, Lucius responded with a blithe “How high?” When all was said and done, the work now would mean luxury later.

The thought had a scoff leaving him. He was no stranger to luxury as it was. Still, to have luxury and security… that he craved.

“Lucius?” Came a familiar voice from the door.

He looked up from his thoughts, tearing himself away from his rumination as a soft light outlined Narcissa’s golden curls. “I’d thought you were sleeping,” he said to her, pushing to his feet to cross to the doorway.

“I was,” she answered, voice soft so as not to disturb anyone else. “But then you never came up.”

Ever the dutiful husband, he was quick to give her a charming smile. He knew what was expected, and he could hardly have her sitting up staring at him while he said nothing at all. “How inattentive of me,” Lucius responded. “Shall we remedy that, Mrs. Malfoy?”

As she took his arm, he gave a wave of his wand to put out the light that still burned at his desk. Musing could wait–and had to, it seemed.

And yet how many would he need to help kill before all the rest of them bowed as they should?

#crtaccepted #acceptances #Accepted App #lucius malfoy

[incidentalgestures]

(In)visibility and Non-Binary Gender

I have a lot of feelings in certain spaces. Public swimming pools and changing rooms are terrifying. I get rushes of adrenaline when I go into a uni-sex barber shop and panic if I have to see a gynaecologist. I try to avoid social work events or spaces where queer, gender-queer and trans bodies are unlikely to be recognised or understood. It’s hard sometimes to fully ‘feel’ the feelings I get in these situations and they remain fuzzy and indistinct, perhaps because they can be too painful to look at closely. However recently I’ve begun to do the work of listening more carefully to what they are telling me, and I wish to attempt to put some of it into words here.

I was speaking to someone a few days ago about a particular incident where I was in a public changing area for a ‘women’s’ public pool in a park in London. I’d tagged along with friends, adamant that I wouldn’t swim, only watch from the side, but the oppressive heat made me long to be in the cool water. My friends assured me that I’d be ok in my underwear as it could have passed for a bikini top and shorts, so I nervously and hastily took my clothes off, trying to avoid thinking too much about the bodies that were crowding in all around me, and made a bee-line for the water. I was just about to go in when a life-guard spotted me and asked me to change into one of the spare swimming costumes they had in the changing rooms. The life-guard’s observation of me, though perfectly polite, sent a deep, hot thrill of shame through my body and I felt a hollow, dropping sensation in my stomach as I turned back to the changing room. The spare swimming costumes were all conventional ‘women’s’ costumes, and all too big for me. I felt utterly mortified and alone in a space that did not feel safe for me to be seen in, with my hairy legs and cropped hair. I quickly put my clothes back on went to find a quiet spot where I sat and tried to calm the angry tears that pricked in my eyes.

When I described the incident to my friend, some of the original shame and fear crept into my body again. This time, with a little distance, I tried to be curious and gentle with it and hear more of what it was trying to say. The words ‘imposter’ and ‘exposed’ came to mind, and led me to realise that it does not yet feel safe for me to be gender non-binary, in-the-middle, not quite male or female but some blurry middle place in-between the two, mainly because I am so rarely recognised or affirmed in my gender-identity. I don’t trust that I will be accepted or seen in the ways I want.

I did some further thinking and exploring of my feelings and began to recall some of the times in my life where I have been ‘seen’ in ways that have made me invisible. As a teenager in school I was bullied for being an ugly and unattractive girl, the one no-one would ever want to touch. What the bullies didn’t realise (nor did I fully realise myself until much later) was that I would never be a ‘girl’ in that sense. I would never fit into the conventional mould of the feminine, and that trying to squash myself into that box would only ever make me feel like an imposter. Later in my life, when I was struggling with depression and anxiety, my mother mistook my shaved head and androgynous baggy clothing as a sign of mental ill-health, rather than a growing exploration and affirmation of my gender identity. I thought of a recent interaction with my aunt where she casually commented on her grand-daughter being beautiful, and that it was such a shame she chose to wear ‘such ugly clothes’, referencing her androgynous style. The fear I feel in spaces where my gender-identity will be mistaken or unseen is a fear of my Self being taken away from me through the eyes of others. I fear that the affirmation I feel from my body hair or shaved head, my efforts to build more muscle and my choice of androgynous clothing will be rejected as ugly and unattractive, that I am ‘afraid of femininity’, or have low self-esteem, rather than seeing my gender-queer non-binary self. In uni-sex barbershops often the barber will ‘feminise’ my hair cut unless I explicitly ask for a ‘man’s’ hair cut. I try as much as I can to cut my own hair so that I regain control over the way I want to present, without having to give anyone an explanation.

Some of the anxiety and fear I feel has its roots in childhood. As a young kid I was able to safely explore gender queer-ness through play and through my clothing without being bullied or pushed into any boxes. I will always be grateful for my family for allowing me this non-judgemental environment. I felt comfortable in my in-the-middle-ness, I didn’t feel attached to being a boy or a girl. It felt fun and exciting to dress up as male characters, climb trees and explore the freedom my body gave me. Puberty, secondary school and other changes catapulted me into a new environment that no longer felt safe. I began to be ‘seen’ in ways that were disempowering and belittling, that crushed my sense of myself so completely that it took me years to get back in touch with it again.

Now, much later in life I am fighting new battles to be recognised. I use the pronouns of ’they/them’ because it feels more like ‘me’ when I hear myself referred to in this way. I feel visible. However the push-back is constant, from people who tell me it’s too difficult to remember, that it’s grammatically incorrect, that it’s too hard to explain or to understand. Despite the measures I take to try to appear more non-binary, I still look feminine. Some days I think about top-surgery and testosterone and wonder if going down that route would help me feel more seen, would help people see me. But another part of me just wants to exist in the body I have, in the ways that feel good to me, and for people simply to respect my gender identity by avoiding female pronouns or feminising language when they refer to me.  

I sometimes get the impression that people think I am attention seeking or creating some kind of narcissistic melodrama by trying to assert my gender identity. Sometimes I begin to believe them. When the push-back from society and the people around me is so persistent, when I am gendered as female all the time, I begin to doubt my own feelings and my own reality. Then I become lost once again and so far removed from myself that I go into situations such as a public ‘women’s’ pool, and wonder why it takes me an hour to calm down afterwards, wonder why I feel sick and sad and alone. I am lucky to have a few gender non-binary friends who get it and who I can talk to, a therapist who understands and supports me, and a partner who has shown unwavering affirmation and ally-ship. I cannot stress how much this support means to me and my growing respect for who I am and how I feel. I cannot stress how good it feels to be visible.