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potteresque-ire · 3 years

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Can you talk more about the usage of the word "wife" to talk about men in the BL context? I've noticed it in BJYX (particularly with GG), in the (English translations) of MDZS, and then it came up in your recent posts about Danmei-101 (which were super helpful btw) with articles connecting the "little fresh meat" type to fans calling an actor "wife." My initial reaction as a westerner is like "this is very problematic," but I think I'm missing a lot of language/cultural context. Any thoughts?

Hello! First of all, for those who’re interested, here’s a link to the referred posts. Under the cut is arguably the 4th post of the series. As usual, I apologise for the length!

(Topics: seme and uke; more about “leftover women”; roster of feminisation terms; Daji, Bao Si & the origin of BJYX; roster of beautiful, ancient Chinese men; Chairman Mao (not part of the roster) ...)

[TW: feminisation of men]

In the traditional BL characterisation, the M/M (double male) lead pairing is essentially a cis-het relationship in disguise, in which one of the M leads is viewed as the “wife” by the creator and audience. This lead often possesses some of the features of the traditional, stereotypical female, but retaining his male appearance.

In BL terms, the “wife” is the “uke”. “Seme” and “uke” are the respective roles taken by the two male leads, and designated by the creator of the material. Literally, “seme” (攻め) means the dominant, the attacking / aggressive partner in the relationship and “uke” (受け), the passive / recipient (of actions) partner who tends to follow the seme’s lead. The terms themselves do not have any sexual / gender context. However, as male and female are viewed as aggressive and passive by their traditional social roles, and the attacker and recipient by their traditional sexual roles respectively, BL fandoms have long assigned uke, the passive, sexual “bottom”, as the “woman”, the “wife”.

Danmei has kept this “semi” and uke” tradition from BL, taking the kanji of the Japanese terms for designation ~ 攻 (”attack” is therefore the “husband”, and 受 (”receive”), the “wife”. The designations are often specified in the introduction / summary of Danmei works as warning / enticement. For MDZS, for example, MXTX wrote:

高貴冷豔悶騷攻 × 邪魅狂狷風騷受

高貴冷豔悶騷攻 = noble, coolly beautiful and boring seme (referring to LWJ) 邪魅狂狷風騷受 = devilishly charming, wild, and flirty uke (referring to WWX)

The traditional, stereotypical female traits given to the “uke”, the “wife” in Danmei and their associated fanworks range from their personality to behaviour to even biological functions. Those who have read the sex scenes in MDZS may be aware of their lack of mention of lube, while WWX was written as getting (very) wet from fluids from his colon (腸道) ~ implying that his colon, much like a vagina, was supplying the necessarily lubrication for sex. This is obviously biologically inaccurate; however, Danmei is exempt from having to be realistic by its original Tanbi definition. The genre’s primary audience is cishet females, and sex scenes such as this one aren’t aiming for realism. Rather, the primary goal of these sex scenes is to generate fantasy, and the purpose of the biologically female functions in one of the leads (WWX) is to ease the readers into imagining themselves as the one engaging in the sex.

Indeed, these practices of assigning as males and female the M/M sexual top and bottom, of emphasising of who is the top and who is the bottom, have been falling out of favour in Western slash fandoms ~ I joined fandom about 15 years ago, and top and bottom designations in slash pairings (and fights about them) were much more common than it is now. The generally more open, more progressive environments in which Western fandomers are immersed in probably have something to do with it: they transfer their RL knowledge, their views on biology, on different social into their fandom works and discourses.

I’d venture to say this: in the English-speaking fandoms, fandom values and mainstream values are converging. “Cancel culture” reflects an attempt to enforce RL values in the fictional worlds in fandom. Fandom culture is slowly, but surely, leaving its subculture status and becoming part of mainstream culture.

I’d hesitate to call c-Danmei fandoms backward compared to Western slash for this reason. There’s little hope for Danmei to converge with China’s mainstream culture in the short term ~ the necessity of replacing Danmei with Dangai in visual media already reflects that. Danmei is and will likely remain subculture in the foreseeable future, and subcultures, at heart, are protests against the mainstream. Unless China and the West define “mainstream” very similarly (and they don’t), it is difficult to compare the “progressiveness”—and its dark side, the “problematic-ness”—of the protests, which are shaped by what they’re protesting against. The “shaper” in this scenario, the mainstream values and culture, are also far more forceful under China’s authoritarian government than they are in the free(-er) world.

Danmei, therefore, necessarily takes on a different form in China than BL or slash outside China. As a creative pursuit, it serves to fulfil psychological needs that are reflective of its surrounding culture and sociopolitical environment. The genre’s “problematic” / out of place aspects in the eyes of Western fandoms are therefore, like all other aspects of the genre, tailor-made by its millions of fans to be comforting / cathartic for the unique culture and sociopolitical background it and they find themselves in.

I briefly detoured to talk about the Chinese government’s campaign to pressure young, educated Chinese women into matrimony and motherhood in the post for this reason, as it is an example of how, despite Western fandoms’ progressiveness, they may be inadequate, distant for c-Danmei fans. Again, this article is a short and a ... morbidly-entertaining read on what has been said about China’s “leftover women” (剩女) — women who are unmarried and over 27-years-old). I talked about it, because “Women should enter marriage and parenthood in their late 20s” may no longer a mainstream value in many Western societies, but where it still is, it exerts a strong influence on how women view romance, and by extension, how they interact with romantic fiction, including Danmei.

In China, this influence is made even stronger by the fact that Chinese tradition places a strong emphasis on education and holds a conservative attitude towards romance and sex. Dating while studying therefore remains discouraged in many Chinese families. University-educated Chinese women therefore have an extremely short time frame — between graduation (~23 years old) and their 27th birthday — to find “the right one” and get married, before they are labelled as “leftovers” and deemed undesirable. (Saving) face being an important aspect in Chinese culture introduces yet another layer of pressure: traditionally, women who don’t get married by the age agreed by social norms have been viewed as failures of upbringing, in that the unmarried women’s parents not having taught/trained their daughters well. Filial, unmarried women therefore try to get married “on time” just to avoid bringing shame to their family.

The outcome is this: despite the strong women characters we may see in Chinese visual media, many young Chinese women nowadays do not expect themselves to be able to marry for love. Below, I offer a “book jacket summary” of a popular internet novel in China, which shows how the associated despair also affects cis-het fictional romance. Book reviews praise this novel for being “boring”: the man and woman leads are both common working class people, the “you-and-I”’s; the mundaneness of them trying build their careers and their love life is lit by one shining light: he loves her and she loves him.

Written in her POV, this summary reflects, perhaps, the disquiet felt by many contemporary Chinese women university graduates:

曾經以為，自己這輩子都等不到了—— 世界這麼大，我又走得這麼慢，要是遇不到良人要怎麼辦？早過了「全球三十幾億男人，中國七億男人，天涯何處無芳草」的猖狂歲月，越來越清楚，循規蹈矩的生活中，我們能熟悉進而深交的異性實在太有限了，有限到我都做好了「接受他人的牽線，找個適合的男人慢慢煨熟，再平淡無奇地進入婚姻」的準備，卻在生命意外的拐彎處迎來自己的另一半。

I once thought, my wait will never come to fruition for the rest of my life — the world is so big, I’m so slow in treading it, what if I’ll never meet the one? I’ve long passed the wild days of thinking “3 billion men exist on Earth, 0.7 of which are Chinese. There is plenty more fish in the sea.” I’m seeing, with increasing clarity, that in our disciplined lives, the number of opposite-sex we can get to know, and get to know well, is so limited. It’s so limited that I’m prepared to accept someone’s matchmaking, find a suitable man and slowly, slowly, warm up to him, and then, to enter marriage with without excitement, without wonder. But then, an accidental turn in my life welcomes in my other half.

— Oath of Love (餘生，請多指教) (Yes, this is the novel Gg’d upcoming drama is based on.)

Heteronormativity is, of course, very real in China. However, that hasn’t exempted Chinese women, even its large cis-het population, from having their freedom to pursue their true love taken away from them. Even for cis-het relationships, being able to marry for love has become a fantasy —a fantasy scorned by the state. Remember this quote from Article O3 in the original post?

耽改故事大多远离现实，有些年轻受众却将其与生活混为一谈，产生不以结婚和繁衍为目的才是真爱之类的偏颇认知。

Most Dangai stories are far removed from reality; some young audience nonetheless mix them up with real life, develop biased understanding such as “only love that doesn’t treat matrimony and reproduction as destinations is true love”.

I didn’t focus on it in the previous posts, in an effort to keep the discussion on topic. But why did the op-ed piece pick this as an example of fantasy-that-shouldn’t-be-mixed-up-with-real-life, in the middle of a discussion about perceived femininity of men that actually has little to do with matrimony and reproduction?

Because the whole point behind the state’s “leftover women” campaign is precisely to get women to treat matrimony and reproduction as destinations, not beautiful sceneries that happen along the way. And they’re the state’s destination as more children = higher birth rate that leads to higher future productivity. The article is therefore calling out Danmei for challenging this “mainstream value”.

Therefore, while the statement True love doesn’t treat matrimony and reproduction as destinations may be trite for many of us while it may be a point few, if any, English-speaking fandoms may pay attention to, to the mainstream culture Danmei lives in, to the mainstream values dictated by the state, it is borderline subversive.

As much as Danmei may appear “tame” for its emphasis on beauty and romance, for it to have stood for so long, so firmly against China’s (very) forceful mainstream culture, the genre is also fundamentally rebellious. Remember: Danmei has little hope of converging with China’s mainstream unless it “sells its soul” and removes its homoerotic elements.

With rebelliousness, too, comes a bit of tongue-in-cheek.

And so, when c-Danmei fans, most of whom being cishet women who interact with the genre by its traditional BL definition, call one of the leads 老婆 (wife), it can and often take on a different flavour. As said before, it can be less about feminizing the lead than about identifying with the lead. The nickname 老婆 (wife) can be less about being disrespectful and more about humorously expressing an aspiration—the aspiration to have a husband who truly loves them, who they do want to get married and have babies with but out of freedom and not obligation.

Admittedly, I had been confused, and bothered by these “can-be”s myself. Just because there are alternate reasons for the feminisation to happen doesn’t mean the feminisation itself is excusable. But why the feminisation of M/M leads doesn’t sound as awful to me in Chinese as in English? How can calling a self-identified man 老婆 (wife) get away with not sounding being predominantly disrespectful to my ears, when I would’ve frowned at the same thing said in my vicinity in English?

I had an old hypothesis: when I was little, it was common to hear people calling acquaintances in Chinese by their unflattering traits: “Deaf-Eared Chan” (Mr Chan, who’s deaf), “Fat Old Woman Lan” (Ah-Lan, who’s an overweight woman) etc—and the acquaintances were perfectly at ease with such identifications, even introducing themselves to strangers that way. Comparatively speaking then, 老婆 (wife) is harmless, even endearing.

老婆, which literally means “old old-lady” (implying wife = the woman one gets old with), first became popularised as a colloquial, casual way of calling “wife” in Hong Kong and its Cantonese dialect, despite the term itself being about 1,500 years old. As older generations of Chinese were usually very shy about talking about their love lives, those who couldn’t help themselves and regularly spoke of their 老婆 tended to be those who loved their wives in my memory. 老婆, as a term, probably became endearing to me that way.

Maybe this is why the feminisation of M/M leads didn’t sound so bad to me?

This hypothesis was inadequate, however. This custom of identifying people by their (unflattering) traits has been diminishing in Hong Kong and China, for similar reasons it has been considered inappropriate in the West.

Also, 老婆 (wife) is not the only term used for / associated with feminisation. I’ve tried to limit the discussion to Danmei, the fictional genre; now, I’ll jump to its associated RPS genre, and specifically, the YiZhan fandoms. The purpose of this jump: with real people involved, feminisation’s effect is potentially more harmful, more acute. Easier to feel.

YiZhan fans predominantly entered the fandoms through The Untamed, and they’ve also transferred Danmei’s “seme”/“uke” customs into YiZhan. There are, therefore, three c-YiZhan fandoms:

博君一肖 (BJYX): seme Dd, uke Gg 戰山為王 (ZSWW): seme Gg, uke Dd 連瑣反應 (LSFY): riba Gg and Dd. Riba = “reversible”, and unlike “seme” and “uke”, is a frequently-used term in the Japanese gay community.

BJYX is by far the largest of the three, likely due to Gg having played WWX, the “uke” in MDZS / TU. I’ll therefore focus on this fandom, ie. Gg is the “uke”, the “wife”.

For Gg alone, I’ve seen him being also referred to by YiZhan fans as (and this is far from a complete list):

* 姐姐 (sister) * 嫂子 (wife of elder brother; Dd being the elder brother implied) * 妃妃 (based on the very first YiZhan CP name, 太妃糖 Toffee Candy, a portmanteau of sorts from Dd being the 太子 “prince” of his management company and Gg being the prince’s wife, 太子妃. 糖 = “candy”. 太妃 sounds like toffee in English and has been used as the latter’s Chinese translation.) * 美人 (beauty, as in 肖美人 “Beauty Xiao”) * Daji 妲己 (as in 肖妲己, “Daji Xiao”).

The last one needs historical context, which will also become important for explaining the new hypothesis I have.

Daji was a consort who lived three thousand years ago, whose beauty was blamed for the fall of the Shang dynasty. Gg (and men sharing similar traits, who are exceptionally rare) has been compared to Daji 妲己 for his alternatively innocent, alternatively seductive beauty ~ the kind of beauty that, in Chinese historical texts and folk lores, lead to the fall of kingdoms when possessed by the king’s beloved woman. This kind of “I-get-to-ruin-her-virginity”, “she’s a slut in MY bedroom” beauty is, of course, a stereotypical fantasy for many (cis-het) men, which included the authors of these historical texts and folklores. However, it also contained some truth: the purity / innocence, the image of a virgin, was required for an ancient woman to be chosen as a consort; the seduction, meanwhile, helped her to become the top consort, and monopolise the attention of kings and emperors who often had hundreds of wives ~ wives who often put each other in danger to eliminate competition.

Nowadays, women of tremendous beauty are still referred to by the Chinese idiom 傾國傾城, literally, ”falling countries, falling cities”. The beauty is also implied to be natural, expressed in a can’t-help-itself way, perhaps reflecting the fact that the ancient beauties on which this idiom has been used couldn’t possibly have plastic surgeries, and most of them didn’t meet a good end ~ that they had to pay a price for their beauty, and often, with their lowly status as women, as consorts, they didn’t get to choose whether they wanted to pay this price or not. This adjective is considered to be very flattering. Gg’s famous smile from the Thailand Fanmeet has been described, praised as 傾城一笑: “a smile that topples a city”.

I’m explaining Daji and 傾國傾城 because the Chinese idiom 博君一笑 “doing anything to get a smile from you”, from which the ship’s name BJYX 博君一肖 was derived (笑 and 肖 are both pronounced “xiao”), is connected to yet another of such dynasty-falling beauty, Bao Si 褒姒. Like Daji before her, Bao Si was blamed for the end of the Zhou Dynasty in 771 BC.

The legend went like this: Bao Si was melancholic, and to get her to smile, her king lit warning beacons and got his nobles to rush in from the nearby vassal states with their armies to come and rescue him, despite not being in actual danger. The nobles, in their haste, looked so frantic and dishevelled that Bao Si found it funny and smiled. Longing to see more of the smile of his favourite woman, the king would fool his nobles again and again, until his nobles no longer heeded the warning beacons when an actual rebellion came.

What the king did has been described as 博紅顏一笑, with 紅顏 (”red/flushed face”) meaning a beautiful woman, referring to Bao Si. Replace 紅顏 with the respectful “you”, 君, we get 博君一笑. If one searches the origin of the phrase 博 [fill_in_the_blank]一笑 online, Bao Si’s story shows up.

The “anything” in ”doing anything to get a smile from you” in 博君一笑, therefore, is not any favour, but something as momentous as giving away one’s own kingdom. c-turtles have remarked, to their amusement and admittedly mine, that “king”, in Chinese, is written as 王, which is Dd’s surname, and very occasionally, they jokingly compare him to the hopeless kings who’d give away everything for their love. Much like 傾國傾城 has become a flattering idiom despite the negative reputations of Daji and Bao Si for their “men-ruining ways”, 博君一笑 has become a flattering phrase, emphasising on the devotion and love rather than the ... stupidity behind the smile-inducing acts.

(Bao Si’s story, BTW, was a lie made up by historians who also lived later but also thousands of years ago, to absolve the uselessness of the king. Warning beacons didn’t exist at her time.)

Gg is arguably feminized even in his CP’s name. Gg’s feminisation is everywhere.

And here comes my confession time ~ I’ve been amused by most of the feminisation terms above. 肖妲己 (”Daji Xiao”) captures my imagination, and I remain quite partial to the CP name BJYX. Somehow, there’s something ... somewhat forgivable when the feminisation is based on Gg’s beauty, especially in the context of the historical Danmei / Dangai setting of MDZS/TU ~ something that, while doesn’t cancel, dampens the “problematic-ness” of the gender mis-identification.

What, exactly, is this something?

Here’s my new hypothesis, and hopefully I’ll manage to explain it well ~

The hypothesis is this: the unisex beauty standard for historical Chinese men and women, which is also breathtakingly similar to the modern beauty standard for Chinese women, makes feminisation in the context of Danmei (especially historical Danmei) flattering, and easier to accept.

What defined beauty in historical Chinese men? If I am to create a classically beautiful Chinese man for my new historical Danmei, how would I describe him based on what I’ve read, my cultural knowledge?

Here’s a list:

* Skin fair and smooth as white jade * Thin, even frail; narrow/slanted shoulders; tall * Dark irises and bright, starry eyes * Not too dense, neat eyebrows that are shaped like swords ~ pointed slightly upwards from the center towards the sides of the face * Depending on the dynasty, nice makeup.

Imagine these traits. How “macho” are they? How much do they fit the ideal Chinese masculine beauty advertised by Chinese government, which looks like below?

Propaganda poster, 1969. The caption says “Defeat Imperialist US! Defeat Social Imperialism!” The book’s name is “Quotations from Mao Zedong”. (Source)

Where did that list of traits I’ve written com from? Fair like jade, frail ... why are they so far from the ... “macho”ness of the men in the poster?

What has Chinese history said about its beautiful men?

Wei Jie (衛玠 286-312 BCE), one of the four most beautiful ancient Chinese men (古代四大美男) recorded in Chinese history famously passed away when fans of his beauty gathered and formed a wall around him, blocking his way. History recorded Wei as being frail with chronic illness, and was only 27 years old when he died. Arguably the first historical account of “crazy fans killing their idol”, this incident left the idiom 看殺衛玠 ~ “Wei Jie being watched to death.” ~ a not very “macho” way to die at all.

潘安 (Pan An; 247-300 BCE), another one of the four most beautiful ancient Chinese men, also had hoards of fangirls, who threw fruits and flowers at him whenever he ventured outside. The Chinese idiom 擲果盈車 “thrown fruit filling a cart” was based on Pan and ... his fandom, and denotes such scenarios of men being so beautiful that women openly displayed their affections for them.

Meanwhile, when Pan went out with his equally beautiful male friend, 夏侯湛 Xiahou Zhan, folks around them called them 連璧 ~ two connected pieces of perfect jade. Chinese Jade is white, smooth, faintly glowing in light, so delicate that it gives the impression of being somewhat transparent.

Aren’t Wei Jie and Pan An reminiscent of modern day Chinese idols, the “effeminate” “Little Fresh Meat”s (小鲜肉) so panned by Article O3? Their stories, BTW, also elucidated the historical reference in LWJ’s description of being jade-like in MDZS, and in WWX and LWJ being thrown pippas along the Gusu river bank.

Danmei, therefore, didn’t create a trend of androgynous beauty in men as much as it has borrowed the ancient, traditional definition of masculine Chinese beauty ~ the beauty that was more feminine than masculine by modern standards.

[Perhaps, CPs should be renamed 連璧 (”two connected pieces of perfect jade”) as a reminder of the aesthetics’ historical roots.]

Someone may exclaim now: But. But!! Yet another one of the four most beautiful ancient Chinese men, 高長恭 (Gao Changgong, 541-573 BCE), far better known by his title, 蘭陵王 (”the Prince of Lanling”), was a famous general. He had to be “macho”, right?

... As it turns out, not at all. Historical texts have described Gao as “貌柔心壮，音容兼美” (”soft in looks and strong at heart, beautiful face and voice”), “白美類婦人” (”fair and beautiful as a woman”), “貌若婦人” (”face like a woman”). Legends have it that The Prince of Lanling’s beauty was so soft, so lacking in authority that he had to wear a savage mask to get his soldiers to listen to his command (and win) on the battlefield (《樂府雜錄》: 以其顏貌無威，每入陣即著面具，後乃百戰百勝).

This should be emphasised: Gao’s explicitly feminine descriptions were recorded in historical texts as arguments *for* his beauty. Authors of these texts, therefore, didn’t view the feminisation as insult. In fact, they used the feminisation to drive the point home, to convince their readers that men like the Prince of Lanling were truly, absolutely good looking.

Being beautiful like a women was therefore high praise for men in, at least, significant periods in Chinese history ~ periods long and important enough for these records to survive until today. Beauty, and so it goes, had once been largely free of distinctions between the masculine and feminine.

One more example of an image of an ancient Chinese male beauty being similar to its female counterpart, because the history nerd in me finds this fun.

何晏 (He Yan, ?-249 BCE) lived in the Wei Jin era (between 2nd to 4th century), during which makeup was really en vogue. Known for his beauty, he was also famous for his love of grooming himself. The emperor, convinced that He Yan’s very fair skin was from the powder he was wearing, gave He Yan some very hot foods to eat in the middle of the summer. He Yan began to sweat, had to wipe himself with his sleeves and in the process, revealed to the emperor that his fair beauty was 100% natural ~ his skin glowed even more with the cosmetics removed (《世說新語·容止第十四》: 何平叔美姿儀，面至白。魏明帝疑其傅粉，正夏月，與熱湯餅。既啖，大汗出，以朱衣自拭，色轉皎然). His kick-cosmetics’-ass fairness won him the nickname 傅粉何郎 (”powder-wearing Mr He”).

Not only would He Yan very likely be mistaken as a woman if this scene is transferred to a modern setting, but this scene can very well fit inside a Danmei story of the 21st century and is very, very likely to get axed by the Chinese censorship board for its visualisation.

[Important observation from this anecdote: the emperor was totally into this trend too.]

The adjectives and phrases used above to describe these beautiful ancient Chinese men ~ 貌柔, 音容兼美, 白美, 美姿儀, 皎然 ~ have all become pretty much reserved for describing beauty in women nowadays. Beauty standards in ancient China were, as mentioned before, had gone through significantly long periods in which they were largely genderless. The character for beauty 美 (also in Danmei, 耽美) used to have little to no gender association. Free of gender associations as well were the names of many flowers. The characters for orchid (蘭) and lotus (蓮), for example, were commonly found in men’s names as late as the Republican era (early 20th century), but are now almost exclusively found in women’s names. Both orchid and lotus have historically been used to indicate 君子 (junzi, roughly, “gentlemen”), which have always been men. MDZS also has an example of a man named after a flower: Jin Ling’s courtesy name, given to him by WWX, was 如蘭 (”like an orchid”).

A related question may be this: why does ancient China associate beauty with fairness, with softness, with frailty? Likely, because Confucianist philosophy and customs put a heavy emphasis on scholarship ~ and scholars have mostly consisted of soft-spoken, not muscular, not working-under-the-sun type of men. More importantly, Confucianist scholars also occupied powerful government positions. Being, and looking like a Confucianist scholar was therefore associated with status. Indeed, it’s very difficult to look like jade when one was a farmer or a soldier, for example, who constantly had to toil under the sun, whose skin was constantly being dried and roughened by the elements. Having what are viewed as “macho” beauty traits as in the poster above ~ tanned skin, bulging muscles, bony structures (which also take away the jade’s smoothness) ~ were associated with hard labour, poverty and famine.

Along that line, 手無縛雞之力 (“hands without the strength to restrain a chicken”) has long been a phrase used to describe ancient scholars and students, and without scorn or derision. Love stories of old, which often centred around scholars were, accordingly, largely devoid of the plot lines of husbands physically protecting the wives, performing the equivalent of climbing up castle walls and fighting dragons etc. Instead, the faithful husbands wrote poems, combed their wife’s hair, traced their wife’s eyebrows with cosmetics (畫眉)...all activities that didn’t require much physical strength, and many of which are considered “feminine” nowadays.

Were there periods in Chinese history in which more ... sporty men and women were appreciated? Yes. the Tang dynasty, for example, and the Yuan and Qing dynasties. The Tang dynasty, as a very powerful, very open era in Chinese history, was known for its relations to the West (via the Silk Road). The Yuan and Qing dynasties, meanwhile, were established by Mongolians and Manchus respectively, who, as non-Han people, had not been under the influence of Confucian culture and grew up on horsebacks, rather than in schools.

The idea that beautiful Chinese men should have “macho” attributes was, therefore, largely a consequence of non-Han-Chinese influence, especially after early 20th century. That was when the characters for beauty (美), orchid (蘭), lotus (蓮) etc began their ... feminisation. The Chinese Communist Party (CCP), which started its reign of the country starting 1949, also has foreign roots, being a derivative of the Soviets, and its portrayal of ideal men has been based on the party’s ideology, painting them as members of the People’s Liberation Army (Chinese army) and its two major proletariat classes, farmers and industrial workers ~ all occupations that are “macho” in their aesthetics, but held at very poor esteem in ancient Chinese societies. All occupations that, to this day, may be hailed as noble by Chinese women, but not really deemed attractive by them.

Beauty, being an instinct, is perhaps much more resistant to propaganda.

If anything, the three terms Article O3 used to describe “effeminate” men ~ 奶油小生 “cream young men” (popularised in 1980s) , 花美男 “flowery beautiful men” (early 2000s), 小鲜肉 “little fresh meat” (coined in 2014 and still popular now) ~ only informs me how incredibly consistent the modern Chinese women’s view of ideal male beauty has been. It’s the same beauty the Chinese Communist Party has called feminine. It’s the same beauty found in Danmei. It’s the same beauty that, when witnessed in men in ancient China, was so revered that historians recorded it for their descendants to remember. It doesn’t mean there aren’t any women who appreciate the "macho” type ~ it’s just that, the appreciation for the non-macho type has never really gone out of fashion, never really changed. The only thing that is really changing is the name of the type, the name’s positive or negative connotations.

(Personally, I’m far more uncomfortable with the name “Little fresh meat” (小鲜肉) than 老婆 (wife). I find it much more insulting.)

Anyway, what I’d like to say is this: feminisation in Danmei ~ a genre that, by definition, is hyper-focused on aesthetics ~ may not be as "problematic” in Chinese as it is in English, because the Chinese tradition didn’t make that much of a differentiation between masculine and feminine beauty. Once again, this isn’t to say such mis-gendering isn’t disrespectful; it’s just that, perhaps, it is less disrespectful because Chinese still retains a cultural memory in which equating a beautiful man to a beautiful woman was the utmost flattery.

I must put a disclaimer here: I cannot vouch for this being true for the general Chinese population. This is something that is buried deep enough inside me that it took a lot of thought for me to tease out, to articulate. More importantly, while I grow up in a Chinese-speaking environment, I’ve never lived inside China. My history knowledge, while isn’t shabby, hasn’t been filtered through the state education system.

I’d also like to point out as well, along this line of thought, that in *certain* (definitely not all) aspects, Chinese society isn’t as sexist as the West. While historically, China has periods of extreme sexism against women, with the final dynasties of Ming and Qing being examples, I must (reluctantly) acknowledge Chairman Mao for significantly lifting the status of women during his rule. Here’s a famous quote of his from 1955:

婦女能頂半邊天 Women can lift half the skies

The first marriage code, passed in 1950, outlawed forced marriages, polygamy, and ensured equal rights between husband and wife. For the first time in centuries, women were encouraged to go outside of their homes and work. Men resisted at first, wanting to keep their wives at home; women who did work were judged poorly for their performance and given less than 50% of men’s wage, which further fuelled the men’s resistance. Mao said the above quote after a commune in Guizhou introduced the “same-work-same-wage” system to increase its productivity, and he asked for the same system to to be replicated across the country. (Source)

When Chairman Mao wanted something, it happened. Today, Chinese women’s contribution to the country’s GDP remains among the highest in the world. They make up more than half of the country’s top-scoring students. They’re the dominant gender in universities, in the ranks of local employees of international corporations in the Shanghai and Beijing central business districts—among the most sought after jobs in the country. While the inequality between men and women in the workplace is no where near wiped out — stories about women having to sleep with higher-ups to climb the career ladder, or even get their PhDs are not unheard of, and the central rulership of the Chinese Communist Party has been famously short of women — the leap in women’s rights has been significant over the past century, perhaps because of how little rights there had been before ~ at the start of the 20th century, most Chinese women from relatively well-to-do families still practised foot-binding, in which their feet were literally crushed during childhood in the name of beauty, of status symbol. They couldn’t even walk properly.

Perhaps, the contemporary Chinese women’s economic contribution makes the sexism they encounter in their lives, from the lack of reproductive rights to the “leftover women” label, even harder to swallow. It makes their fantasies fly to even higher, more defiant heights. The popularity of Dangai right now is pretty much driven by women, as acknowledged by Article O3. Young women, especially, female fans who people have dismissed as “immature”, “crazy”, are responsible for the threat the Chinese government is feeling now by the genre.

This is no small feat. While the Chinese government complains about the “effeminate” men from Danmei / Dangai, its propaganda has been heavily reliant on stars who have risen to popularity to these genres. The film Dd is currently shooting, Chinese Peacekeeping Force (維和部隊), also stars Huang Jingyu (黄景瑜), and Zhang Zhehan (張哲瀚) ~ the three actors having shot to fame from The Untamed (Dangai), Addicted (Danmei), and Word of Honour (Dangai) respectively. Zhang, in particular, played the “uke” role in Word of Honour and has also been called 老婆 (wife) by his fans. The quote in Article O3, “Ten years as a tough man known by none; one day as a beauty known by all” was also implicitly referring to him.

Perhaps, the government will eventually realise that millennia-old standards of beauty are difficult to bend, and by extension, what is considered appropriate gender expression of Chinese men and women.

In the metas I’ve posted, therefore, I’ve hesitated in using terms such as homophobia, sexism, and ageism etc, opting instead to make long-winded explanations that essentially amount to these terms (thank you everyone who’s reading for your patience!). Because while the consequence is similar—certain fraction of the populations are subjected to systemic discrimination, abuse, given less rights, treated as inferior etc—these words, in English, also come with their own context, their own assumptions that may not apply to the situation. It reminds me of what Leo Tolstoy wrote in Anna Karenina,

“All happy families are alike; each unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.”

Discrimination in each country, each culture is humiliating, unhappy in its own way. Both sexism and homophobia are rampant in China, but as their roots are different from those of the West, the ways they manifest are different, and so must the paths to their dissolution. I’ve also hesitated on calling out individual behaviours or confronting individuals for this reason. i-Danmei fandoms are where i-fans and c-fans meet, where English-speaking doesn’t guarantee a non-Chinese sociopolitical background (there may be students from China, for example; I’m also ... not entirely Western), and I find it difficult to articulate appropriate, convincing arguments without knowing individual backgrounds.

Frankly, I’m not sure if I’ve done the right thing. Because I do hope feminisation will soon fade into extinction, especially in i-Danmei fandoms that, if they continue to prosper on international platforms, may eventually split from c-Danmei fandoms along the cultural (not language) line due to the vast differences in environmental constraints. My hope is especially true when real people are involved, and c-fandoms, I’d like to note, are not unaware of the issues surrounding feminisation ~ it has already been explicitly forbidden in BJYX’s supertopic on Weibo.

At the same time, I’ve spent so many words above to try to explain why beauty can *sometimes* lurk behind such feminisations. Please allow me to end this post with one example of feminisation that I deeply dislike—and I’ve seen it used by fans on Gg as well—is 綠茶 (”green tea”), from 綠茶婊 (”green tea whore”) that means women who look pure / innocent but are, deep down, promiscuous / lustful. In some ways, its meaning isn’t so different from Daji 妲己, the consort blamed for the fall of the Shang dynasty. However, to me at least, the flattery in the feminisation is gone, perhaps because of the character “whore” (婊), because the term originated in 2013 from a notorious sex party rather than from a legendary beauty so maligned that The Investiture of the Gods (封神演義), the seminal Chinese fiction written ~2,600 years after Daji’s death, re-imagined her as a malevolent fox spirit (狐狸精) that many still remembers her as today.

Ah, to be caught between two cultures. :)

#tell-me-everything #pie metas #yizhan #bjyx

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firelxdykatara · 3 years

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gods, ok, apparently i’m not done.

atla fandom? we need to have a chat.

(....ok that made me sound pretentious as fuck. and maybe i am, but this needs to be said, cause i’m getting....real, real tired of a Certain Corner of this fandom and as a result, this is gonna be a discourse-heavy post so feel free to scroll past if that’s not your bag. as always, my salt posts all carry the catch-all #salt for ts tag, which you’re free to blacklist/filter at your leisure. i’m Very Annoyed at the moment, which will probably come through in the following post, so just. yknow. be prepared for that. or ignore it, that’s perfectly valid too.)

under a cut bc i do care for my followers and their sanity i swear lmao

there’s a real serious issue in this fandom with not understanding what queer terminology actually means or implies, especially when applied to a fictional narrative.

i’m specifically talking about ‘coding’, here. (if i were in a more meme-y mood, i might have said ‘the atla fandom found out about the term “gay-coding” and haven’t shut up since’.)

to the people who say ‘zuko is gay-coded’, i have this to say: you keep using that word. i do not think it means what you think it means. because he isn’t. i’m sorry, but he’s not! and the fact that this is such a prevalent claim in this fandom is distressing, bc it says to me that none of y’all know what gay-coding is or when and how to apply it! please, i’m begging you, go and look up these terms and what they mean and when they should be used before actually trying to plug them into your critical analysis, because when you misuse them and then call other people delusional for disagreeing with you it casts a pall over the entire fandom and is, i think, the root of some of the worst toxicity this fandom has to offer.

and the thing is, there are cases where gay-coding would apply--for instance, a couple series that are famous for queerbaiting their audience by coding their main characters as being attracted to one another (sometimes even despite their openly stated sexualities) come to mind, but those shows bare no similarities at all to atla and how zuko was written and portrayed! (and it would be funny, if it weren’t so obnoxious and infuriatingly wide-spread throughout the fandom, because the only queer couple we actually seen on-screen in either show wasn’t even queer-coded in any respect, and they’re canonically bi! [yes, i’m shading korrasami, or more accurately i’m shading bryke for refusing to give ka the build-up and development they deserved].)

this absolutely isn’t to say that headcanoning zuko as gay is a bad thing or invalid in any respect. (although the tendency for zukka shippers to do this specifically to keep zuko away from katara and/or invalidate his canon relationship/attraction to girls is more than a little eyebrow raising. especially since sokka is usually allowed to be bi, bc fans have no problem letting sukka stay in the background bc it’s no real threat, while jetko shippers are happy to have both boys be bi. [possibly bc katara is less a threat to jetko bc jetkotara is every bit as valid as any single ship between the three, but zukka can’t exactly let katara join in, and if the potential exists for zuko to be attracted to her then canon giving them the far deeper emotional bond becomes a threat to zukka’s existence? idk for sure--you be the judge.]) i prefer to hc zuko as bi (and always have, long before the atla renaissance), bc i don’t think zuko being attracted to boys is outside the realm of possibility, and it isn’t a threat to my ship since zuko&katara had a deep and emotional bond in canon that is very easy to develop further into something that becomes explicitly romantic--but the headcanon itself isn’t really the problem (although what it’s often in service to can be).

it’s the strange insistence that this is the only way to read his character, bc he was coded that way and so anyone who doesn’t see it must be too straight to understand--and i really shouldn’t have to say why and how that is so incredibly fucking insulting. (the ‘hetero lenses’ comment wasn’t cute when it came from bryke six years ago, and the same sentiment being repackaged and delivered by zukka shippers ain’t cute now.)

calling zuko gay-coded not only demonstrates ignorance as to what the term actually means, and how to usefully apply it in critical analysis, but also validates the frankly bullshit insertion of institutionalized homophobia in the world of atla where it was neither needed, nor wanted, nor ever hinted at in canon. as a queer woman i’m still infuriated by one fucking comic panel shoving institutionalized and systemic homophobia into a world where it was entirely unnecessary (and doing this in the first installment of the franchise showcasing a queer relationship??? making korra and asami worried about ‘coming out’ when they could have just gone on to have cute adventures together and tell people ‘hey we’re dating’ and have everyone else be ‘that’s awesome =DDD’ [because it is, in fact, possible to just have a world without homophobia i promise!!!!!] double yikes, i’m still pissed at bryke about it), and i doubly hate that ‘zuko is gay coded’ has become so widespread that ‘ozai hates him bc he’s gay’ has become a staple in that part of the fandom.

not only does making zuko gay and implying (or outright stating) that ozai hated and abused him because of it completely undermine zuko’s character arc by making his abuse about his sexuality rather than ozai’s toxic pride and anger at seeing himself reflected in his ‘weak’ son, but it comes very close to outright stating that abuse and trauma are inherently gay experiences, and they aren’t!!! they really aren’t, i promise!!!

abuse and trauma narratives exist outside of ‘my dad hates me because i’m gay’. and, quite frankly, there are MORE THAN ENOUGH queer trauma narratives out in the world. we do not need to start trying to retroactively make them canon in a series where they didn’t exist! if you’re gay and see yourself in zuko and project your own experiences on him, that’s understandable and valid. that does not make zuko gay-coded. and honestly, the insistence that he is makes very little sense to me, because you’re essentially trying to give the show credit for work you put into interpreting the characters! why would you want to do that? why not own your own headcanons and take credit for them, rather than insisting they are canon and everyone else is wrong for not seeing them??? like, i’ve said before that i’ve always headcanoned zuko (and katara) as bi, and even support it with my interpretations of evidence from the show, but the difference between ‘i think zuko is bi’ and ‘zuko is definitely gay-coded’ is that i know that bi zuko is my interpretation of canon, and that it is work i’m putting into the show that wasn’t actually intended by the creators/writers, no matter how much sexual tension i read into the jetko swordfight.

and like, zuko’s character arc doesn’t actually parallel a queer one all that well to begin with. it’s easy enough to do the work and twist it sideways just enough to make the general points fit, but the fact is, zuko’s arc is not one of self-discovery. it’s not one of coming to understand something fundamental about himself that he can’t change, that he was hated for, and coming out to his father in a dramatic confrontation where he shows that he understands himself and doesn’t need his father’s acceptance to be fulfilled.

zuko’s arc is actually one of trauma and healing. and those can (and often are--like i said, there are more than enough queer trauma narratives in the world, atla really doesn’t need to be one of them) be part of queer narratives, for sure! but they aren’t uniquely queer. and zuko’s confrontation with ozai during the eclipse doesn’t read like a ‘coming out’ at all. (yes, i’ve seen that post. yes, i rolled my eyes and moved on, bc unlike some people, i’m capable of not clowning on correctly tagged posts i disagree with.) zuko is specifically confronting ozai over his abuse, because his arc wasn’t about discovering anything fundamental about himself (and therefore realizing that ozai was hating him for something he couldn’t change)--it was about realizing that he was not at fault for the way his father treated him. it was also about realizing that the fire nation was broken and corrupt at its core, and that his father was an aspect of that he needed to break away from so that he could help the world begin to heal.

he says it himself:

Zuko: No, I've learned everything! And I've had to learn it on my own! Growing up, we were taught that the Fire Nation was the greatest civilization in history. And somehow, the War was our way of sharing our greatness with the rest of the world. What an amazing lie that was. The people of the world are terrified by the Fire Nation. They don't see our greatness. They hate us! And we deserve it! We've created an era of fear in the world. And if we don't want the world to destroy itself, we need to replace it with an era of peace and kindness.

making this about zuko being gay and rejecting ozai’s homophobia, rather than zuko learning fundamental truths about the world and about his home and about how there was something deeply wrong with his nation that needed to be fixed in order for the world to heal (and, no, ‘homophobia’ is not the answer to ‘what is wrong with the fire nation’, i’m still fucking pissed at bryke about that), misses the entire point of his character arc. this is the culmination of zuko realizing that he should never have had to earn his father’s love, because that should have been unconditional from the start. this is zuko realizing that he was not at fault for his father’s abuse--that speaking out of turn in a war meeting in no way justified fighting a duel with a child.

is that first realization (that a parent’s love should be unconditional, and if it isn’t, then that is the parent’s fault and not the child’s) something that queer kids in homophobic households/families can relate to? of course it is. but it’s also something that every other abused kid, straight kids and even queer kids who were abused for other reasons before they even knew they were anything other than cishet, can relate to as well. in that respect, it is not a uniquely queer experience, nor is it a uniquely queer story, and zuko not being attracted to girls (which is what a lot of it seems to boil down to, at the end of the day--cutting down zuko’s potential ships so that only zukka and a few far more niche ships are left standing) is not necessary to his character arc. nor does it particularly make sense.

(and before anyone brings up his date with jin--a) he enjoyed it when she kissed him, and b) he was a traumatized, abused child going out on a first date. of course he was fucking awkward. have you ever met a teenage boy????)

anyway, uh, that was a lot of words, so have a tl;dr: zuko is not gay-coded. there is nothing uniquely gay (or even uniquely queer) about his character arc or characterization, and he was certainly not coded gay in an attempt to sneak a queer character past the censors. if anyone involved with atla was gonna try that, it would’ve been in lok, and as established, they didn’t even manage to queer-code the actual queer relationship before the last few minutes of the final episode. headcanoning zuko as gay is absolutely fine (though if it’s only done to keep him away from female characters he may otherwise be attracted to, that smells more like misogyny than anything else), but insisting that this reading is the only one that makes sense, and anyone who doesn’t agree must be straight (hello, queer woman here making this insanely long thinkpiece) is very much not.

ship what you like, but stop trying to invalidate other ships and other interpretations of characters just to make your ship seem more plausible. it’s really not a good look.

#atla #zuko #zukka salt #more like zukka shipper salt #atla fandom salt #salt for ts #zuko is not gay coded and im so so tired of seeing that argument in this fandom #it's fine as a hc but it's not canon and was never remotely intended and his arc isn't particularly evocative of a gay narrative #long post #queer things

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inevitableconfusion · 3 years

Text

Thank you all so much for your response to part one - it’s been incredible!! This turned into an actual beast (I’m talking like 10 pages in microsoft word for just this part) so I have to split it up again. The final chapter will be up by the end of the week! We’re gonna end this thing on a happy note, you guys!!

All Left AU - fanfiction | part one | part two (here) | part three Creator of the au: @sabertoothwalrus (Here’s the post that started it all - cw: blood, gore)

Read on ao3

He wakes up on a Tuesday.

It starts out slowly, like waking up from a deep sleep that keeps trying to pull him back in. There are voices, quiet and calm, from somewhere near his feet. There’s a rhythmic beeping off to his left. Something tickles his nose, and it takes him a second to realize there’s a tube on his face. Beyond the tube, he smells antiseptic and soap, and recognition slowly sets in.

A hospital. He’s in a hospital. He takes a big breath, and lets out a groan.

A chair scrapes against the floor and footsteps hurry across the room. There’s a gentle hand on his cheek. “Adrien?”

His eyelids are heavy, but he manages to blink his eyes open, squinting against the fluorescent light. His sight is fuzzy at first, but there’s a familiar blue gaze above him, and everything starts coming back to him all at once. The fight. Hawkmoth. The wish.

“Ma-” he breaks into a coughing fit, voice scratchy and dry from disuse. Sabine appears with a glass of water and they help him sit up, tipping the rim gently against his lips. The water is cold and soothing, and he takes several long, grateful gulps until the glass is empty.

Before he can try to speak again, Tom comes back into the room with the doctor. “Mister Agreste, glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he croaks and clears his throat. “How long was I out?”

“About a week.” He jolts. A week? “Miss Dupain-Cheng, could you please step into the hallway? I need to ask him a few questions while he’s awake.”

Marinette seems to hesitate, but the doctor reassures her that it will only be a few minutes, and she eventually nods before turning back to him. “I’ll be right outside, okay? As soon as he’s done, I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” he whispers. Her eyebrows scrunch up a bit and she hesitates again, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. He squeezes back, and she turns and follows her parents out of the room. Everything feels a little colder as soon as she’s gone.

The doctor pulls over a laptop stand and slips some reading glasses over his nose. “Are you feeling any pain, Mr. Agreste?”

“No.” He doesn’t feel anything, actually. He looks down at his lap, where his left hand is fiddling with the hospital blanket, an IV taped against his wrist and an oxygen monitor clamped on his finger. He can see thick white bandages in the corner of his eye, peeking out from under the sleeve hanging off his right shoulder. “Just… a little sore.”

“That’s okay,” the doctor says, “soreness is to be expected. But if you start feeling lots of pain, tell me or the nurses and we can give you a stronger medication.” He pauses, taking his glasses off and looking Adrien in the eye for the first time since he entered the room. His expression is solemn and his voice is quiet, almost apologetic. “We tried our best to save your arm, but the damage was too extensive. The bone had been crushed in a couple of different areas and some of the nerves and blood vessels were pretty badly frayed –”

The words fade into the background as his mind flashes back to that day with excruciating clarity. The musty smell of the lair. His mother in a glass coffin. Hawkmoth charging at him with terrifying speed. Pain and more blood than he’s ever seen before, screaming, a flash of light as he de-transformed, his arm –

The doctor’s hand on his shin snaps him back to reality. The beeping of the heart monitor has picked up noticeably, so he closes his eyes and takes deep, shaky breaths until it slows down to a more acceptable pace. “Mr. Agreste, are you alright?”

He winces at the name. “Please, call me Adrien.” There’s a stinging behind his eyes and he can’t bring himself to look at the doctor, instead choosing to stare off to the side.

After a pause, the doctor slowly straightens back up. “I… I apologize, Adrien. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He doesn’t say anything in response; the sound of typing fills the room. A few inconsequential questions later, and the doctor leaves as quickly as he came in.

Marinette walks in as soon as the doctor is gone, just as she promised, nervously fiddling with something in her hands. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed, bites her lip for a second, and then holds out her hand to him. He takes a sharp breath. The silver ring shines beautifully even in the cold light of the hospital room. He can feel it calling out to his soul, an invisible siren song pulling him forward.

“I wanted to make sure you got this back. If… if you want it.”

He reaches out tentatively. The metal is surprisingly warm, cradled safely in the palm of her hand. He blinks back tears, curling his fingers around the miraculous. “Thank you, Marinette.”

She lets out the breath she was holding. “Here, I’ll…” she trails off, gently grabbing his hand so she can slip the ring on his finger. Her hands are shaking. Even after the ring is in place, her touch lingers, clearly lost in thought. It must be a painful memory for her, too.

He threads his fingers between hers and squeezes their palms together. Thank you. She offers a small, sad smile and squeezes back before letting go. Everything feels a little more right in the world.

She reaches up and touches her earring. “Plagg and Tikki… all of the kwamis have been dormant since… for the past two weeks. I don’t think they’re gone forever, but I don’t know when…”

She trails off and he frowns, his thumb tracing the underside of the silver band. Plagg is gone. Maybe not forever, but probably for a while, at least. He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

He curls his hand into a fist. “And… and fa – Hawkmoth?”

She takes a moment to speak, as if trying to figure out how to answer him. “He… he’s in a coma. Here in the hospital.” Another beat of silence. “Do you want to see hi-”

“No,” he cuts her off. He doesn’t want to see that man. He doesn’t want to see him ever again.

Marinette doesn’t say anything in response, but he knows she understands. Of all people, she would understand. She gently touches his hand, uncurling his fist into something looser, and he relaxes. He’s always found comfort in her touch – from both sides of her. Marinette. Ladybug. Two of the most important people in his life, now one.

“How many people know about our identities now?”

She frowns, and he notices for the first time just how exhausted she looks. Like she hasn’t slept the entire week since the fight. “Everyone.”

“What?” His stomach drops. Everyone?

“The… when the ambulance came, so did the police.” Her voice is thick and she grips his hand tighter. “I guess your father confessed when he called, because they knew, somehow. They just – they saw me, and then they saw you, and I didn’t – I couldn’t –” A tear slips down her cheek, but she blinks quickly and wipes it away. “And then the media caught wind, and it was just… chaos.” She closes her eyes, her voice a broken whisper. “There were so many people.”

Everyone. They all know who he is. Who they are. They all know what happened. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. He feels so lost. But then, he feels the weight of the ring on his finger – solid, smooth, and real. She gave it back to him. And she still has her earrings.

That… that has to mean something, right?

He looks at her carefully. “So, what do we do?”

She sniffles and opens her eyes. Her expression is firm. Steady. Determined. And even through the tears, it’s just so Ladybug. “We face it, together.”

Adrien’s heart stutters. Together. He lifts his hand to cup her face, his thumb brushing over the soft skin under her eye. He swallows the lump in his throat. “For the record, I’m really glad it’s you.”

Her brows scrunch up and she takes a shaky breath. She lifts a hand to cover his, pressing it against her cheek. “I’m glad it’s you, too.”

He gives her a watery smile, feeling his own tears well up. “It’s you and me against the world, m’lady.”

“Always,” she whispers.

He feels his face crumble as everything comes crashing down. She throws her arms around him, pulling him closer, hugging him tighter, until there’s no space between them. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, finally letting out all of the emotions he’s been holding back.

He’s alive. She’s alive. They made it.

His father dies on a Thursday.

It doesn’t really come as a shock; he’s been waiting for the news since he first woke up two days ago. The doctors have been doing everything they can to keep him alive, but Adrien knew that nothing would help in the end. The wish saved his life, so it would take his father’s. The universe has to balance out, and nothing can change that.

What does come as a shock is information that he’s given directly after.

His head shoots up, eyes wide. “Nathalie is missing?” He hadn’t even thought to ask about Nathalie, given everything that’s been going on.

Officer Raincomprix pauses, then slowly closes his notepad. “We… have reason to believe that Miss Sancouer was working with Hawkmoth, under the name ‘Mayura’.”

“What?!” Marinette shrieks, leaping to her feet so quickly that her chair knocks over. “Why are we just being told this now?”

The officer holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry, but since you can’t turn into Ladybug and Chat Noir right now, we could not risk having you try to go after her. It seems Ms. Sancoeur has fled the country, but we are doing everything we can to track her down and bring her back. Justice will prevail in the end!”

“She has a miraculous! We don’t know when they’re going to become active again, so the fact that she’s still out there means she’s still dangerous! And now that she knows our identities, don’t you think she’s going to come after us first?”

“Not to worry. By then, we’ll either have her locked up, or you’ll be Ladybug again. Either way, it wouldn’t be smart for her to try anything.”

“I am still Ladybug. And you have a duty to-”

“Wait!” Adrien shouts, interrupting them both. There’s a strange mix of cold emptiness and white-hot rage boiling up inside him. He feels his body shaking. “Wait. Did Gorilla know about this, too?”

Officer Raincomprix’s eyebrows furrow. “Who?”

“The Gorilla! My bodyguard!”

“Oh. No, he has been cleared of all involvement and released.”

Adrien rubs his eyes and then pinches the bridge of his nose, doing his best to hold off the sudden, unwelcome tears building up. “Okay. So, two out of the three people living in my house were secretly trying to hurt me for years. Got it. Cool.”

“Ad-”

“I need a moment,” he snaps, and then sighs and softens his tone. “Please.”

They are quiet for a few seconds, and the policeman offers his thanks for their time before leaving, closing the door with a soft click. Adrien still has his eyes closed, but he can feel Marinette’s concerned gaze on him.

“Are you okay?”

His shoulders sag, feeling heavier and heavier as the day goes on. He leans back against the pillows on his bed and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t feel like crying anymore, he just feels tired. “It’s… a lot to take in.” He rolls his head to the side and gives her an apologetic look.

Sometimes he’s thankful that she can read him so well. She offers a gentle smile and grabs his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “I’m gonna head home a little early today. See if you can get some rest before your therapy session, alright? I’m only a text away.”

She starts to pull away, but before she can get too far, he tugs her hand closer and kisses her knuckles. Thank you.

She stares for a bit too long, and he realizes belatedly that that was a very Chat Noir thing to do. Warmth crawls up his neck and over his cheeks, but there’s a fondness on her face that he’s not used to seeing. “See you tomorrow, kitty.”

Silence fills the room after she leaves, and it would be enough to drive him crazy if he had the energy to think. Instead, he lies back and closes his eyes.

Father is dead.

He wakes up in a cold sweat. Just as quickly as the thought comes, the memory of whatever nightmare he was having fades into nothing. He’s not sure how long he managed to sleep. A few minutes? A few hours?

A gentle knock on the door tells him it was the latter. It’s time for his therapy session. He’s not ready. He’s never ready.

The physical therapy they’ve been having him do every day has been tough. His muscles are sore from a week of being unconscious, and his right shoulder hurts with even the barest movement. He has to re-learn how to do everything with only one arm – going to the bathroom, carrying large items, writing with his non-dominant hand. Even the once-simple act of tying his shoes or buttoning a shirt has left him in frustrated tears a few times.

Yet, the emotional therapy is so much harder. It’s difficult to turn his jumble of thoughts into words, much less coherent ideas that he can then dissect and analyze. And every time the counselor tries to bring up his father, he completely shuts down. Progress is slow and mentally taxing, and tonight is no different.

He finishes his dinner in a daze and Louise – one of his nurses – comes in. She sets his empty plate to the side and starts unwrapping the bandages on his arm to check on the stitches. She tries to make small-talk, but Adrien only answers half-heartedly, and eventually the conversation peters out. He feels a little bad; she’s a very kind lady, but he just doesn’t have the energy to talk. All he wants to do now is sleep.

After re-wrapping the bandages, Louise pulls an envelope out of the pocket of her scrubs and wordlessly hands it to him. He takes it, tossing her a questioning glance. “It’s a get-well-soon letter.” She picks up the dinner tray and gives him a small smile. “We thought it might make you feel better.”

She walks out of the room and he stares down at the letter, debating with himself. The exhaustion wins out in the end and he sighs, setting the unopened letter on the bedside table. He’ll get to it tomorrow.

The funeral is on a Friday.

His Aunt Amelie has insisted on have at least a bare-bones ceremony, because even though no one wants to honor the man who’d terrorized Paris for the past three years, she still wants the people close to him to have the opportunity to say their proper goodbyes. And by people, she means him.

Adrien doesn’t want to go, but his counselor thinks it could be cathartic, an opportunity to get everything off his chest. The hospital releases him an hour before the funeral starts, and even in death, he realizes he’s still stuck under his father’s thumb.

When he walks into the lobby, Gorilla is sitting by the door, and he feels a flood of relief. The man stands as soon as he spots Adrien, and his stoic face melts into something softer before engulfing him in a hug.

Gorilla isn’t officially his bodyguard anymore. He isn’t being paid; he has no obligation to be here. He has the right to uproot his life and start fresh somewhere new. Adrien wouldn’t blame him if he did. And yet, here he is.

It… it means a lot.

They step out of the doors together and are immediately swarmed by the paparazzi, the sound of inaudibly shouted questions and incessant camera shutters filling the air. Thankfully, Gorilla manages to mostly block his body from view, and they’re in the car just a few steps later.

The funeral itself is nothing to marvel at. A small church that he’s never set foot in, a simple urn, a wreath of flowers next to a picture of his father. It’s the only photo he’s ever seen with his father smiling; a family portrait from when he was a child. A happy, loving family that’s long since disappeared. The pews are almost empty, since very few people were allowed to attend. Not that many wanted to attend, anyway. He sits alone at the back, eyes scanning over the rest of the guests as the organ music drones on and on. The priest is kneeling off to the side, dutifully entranced in prayer. His aunt and cousin are in the second row; Andre and Audrey Bourgeois in the middle section; Roger Raincomprix and Gorilla standing guard at the doors. And that’s it. The only people in the world who cared about his father, all gathered in one room. Not a teardrop in sight.

He slouches in his seat, very aware of how much he does not want to be here. But someone sits down next to him, and he jumps. There, wearing a simple black dress, blonde hair in a sleek updo, looking like she’s halfway to tears, is Chloe Bourgeois.

“Chloe?” he whispers, unable to hide his shock at her presence. He hasn’t seen Chloe in… months. At least three or four months, probably. Not since he’d confronted her about her increasingly cruel behavior, and she’d subsequently cut him out of her life.

But here she is, eyes locked on the dangling sleeve of his suit jacket. Without a word, she reaches out and touches the sleeve, slowly closing her hand around it, as if afraid to see if it was truly empty. It is empty, of course. The realization seems to hit her hard, and she clasps her other hand to her mouth to muffle a gasp. She looks up at him, mascara already starting to run down her cheeks. “Adrien, I’m so sorry.”

It’s a little weird. Chloe’s become almost a caricature of herself over the years, really leaning into her mean-girl attitude, especially after cutting Adrien out. So, it’s strange to see her be so… vulnerable now. The way she’s looking at him, it reminds him of the girl he used to know growing up; the girl who shared her teddy bear when he cried, who played with him when he was lonely, who always stood up for him whenever his father was angry. Something like hope sparks in his chest, seeing her now. Maybe, just maybe, his friend isn’t totally gone after all. Maybe she just needs a friend, too. Someone to pull the old her out of this new shell.

He feels the corner of his mouth lift a little. “I lost an arm, Chloe. I didn’t die.” She wipes away her tears, taking a moment to compose herself. “I thought you hated my father?”

“I didn’t come here for him,” she scoffs. “I came here to support you, Adrikins.”

That’s… actually touching. A small, fond smile tugs at his lips. “Thanks, Chlo. It means a lot that you’re here.”

She faces the front and rests her head on his shoulder – a brief, silent show of solidarity. He rests his head against hers in response, and when the organ music cuts out, they both sit up straight. The priest walks to the front and begins the service with a solemn “Thank you all for coming,” and Adrien has to fight not to scowl. He wouldn’t have come if he’d had the choice.

Marinette plops down at his other side, slightly out of breath. “Sorry I’m late, the police almost didn’t let me in.”

He ducks his head closer to her, feeling significantly more at-ease. “That’s okay. I’m glad you made it.”

She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. But she stiffens when her eyes lock onto something over his shoulder, and he realizes with some apprehension that she’s caught sight of Chloe. The two girls are staring each other down, and the air that hangs between them is so thick that he’s almost choking on it. But the tension breaks when Chloe gives her a curt nod, and Marinette nods back in some sort of weird understanding, and they face the front again.

The sermon is as short and to-the-point as it can be, but it still feels like it drags on. Marinette holds his hand the entire time, and it’s the only thing that keeps him from disassociating. When the priest asks if anyone would like to come up and say a few words, Adrien stays silent.

Afterward, as people are leaving, the priest offers the urn to him. He tries to refuse, but Aunt Amelie suggests that he take the urn to the mansion and spread his father’s ashes in the garden, next to the statue of his mother. And well… it’s as good an idea as any.

The ride to the mansion is silent. It’s just him and Gorilla now, and his bodyguard was never much of a talker. Not that he feels like talking, anyway. Adrien looks down at the urn resting in his lap, and frowns. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to his father, aside from that day. He can’t even remember the last time his father had hugged him. And here he is, cradling his ashes gingerly, as if he – as if he cares.

Gorilla stays in the car while he steps out, choosing to walk around the exterior to get to the garden. He doesn’t dare step foot inside the mansion. The last time he was here… well, it wasn’t a good memory. He didn’t have a lot of good memories here, actually. At least not after his mother died.

And his mother wasn’t really gone, it turns out. She had been in the basement for years, frozen in some sort of awful cryo-sleep. She was always there, waiting in limbo; while father was torturing him, and his friends, and all of Paris; while his house – the place where he was supposed to feel safest – became a prison; while his only remaining parent cut his arm off… all in the name of bringing her back.

Adrien sets the urn on the grass and takes off the lid. It really is a beautiful urn. It’s a shame it holds such an evil man.

He picks up the urn with only a little difficulty and starts spreading the ashes as best as he can, taking care to keep them close to his mother’s statue so it won’t harm the other plants. Now – now he can be with his wife for eternity. It’s what he wanted, isn’t it? Never mind his son, never mind that he still had family – all that mattered was bringing his wife back from the dead.

All of the love Adrien had for his father, all this time… it was all one-sided. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. The empty urn drops onto the grass with a dull thud.

He’d done everything his father had asked. For years, he’d done everything – things he didn’t want to do – piano, fencing, Chinese lessons, homeschooling, modeling, all of it. He was left to grieve his mother alone, he was isolated in his home, he was kept from having friends and seeing other family; all while working sun up to sun down, until he was exhausted to the bone, and even then being pushed to do more. And despite it all, he tried his best to be the perfect well-behaved son that his father expected him to be. He – he’d tried so hard just to get a little praise, a little attention, a little love, but he never did.

His father had been so blinded by his goal of resurrecting his wife, that he failed to realize that he still had a son. He had his son, right there, hurting and in need of a father when it mattered most. And he hurt him further. Adrien wanted love, and all he ever got was pain, pain, pain.

No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough. He was never enough.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the tears drip onto his hand. He wipes roughly at his cheeks, but they just keep coming. He’s crying – why is he crying over this? Over this person, this person who caused him so much anguish? This person who was supposed to love him?

He feels stupid for crying. He feels angry.

Why?

The question he wanted to ask his father as he slipped out of consciousness. The question he will never truly know the answer to.

Why?

A wave of grief crashes over him, knocking him to his knees. He curls in on himself, ribs pressing into his legs so hard that he can barely breathe.

Why?

Because despite it all, despite everything, he couldn’t hate his father. He wanted to, god, he wanted to. He wanted to be able to move on, to carve out all memory of him and live the rest of his life in peace, to say he hated the man who had cut off his arm and ruined his life. Yet, he can’t. He can’t erase the memories of playing in the garden with his mother and father, laughing in the sunshine, his father smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. He can’t shake off the ghost of his father’s arms, circling him in a hug when he got home from his first day at school. He can’t unsee the panic, the regret, the tears dripping from his father’s face after he de-transformed. His father was the only family he had left. Adrien had loved him so much, so unconditionally, for so long, that he – he didn’t know how to hate him.

Why didn’t you love me back?

Strong arms pull him off the ground and into a hug, and it just makes him cry harder. It’s like everything he’s been holding back, everything he’s been refusing to let himself feel, is all crashing out of him at once. The flood gates are open and there’s no turning back.

He’s angry, and he’s confused, and lonely, and sad, and relieved, and it’s just – it’s all too much.

“I was there, that day, before the ambulance came.”

It’s the first time Adrien has ever heard Gorilla speak, and it’s enough to startle him out of his thoughts. His voice is deep, but quiet.

“It took me a while to break into the room, but by the time I did, you were already unconscious. So was Gabriel, and Marinette was kneeling by your body. She looked so scared.”

Adrien pulls back and looks at Gorilla, sniffling and wiping at his eyes.

“She told me who she was,” he says, “and who you were, and who Gabriel was. She said that there was a wish – that, if you make a wish using two of the miraculous, it could save you. Your father knew this, and wouldn’t let Marinette make the wish herself. He was the only one who knew the incantation, and he refused to tell her unless she gave him the miraculous.”

What?

“She had no choice, so she gave them over. He made the wish, and then he collapsed.” Gorilla moves his giant hands to rest on Adrien’s shoulders. “Your father loved you. He was proud of you. I heard the way he talked about you when you weren’t around. He tried to do what was best for you, he just went about it the wrong way.” Gorilla pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “He wasn’t… a good man. But he did love you.”

Adrien’s gaze falls, a few fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. “I… I can’t forgive him.”

“You don’t have to. No one has to. What he did – especially what he did to you – was unforgiveable. But,” he tips up Adrien’s chin so he can look him in the eyes, “You can’t hold onto this anger forever. Your father couldn’t get over his grief, and that was what lead him down the wrong path. Negative emotions like this, they’re important to feel – they’re what make us human. But if we hold onto them for too long, they can turn us into monsters.”

A shiver runs up his spine. He doesn’t want to turn out like his father. He doesn’t want to be another monster that his father created. But he can’t… he doesn’t know how to move past this. Not when looking at his reflection, seeing his missing arm, is a daily reminder of what his father did to him. “How? How do I let it go?”

Gorilla pulls him into a gentle hug. “You do better. Be better than he was. Turn your anger around into something good. It’s okay if you don’t know how yet. You are the strongest person I know, Adrien. And you have all of us – your friends, and your family, and all of Paris – behind you, to help you. We’ll always be here, so don’t worry about facing this alone, because you are not alone.”

The words are a weight lifted off his chest, a warm fire melting the ice that has surrounded his heart since his mother died. You are not alone.

He closes his eyes and buries himself into Gorilla’s chest.

That night, he’s the one to bring up the topic of his father in therapy. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

#ml all left au #all left au #miraculous ladybug #ml #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #adrienette #angst #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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jengarie · 3 years

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#showyourprocess !

From planning to posting, share your process for making creative content!

To continue supporting content makers, this tag game is meant to show the entire process of making creative content: this can be for any creation.

RULES — When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag up to 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you’d like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours!

Thank you, @rinielle for tagging me! She chose the piece above (original post), and oh boy this one was a whole ass rollercoaster ride! Unfortunately, I hadn't turned on the timelapse feature for this but I'll try to go through each part of the process as best as I can!

The photos I'm gonna upload are gonna be a mix of screenshots and literal photos of my screen, because I'm taking some of them from my updates to friends, since a lot of the steps got lost in my painting process.

But before that, let me tag some other amazing creators!

@dragonji: this gif art!

@candicewright: this yibo painting!

@wendashanren: this gifset!

@mylastbraincql: this gif!

I haven't been able to keep track of who's been tagged so apologies if you've already done this! Also, no pressure to do it at all if you would rather not! <3

Planning

Sometimes, I get an idea first and find reference photos to go with that idea. But for this one, I sought out a reference photo first, and built an idea on top of it!

After that, I roughly sketch out the base pose. Usually, this looks very messy, but it doesn't really matter as long as I understand which part goes where!

The idea for the background didn't really come until the creation process because I don't think I really planned this to be a full piece.

Creation

Sketching

Honestly, from this point on, it's more of trial and error.

So, I redid the the initial base pose—made it cleaner and a little bit more detailed. See: the added definition in their arm muscles, the rearrangement of Wei Wuxian's legs, and Lan Wangji's hand on Wei Wuxian's back. If you look at the second photo, I also changed the pose a bit midway—I tend to edit as I go sometimes when I change my mind. (For this, I thought, given the Lan arm strength, it would be better to make Lan Wangji look more at ease carrying Wei Wuxian. This gets covered by the robes anyway though, so it didn't matter much in the end.)

I also started adding details to the base! I usually start with the face and then the hair! I usually go for the clothes next, but I dreaded the robes in this piece so I guess that's why I ended up with a basic idea of what I wanted for the background instead LOL I also figured out how I want the final crop to look like, so I blocked out all the other areas with an extra layer!

Okay, onto the part that killed me like ten times: the robes. There are a lot of interactions between their robes here given their pose, and not to mention they also have layers upon layers on each of them! So, to maintain my sanity and to keep track of which part is which, I color coded them into the most colorful sketch I've ever made.

Another reason why I filled in each layer of robe with a solid block of color, is so that all the lines underneath gets covered. Without all of the colors, the actual outline actually looks like the one on the right. What a nightmare!

I also ignored the crop again for this part, because it's always better to draw past your borders, in case you decide to rotate or tilt or whatever your piece later on. I didn't do the feet anymore though, because that I was sure wouldn't show in the final piece anymore.

After that, I did the sketch one more time and then started adding the base colors. (I didn't have a screenshot of just the base colors, and the final CSP file is a nightmare so I copy pasted the layers into a new canvas to show you guys :') )

By the way, I drew their robes flowing this way, because I wanted it to frame the lower arch of the moon behind them for the composition. It was a little frustrating that I couldn't get Lan Wangji's robes a little higher because of Wei Wuxian's legs but I later filled in the empty space with his forehead ribbon anyway, so it all worked out in the end!

Painting

Because apparently, I was a masochist back then, I merged the base colors all into one layer and started adding shadows to the robes. (These days, I add shadows first and then, merge. It's much easier this way.)

And then, I started painting! Again, I did the face first and then the hair, before finally the robes. This was my first time painting side profiles and honestly it was quite a pain to figure out LOL but !!! I think I did a good job and I'm proud of how it turned out. I again used reference photos for this one but I can't link any because they were just several random Pinterest photos that I didn't save.

Another thing to note is that I use the mesh transform tool a lot, especially on faces. That's largely why Lan Wangji's face looks so different in the latter two!

And then I went with the robes. Somewhere along the way, I realized I didn't like how I planned to do Lan Wangji's sleeves and the flowy part of Wei Wuxian's robes and I... decided, with much dread, to do them over. So I sketched on top of the painted layers and redid the robes, again.

It was at this point that I decided to take a break from this piece because it was honestly very draining! I think it took about three weeks before I decided to open the file again and continue it.

When I did, I just finished painting the rest of the robes and their hands. The blue details on Lan Wangji's outer robes were painted on a separate layer that I put on Multiply. I probably did more adjustments to the face and hair and stuff, because my painting process is honestly a mess :')

Final Adjustments

I added some correction layers on certain areas to fix some of the colors. See: Lan Wangji's sleeve becoming much brighter and paler; Wei Wuxian's legs having less contrast. And then I merged all of the layers (excluding the background) and added a bit of blur. See: Wei Wuxian's ponytail; the entire lower part; the flowing forehead ribbon. My reasoning for this is so that most of the detail (and therefore the flow of the eye) goes to their faces and expressions!

And then, I put a blue Overlay layer on low opacity to make Wangxian blend better with the background, added a bit of shadow on the inside and the lower sections and added the glowing details for the added flair. I initially wanted sparkles and/or stars but they didn't turn out as well as this did. I also upped the contrast by a little for the entire piece!

Aaaand, that's it! In truth, I did a bit more color adjustments to the whole piece, but I was a dummy who forgot to turn them back on before posting so ... oh well.

Posting

Before posting, I upload it either on my spare private Twitter account or on a drafted Tumblr post so I can check the colors on my phone. This is because the colors on different devices can look very different, and I would at the very least want all my pieces to look nice on both of my devices!

And then, once I deem it satisfactory, I just try to think of a caption and post! Some artists wait for a certain time where most of their followers are active, but I didn't have a lot of MDZS followers at this point so it didn't really matter to me.

It still doesn't really; I haven't actually been able to figure out when my MDZS followers are awake even now.

#showyourprocess #mine #whew this was so long oops #but this piece took like #maybe 1.5 weeks sans the break i had to take #so !!#LOL #tag game

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sillybub · 3 years

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If cats ever comes back to tour United States again they should give some Asian actors the right to perform on the play. I would really want them to seize their of triumph. How would that work?

Hello Anon! Thank you for such a great question!

First of all, I HARD agree on wanting a diverse cast! CATS is such a great show for having actors of all different kinds of backgrounds--the diversity of the cast should reflect the diversity of characters within the show. I would LOVE to see Asian actors being cast, along with other actors of color!

Second of all, I sense that you might be talking about the racism towards Asians within the show, and how that can be handled. I am more than happy to address this VERY in-depth. I’m not sure if this is what you meant for me to do, you have provided me with a good chance for me to talk about my thoughts in-depth.

So, the first instance of racism we have is in Pekes & Pollicles with the infamous "heathen Chinese" lines.

I've about this before: one fix could be to replace the word "heathen" with any other two-syllable adjective. My favorite fix here is probably "foreign Chinese", but I think the actor would have to be VERY careful with what tone they sing this line in.

My personal fix for this would be to replace that line entirely with something more like "toy Pekingese". Same number of syllables, but we're talking about the dog breed now, and not an entire nationality. Pekingese dogs are classified as "toy" breeds (breeds that weigh 15 pounds or less when they are fully grown), and calling them "toys" would also hint that they're very pampered lapdogs who aren't actually that ferocious at all.

The Pollicle dogs are specified within the song to be Yorkshires, so I don't see why we can't call the Pekes Pekingese on top of that.

Now, more pressing is the Growltiger Issue, which is a little more complicated.

So, first and foremost, I'm strongly in the camp that Growltiger's Last Stand should be eliminated from the show forever.

My reasons for this are as follows:

1. Racism is baked deeply into the character of Growltiger. His song is all bout how he likes to terrorize Asians, original poem calls them slurs, and the entire thing just reeks of Orientalism on top of that. This should be reason enough to take it right out of the show forever.

2. This is much more of my personal opinion, and probably unpopular, but structure-wise, I think that the entire sequence is too long and interruptive. Growltiger's Last Stand in its entirely has a runtime of approx. 10-14 min. The only other song in the show of comparable length is the Jellicle Ball, which is a showcase of all the characters rather than just a very small handful. 10-14 minutes feels too long to focus on a single cat, who isn't even a real character within the show to begin with. The musical is interrupted to put on a different, smaller musical that feels vastly out of place from the rest of it.

Typically, an entirely new set is pulled on stage for the Growltiger sequence, with new pirate outfits for the characters. This is in contrast to the other show within the show, Pekes & Pollicles, where all of the props and costumes are repurposed junk. One of these feels much more authentic than the other. I have always LOVED the decision to give Pekes & Pollicles to Gus; the feeling of improvisation and unprofessionalism, and the absolute chaos of the cats feels much more natural and justified when it was literally an unplanned decision to help Gus relive his glory days as an actor. And since all the cats are involved in Pekes & Pollicles, it feels more intimate as well.

I'm going to expand more on my first point, now.

The Siamese cats are racist caricatures, and non-Asian actors wearing them should be considered yellowface.

Sure, they're supposed to be cats and not humans, but they are so obviously racialized. The masks feature exaggerated slanted eyes, and are very often yellow--hallmarks of a racist Asian caricature. In early productions, they even sang in a vaguely Asian accent. For predominantly non-Asian actors to don this costume, it’s yellowface.

Now, I recognize that the 2020 Asia tour has updated the costumes to be less blatantly racist. For reference, here is a typical Siamese costume:

(Hamburg 1997)

And here is the revised version:

(Asia Tour 2020).

As you can see, the color pallet has changed from yellow to blue, and there is much less Thai influence in the designs. In changing the design, the Asia 2020 production has attempted a well-intentioned effort to de-racialize the Siamese cats. However, these are still racist Asian characters being played by a non-Asian cast. They context of the song is still the same, even though the costume itself is different.

So, is it yellowface if an Asian cast plays the Siamese?

No, but it would be incredibly poor taste to cast Asian actors so they can play the Siamese.

The act of an oppressed group adopting language and symbols that are normally used against them is called “reclaiming.” For an all-Asian cast (especially with predominantly Thai actors) to put on their own production of Growltiger’s last stand could be an act of reclamation. I’m not Thai, and only have East Asian heritage on my mom’s side, so it’s not for me to discuss how Growltiger and the Siamese could be reclaimed.

Now, I’m not afraid to call out people’s racism (whether it was intentional or not), so I’m going to talk about a small controversy with the cosplayer Pixiedustjellicle. She had expressed interest in creating a Siamese mask to sell. She viewed the Siamese as the heroes of the story, and wanted to create the mask as a homage. That was a nice sentiment, but as I have discussed already, the costumes and entire concept of the Siamese are undeniably racist. What Pixie was trying to do is an act of reclamation, but since she is a non-Asian (and specifically white) creator, it isn’t her place to do that. (After receiving feedback about this from multiple people including myself, she has since apologized.)

Non-Asians should never try to put on Growltiger, and especially not white people. The Siamese were created and brought to the stage by white men, and there is no way to divorce the racism from their characters. Staging it is something for Asian (ideally with a strong Thai presence leading) cast and crew to do if they so choose.

Additionally, several different Asian cultures are referenced in Growltiger. although there doesn't seem to be much intentional distinction between them, which is why I label it as Orientalism earlier. The Siamese are referred to as Mongolian, for one thing. Additionally, a Siamese cat mauled Growltiger's ear, but now he indiscriminately hates all Asians.

That being said, the Siamese cats are the specific villains of the song; ie, cats hailing from Siam (modern day Thailand) in Southest Asia, which is a very different region that East Asia. It is for this reason that I place heavy emphasis on leaving it up to Thai people to reclaim the Siamese.

A few people have suggested a major re-write where the Siamese are replaced with the British Navy. I think that if you truly want to keep the racist song, that’s one option to fix it. Additionally, you could cut Growltiger and keep In Una Tepida Notte and The Ballad of Billy McCaw, who are fairly divorced from the context of the rest of Growltiger and have no traces of its racism within them.

I’m in the camp that it should just be cut forever, to be perfectly honest. Even if it wasn’t racist, I don’t care for it.

#I've heard fans defend Growltiger and/or the Siamese because Asian productions portray it #And by Asian they mean China Japan and South Korea #which are just three east asian nations out of 48 in the continent #but im not familiar with the background of those productions in regards to growltiger #so im not educated enough to talk about that aspect #its also worth mentioning that i have never had the opportunity to speak to a thai person about this #anways this post is about why as a general rule we should just not do Growltiger #Growltiger

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the8gates · 4 years

Text

Naruto Characters and What Music I Think They Would Listen To Pt.1

Naruto

-You know those popular boys from school? The emoji tracksuit kids that like dunked on you when you walked through a door?

-Those vibes

-He listens to almost exclusively mainstream rap. It has to be 🔥🔥🔥 ya know?

-Always talking about the new Drake album or the new Kanye album. LOVES Chance the Rapper and Childish Gambino i just see it in his eyes.

Sasuke

-This fuckin guy

-See, my knee jerk reaction is like your emo classics. Pierce the Veil, MCR, Linkin Park. Screamo. Metal.

-But no. We have similar temperaments and I think that kind of music would actually irritate him.

-I think he’s emo but more mainstream soundcloud rapper emo. Lil Peep, $UICIDEBOY$, Lil Uzi Vert. LOVES XXXTentacion.

-Post screenshots of what he’s listening to on his snapchat story and you just know the boy is going THROUGH it.

Sakura

-OKAY so HERE is your rock and roll/metal baddie!!!

-hear me out. when she’s young its all pop. like y2k pop with R&B leanings. Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Beyonce, etc. you get the idea

-but after training under Tsundae she picks up rock. starts with some classic rock at first, then slowly progresses.

-this girl loves Metallica and Black Sabbath. she just loves rock. Zeppelin, AC/DC, Five Finger Death Punch. All of it. I will not be taking any criticism.

-windows down in the car, headbanging always.

Kakashi

-this one is a little difficult to nail down

-a part of me just wants to throw him in the pool of doesn't really care and will listen to anything

-i think he’s got a different playlist for every mood

-R&B sexy playlist with the Weeknd and some Justin Timberlake (yes he thinks that's sexy), soft sad boy hours playlist with Post Malone and Russ, a party mix with some your standard frat boy bops.

-overall, he listens to a lot of popular music

Yamato/Tenzou

-another tough one to nail down!!!

-i truly think Yamato is a man of all tastes as well

-however.... i get country music vibes???

-not like new, pop, country. but the classics. Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, Dolly Parton.

-he also likes jazz! and big band/swing. Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin. What i would refer to as whiskey drinkin music. kinda classy and fun

Sai

-girl

-i truly do not know

-the man is an enigma

-i think once he joins team 7 and kinda strays away from the foundation he’s gonna be all about trying new stuff

-so one day he’s listening to Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran and Ariana Grande. Radio pop, entry level shit

-and the next time you see him its songs he heard on tiktok exclusively

-eventually he’s down a rabbit hole, consuming music in mass quantities and he’s into Crystal Castles and Grimes. Then next week its Tupac and Notorious B.I.G. Then it’s Judas Priest and Guns N Rose.

-everyone just gives up trying to keep track

Shikamaru

-oh its male manipulator music ALLLL DAY

-tame impala, mac demarco, the front bottoms, arctic monkeys, modern baseball, the smiths

-you get the idea

-dont necessarily think he's the ‘male manipulator’ type but he’s def the edgy smoking cigs and listening for the lyrics type

-i don't have to go into detail here you know I'm right

Ino

-see, her and Sakura go down similar paths

-she started off with the y2k bubblegum pop phase but her progression is a little more understandable

-shes your typical indie (except they aren't really indie) pop darling. Lana Del Rey, Lorde, Marina and Diamonds, Melanie Martinez, the 1975.

-what I'm saying is she was definitely on tumblr in 2014 and just never moved past that phase (did any of us tbh)

-as time goes on though she starts to branch out a lil. loves the mainstream women of rap! Cardi B, Megan thee Stallion, Nicki Minaj, Doja Cat. constantly bopping

Choji

-i couldn't find any gifs of this cutie smiling and that's a crime i want addressed RIGHT NOW

-but music wise?? i mean he’s a sweetheart right?? genuinely likes pop music! Ed Sheeran, Maroon 5, Katy Perry. HUGE Bruno Mars fan surprisingly

-i can see him just bopping his head along to the radio, just vibing and not being picky. loves a good ballad. Sam Smith, John Legend.

-hes just having a good time

Hinata

-queen of yearning and pining

-girl in red, mitski, HOZIER

-i feel like her playlist just looks like someone let a closeted queer girl put it together

-ABBA, St. Vincent, Florence + the Machine

-also just soft pop vibes. she’s defo posting sunset videos with the Lumineer’s playing in the background. HEAVY cottage core inspo

Shino

-here is your true emo king

-the trinity of course. P!ATD, MCR, Fallout Boy

-then Twenty One Pilots, Paramore, GORRILAZ

-he gives me also like art kid vibes as he gets older? Weezer, Wallows, Cage the Elephant. you know the type

Kiba

-kinda smilar to Naruto tbh

-but it HAS to be FIRE. no sad music! bass turned up and LOUD always

-i feel like he even went through a dubstep phase.

-hes the guy in the mcdonalds drive thru ‘you know what I'm here for’ *blasts Sicko Mode*

-some stand out faves are Travis Scott, Tyler, the Creator, Kendrick Lamar, Freddie Dredd

-he’s actually pretty cool tbh

Rock Lee

-yall ever been to a football game and they play the same hype songs over and over? ever seen a workout montage in an 80s movie?

-thats this boy. he’s just constantly listening to workout playlists. Eye of the Tiger, Livin’ on a Prayer, Welcome to the Jungle

-outside of that, i would think some of his favorite artists would be things Gai would listen to. Billy Joel, Bon Jovi, the BEASTIE BOYS, Foreigner, Aerosmith

-what I'm trying to say is he listens to the same music ur dad listens to

Neji

-fucking music SNOB

-’you've probably never heard of them’ headass

-and then its like the strokes or vampire weekend or some shit jfc

-male manipulator music part two but 100% fits the stereotype. hes gonna leave you on read and then cry to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

-some standout favorites are the Pixies, Neutral Milk Hotel, alt-J.

-likes some other stuff too. The White Stripes, The Black Keys, some Beck.

-decent taste if he wasn't such an a-hole about it!

Tenten

-ya know what

-hyper pop. 100 gecs, Charli XCX, CMten, SOPHIE, Slayyyter, A.G. Cook.

-i would say she started off kinda like Ino, the 2014 tumblr pop stuff

-then that just got to be too boring. so now she's riding the wave of the super new age stuff.

-neji fucking HATES it and grumbles all the time about ‘its just noise, how can you stand that’ and it only makes her like it more.

194 notes · View notes

enigma-im · 4 years

Text

Like a Virgin Pt.2

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Incubus x F!Human Warning: Insecurities, fluff, Silas is a fuckboy, date night, first time, bonding

Word Count: 8261

Part 1 -----------------------------------

I pace around my room like an anxious chicken. I look down at my three dresses, not knowing which one to pick. Each having their pros and cons but still not making the choice easier. Silas never bothered telling me where we were going. All week I kept trying to get answers from him but he would just give me a kiss then a smile. I can't complain because it worked every time.

"just pick the red one," I mumble to myself. I reach down for the dress but hesitate when I look at the purple one. I stand straight and groan. Just pick one.

"The Yellow one will make you look bright but I'm a bit bias to the red one, the color of love and lust," a voice behind me says. I jump, turning to see Silas at my door. I tighten my towel around my chest making him laugh.

"You are early," I look him up and down. He is wearing a dark blue 2-piece suit. White dress shirt, the last two buttons undone. His blazer is also undone showing how tight the shirt is to his stomach. I can't take my eyes off him. I've seen him in dress clothes, that is his thing, but this is a lot. He looks damn sexy. Even though he still has bags under his eyes and currently his cheeks are beginning to sink.

He snaps his fingers," up here love." I look up at his cocky smirk.

I roll my eyes," shut up. Why you early?"

He gives me a once over," what, and miss this view?"

"seriously," I chide.

"Alright, I knew you would be freaking out about now. I guess I was right if you are still pacing your room looking for an outfit," he gestures to the clothes.

"As right as you are, how did you know," I don’t bother denying. He doesn’t answer but walks over to me. Grabbing my waist and looking down at me.

"I've known you for a long while. I think I can figure out if you are going to be a nervous wreck or not," he leans down and pecks my forehead," go with the red one. I'll be in the living room." with that he lets me go and walks out. I shake my head, smiling to myself.

I put on the red dress then walk to my bathroom to fix my hair. I get cleaned up and walk out into the living room. I find Silas lounging on the sofa. His arms stretched out on the back and his legs crossed at the ankle. He looks handsome here. I never bothered looking at him before this week. It felt wrong to ogle a friend but now it's different.

He finally notices me and he drops his arms off the sofa," Fuck." he rests his elbow on his knee. Looking me up and down grinning like a dork. Its almost unfitting on his sexy face. It's so dopey that I can't help but smile back.

"I'll take it you like it," I fidget with the fabric of my dress.

"Like it? I love it, you look holy. Like a goddess really. I'm not worthy of your time but I will cherish it because I'm a greedy man," he lays it on thick.

"Alright, alright. You could have just said you like it," I turn with a blush. I hear him stand from the sofa.

"And miss those rosy cheeks? never," he laughs.

"biggest flirt I have ever met," I mumble as I cup my cheek, fighting off the smile curling my lips. As I fail I turn my face into my palm, grinning like an idiot.

"aw," he coos as he holds my arms," don't hide that beautiful smile." he pries my hand away from my face. I look anywhere but him, not use to this sort of attention. He replaces my hand with his own, turning me towards him. His eyes gleam with admiration and the edges of his lips curls slightly making his cheeks crease. We say nothing to break the silence, too lost in each other's eyes. His smile grows wider before he curls his bottom lip in between his teeth.

"Too damn beautiful," he whispers as he drops his head to mine. My heart swells with the gesture, my insides turning to jelly as he nuzzles my forehead. With a sigh, he turns and pecks me on the cheek before righting himself. "Sorry, lost myself there for a moment. Shall we head to dinner," he tilts his head. I take in a heavy breath, calming the fluttering butterflies in my torso. The warm fuzzy feeling flowing from his hand down into my body. I nod.

We walk out of my apartment to his car waiting out front. It's not hard to spot as it's likely the most expensive car in the lot. He helps me in, like a gentleman I didn't think he could be, and we are on our way.

The ride is exciting but nerve-wracking. The tension sits in my stomach, though it's easy to push away with our simple conversation about our days. When he puts his hand on my knee I can't decide on an emotion. His thumb petting my skin is pleasing but it gets me thinking how the night is expected to end.

Before thoughts can spiral into stomach twisting anxiety we stop in front of a building. I look up at the faintly glowing blue sign saying something in French. Silas startles me when he hops out the car. I watch him come around to my side, opening the door with an awaiting helping hand.

"We have arrived my lady," he purrs as I grab his hand. I get out the car confused, looking around at the array of valets driving cars. I have never been to place fancy enough to have valets. Can hardly think Olive Garden doing something so bouche.

"Looks expensive," I mumble as I watch a young man hop into the expensive car. Silas pulls me along into the building.

"I spare no expense for my night of apologizing and wooing," he jokes. I just hums in answer as we enter the luxurious waiting room. The area is dim, having blue edge lights under ledges and baseboards. The fish tank feels like icing on the cake. The only fish tank I've seen in a restaurant have been lobster tanks. This one has actual fish that you aren't supposed to eat.

I don't notice when we make it to the host stand, too focused on the decked-out surroundings.

"D'Amore," Silas answers without prompt. The older lad at the host stand doesn't even look up as he searches his tablet. No warning he walks away. Silas tugs me along after the man.

We walk further into the dimly lit room. I can't stop my eyes from wandering around, feeling oh so out of place. The looks of the food at people's tables screams that we shouldn’t be able to afford this. Silas and I work for decent pay but even my penny-pinching self can't fathom having enough to dine here.

A few people cast glances at us as we walk by, most lingering on Silas. When eyes go to me it's like being drowned in judgment. I definitely don't belong here.

The host introduces us to our seats before parting. Silas pushes out my chair, pushing it back in once I sit. I can't focus on him as the anxiety stacks. I feel so out of place, so wrong. I shouldn't be here, dining like I have a right to such a sophisticated place. I shouldn't be pretending as I could ever. When I look at Silas I feel about that same, I shouldn't even be with him.

As I fuel my own fire Silas reaches out and grabs my hand," Babe, are you alright?" I startle at his question. I snap my unfocused gaze to him.

"Yea, I'm alright. I just-I've never been in a place like this," I nibble on my cheek. Silas watches me, lingering on every twitch. He squeezes my hand, trying to catch my attention but it's too undirected.

"I have a question for you," he starts cryptically. I finally keep my focus on him, dread boiling to my chest.

"yea," I ask. His eyes look between mine, his face stern.

"If an android has a kid with a person and their man milk is technically from their creator, is the baby his," he says while biting back a grin.

I furrow my brow," What?"

"an android, the organic robots, if one had a kid with it's manufactured spunk that technically was a real human's nut, would he be the dad or the human who made it first," he clarifies.

I can't bring myself to answer as I'm too confused about the question. As his words linger a smile cracks onto my lips as the background fades away.

"Well," I start," it would-I mean it could be. Alright, you got me there." we both chuckle.

"Yea, it's kind of stumped me all day. I heard it from a friend and I don't know what the right answer would be. Ideally, the android is the dad but in a DNA test the human would be the dad, though he didn't shoot it," he rambles.

As we discuss this 'important' topic I feel more welcome. It's easy to see Silas as a handsome egotistical playboy who doesn't have an awkward bone in his body. I forget how completely ridiculous he is. The main reason I ever fell for him.

Dinner goes well as the conversation flows freely. Some topics are risqué and others childish. We do get a few looks from the other patrons but I could hardly care. It's hilarious to be eating such high-class food while debating what is the best 90's cartoon is.

It's clearly the Animaniacs.

It seems too soon when the check comes. The friendly rivalry over the superiority of Dc vs Marvel is put on pause when he takes out his wallet. The moment is long enough for reality to settle back in. our next activity of the night pops into my head with a startling realization.

Next, we head home.

The thought is pleasant but my stomach still twists. I like Silas and the idea of giving myself to him isn't completely off-putting, it's actually nice. Either way the chance of something going wrong bounces around in my head with no escape.

We walk out to the valet, Silas' hand on my lower back, I dwell on fears. I'm so nervous and admitting it doesn't help. We get into his car and head on out. Silas tries to keep the conversation going, which succeeds enough for the time being. It's when we turn towards my home does it fail to keep me relaxed.

I fidget in my seat, fiddling with my dress as I nibble on my cheek. I keep reminding myself of his devotion so far and how it should be impossible for sex with an Incubus to be bad. Which is true, it can-will- be amazing. Yet, the devotion part wrinkles my brain.

I tense when we near my home, the sight of the apartment pushing needles in my legs. I watch it come closer and closer, my anxiety mounting higher and higher. As my turn comes up for the parking lot I'm surprised when we pass it. I watch it go back, twisting in my seat to watch some more.

"What," I mumble as I twist in my seat. I look over to Silas who has a fighting smile on his face. I know we aren't heading to his place as it's the complete other direction, so where are we going?

"Something wrong," Silas asks, his smile widening.

"Nothing wrong, I just thought we were going to my place next," I bait.

He shrugs, looking at the clock on the dash. 8:34.

"Seems a bit early to be ending the night so fast," he answers.

"I guess," I watch him," though I can't possibly think what else you have planned besides…uhh." I drop off at the end. Silas passes me a glance, that smirk resting so peacefully.

"What other plans," he teases," are you talking about the finale of the night? The part where I lay you down and give you the best orgasms of your life?" I blush, turning towards the window, feeling like an innocent child. Silas chuckles, reaching over to rest his hand on my leg again. "No need to be so flustered, love, we have time before that," he squeezes my leg," we are heading somewhere special. Somewhere I have rarely taken a date before."

He piques my interest," Oh yeah? I'm not going to some abandoned house to be ditched, right?"

He scoffs," what kind of man do you think I am? Also, I've taken someone to an abandoned house before. Though it was his idea, not mine. Not an experience I will repeat, don't fuck with goth dudes."

"You had sex with a goth dude in an abandoned house," I laugh.

"I don't kiss and tell," he purses his lips. I bark out in laughter.

"Yes you do, that's actually how we got to here," I snicker.

"Yea, yea," he waves a hand," doesn't matter now, I'm only with you." I fluster again at his declaration. It's still hard to believe he would choose me over everyone he has been with.

"So where are we going," I change the subject.

"It's a surprise," he smiles, pleased with himself.

"a surprise? I can't remember that last time a boyfriend tried to surprise me," I answer. Out the corner of my eye, I see Silas pass me a cocky glance.

"a boyfriend? Are you calling me your boyfriend now," he teases the edge of my dress," I like it."

I blush," shut up."

"awe, don't be so mean to your boyfriend," he stops at a light. He takes the time to lean over, cornering me with an arm on my seat. "Your boyfriend's feelings are hurt, can you give me a little kiss to make it better," he pouts.

I scoff at him," you sound like such a fuckboy right now."

He shrugs," if it works."

"shut up," I smile as I grab his cheeks and press a chaste kiss to his lips. He doesn't allow me to get away with that, pulling me in for a better kiss.

His warm lips mold expertly over mine, stealing my breath so easily. His fingers crawl up my thigh, bunching up the hem of my dress. My fingers trail into his hair to grab a handful, pulling him closer as I rest against the seat. He fills the space quickly, pressing as close as he can. I feel his palm smooth under my dress till his finger timidly presses against my underwear. The tip wiggles under the band, barely touching my crotch.

A car horn makes us jump apart, starling us back into our respected seats. As I catch my breath Silas drives onward

My first clue is lights in the distance and a large line of cars following in the same direction. It finally clicks when a familiar amusement ride is revealed.

"The fair," I ask.

"Yep," he grins," perfect, right?"

"yea but aren't we both a little overdressed for a fair," I pluck at his sleeve.

"Hardly matters, we both look stunning and we are going to win the games in style," he smooths back his hair. I snicker at him.

"Whatever you say," I smile to myself as I look at the oncoming fair. It really is a good idea, though I won't pat him on the shoulder just yet.

He parks and we head in.

The fairgrounds are crowded and full of color. The lively conversation and dull lull of obnoxious music is jovial. It's such a contrast to the fine dining restaurant we ate at. This place has deep-fried everything and games rigged to make you lose. It's lovely and downright perfect.

Silas wraps his arm over my shoulder, pulling me close, and we are off.

Everything is so eye-catching, pulling my attention back and forth. The games flash colorful lights, people gathered around each booth screaming out in triumph or frustration. The food stands engulf the air with its high calories snacks. Further down the way, more lights shine as lines of people wait for their turn on some typical carnival ride. So many activities and such little time.

Silas throws an arm over my shoulder and tugs me towards a booth that doesn't have all the glamor and glam as the others. A ticket booth with a few people standing in a line before it. A family leaves the front of the line holding a rope of tickets. We slowly make it to the front to meet a smiling woman.

"Hello, sweetie," Silas grins widely," twenty tickets please, and thank you." for the added flair he throws in a wink. His arm drops from around my shoulder to my waist, pulling me closer to his side. Despite this the woman blushes to herself, smiling as she counts out our tickets.

"Here you are, sugar, twenty tickets," she smiles," I hope you have a grand ole time."

Silas takes the tickets," Will do, dear."

With that Silas tugs me away again towards the rows of well-decorated stalls. I try to not let the flirty interaction get in my head too much. It's Silas, he has always been that way. It's not like I expected him to change because of me. Still, the wink irks me just a little.

"So, what do you want to do first," Silas squeezes my hip," you are in charge from this point on."

I quirk a cheeky brow at him," That’s a bold thing to say." he smiles down at me with that spine chilling smirk.

"What can I say, sometimes it's hot to have your woman in charge," he teases. The insinuation should be alarming but the fun to be had is too tempting.

"And what if I like my man to be in charge instead," I turn away, hiding the blush blooming along my cheeks. I feel him lean down closer, his breath fanning down my dress.

"Keep calling me your man and I'll be whatever you like," he purrs. I feel outmatched now, slowly working my way towards the deep end. My cheeks hurt as I fight back a dorky smile and a silly giggle. Silas still finds out, cooing as he presses a kiss to my cheek.

"Alright, alright, stop," I push him away," let's see what games they have here." he chuckles as he straightens, pulling me to his side once more as we walk down the large path.

We see games varying from strength to skills, puzzles to sporty. Everyone jokes around each game, laughing and teasing one another as they all attempt to win the stuffed prizes. One game catches my eye, a milk jug and baseball skill test.

"how's your pitching," I ask him. He raises a brow in question before he too spots the game.

"I mean, I don't wanna brag," he jokes as we walk over.

I scoff," you don't wanna brag, hell must have frozen over." he snorts, tearing off a few tickets as he stops in front of the carnival worker.

"one ticket for one throw, three tickets for four," the tall teen says. Silas exchanges three tickets for four balls. He passes me two and we arrange ourselves to our own lane.

"Alright," Silas tosses the ball around in his hands," Watch a pro at work." I watch him reel back and launch the softball across the lane. The ball tings the top of the pyramid, flicking the milk jug off. As the jug rolls around on the floor I look to Silas.

"I think I'm watching the wrong guy if I'm supposed to be witnessing a pro," I shrug. He scowls at me, fiddling with the other ball in his hand.

"Yea, yea, shut up. Tis but a warmup," he shakes out his shoulders before squaring his stance. He launches the ball again completely missing the tower all together. I snort, biting back a snicker as he deflates.

"I think we have different definitions of pro," I chuckle. He snaps towards me, playfully sneering as he walks over.

"Alright, your turn, princess," he crosses his arms in a challenge. I smile at him, accepting his challenge with open arms. I walk up to the bar, setting one of the balls down. I toss the solo one around in my hands before tossing a look over my shoulder.

"You know in high school I use to be in sports," I look back to the restacked jugs," I did a few here and there but only one really stuck with me. I played softball for two years before I had to quit, and do you know what position I played?" before he could answer I launch the ball towards the tips of the bottom row. They explode outward, all tipping over. Two stay on the barrel while the rest tumble to the floor. With a cocky smile I turn to Silas, "I was the pitcher."

Silas looks between me and the milk jugs. He huffs in amusement, walking over towards me.

"Who knew confidence would look so sexy on you," he grabs at my hips," but not to rain on your parade or anything, but you are supposed to knock them all off the barrel." I scoff at him, hitting him in the chest.

"Yea, but I still get a small prize," I twist away from him," no need to be sour, I'll let you pick the toy."

We walk to the booth operator, Silas standing behind me. He grabs at me once more, leaning his chest against my back. He rests his chin on my shoulder, speaking near my ear.

"I'm not sour, just defeated. Also, I want the purple whale," he nuzzles against my head. I grin, feeling warm as I pet his head. The teenager grabs the small whale from the hooks, passing it to me before attending to the other players.

I hand the whale to Silas," Here you go, babe, I won it just for you." he grabs the whale, hugging it close.

"Thanks, baby. You spoil me too much," he nuzzles the toy with a teasing smile. My heart flutters with an unknown feeling as I watch him. It's nice seeing him be so human, to act like a typical person and not some unapproachable man slut. He catches me staring, turning on his charm once more.

"I’d say take a picture but I like having you look at me like that," he teases, cocky as ever. I roll my eyes, walking past him with no direction in mind.

We walk around the grounds playing all sorts of games. Neither of us wins many games, coming very close in a few of them. It helps our egos that the games are rigged, the fact fueling us to continue on. There is teasing and jokes, all in good fun. The night is going better than I expected, I didn't think a date night with Silas would be so juvenile. This is more of a date for teens or parents with their kids. I appreciate it more than he could ever know.

Our tickets dwindle quickly till we only have enough for one more game. We study the area, picking our final activity wisely. Silas taps my shoulder, pointing towards one across the way. He guides me towards it, holding my hand as we walk through the traffic of people. As we near I see a large pool of water covered in floating toy ducks.

"Lucky ducks," I ask him," it's not much of game, don't you think?"

He smiles to himself as he hands the tickets to the older woman," I think you will find that I'm quite skilled in games of luck."

"Confident as ever, but sure," I shrug. I watch him look at the spinning pool of ducks, thinking way too hard on this. He leans forward, ready to pluck the plastic duck out of the water. He pauses halfway, retreating in favor of looking to me.

"How about a wager," he offers. I watch him skeptically, feeling like his inner fuckboy is going to come out.

"I don't know, I've been warned about making deals with devils," I joke. He rolls his eyes.

"har, har. For real, a bet for if I find the lucky duck. You up for that kind of deal," he asks. I cross my arms, standing firm as I give him a once over.

"What's the wager," I ask in turn. I fully expect some sleazy demand that will make a mother blush. You can take the playboy out of the game but you can't take the game out of the playboy.

"If I find the duck, you owe me a favor," he smiles, looking away towards the pool," I want to ride the Ferris wheel with you before we leave." I startle at his request, not expecting something so simple. It almost feels like a waste of a bet.

"That's it," I ask. He looks to me almost offended.

"Yea, I never got to do that. All my old dates wanted to get home really quick so they don't bother with cutesy things like that. Listen, if you don't want to that fine, we can leave right after. I was just curious," he folds into himself, turning away. The insecurities shine brightly from him. It's really eye-opening.

It's hard to remember that Silas was missing a lot from his short-lived relationships. They were never intimate, getting down to business quickly. It's cute to see how much Silas wants that kind of thing. To cuddle up on some sketchy carnival ride and watch the lights below with a loved one. My heart flutters at the genuine sadness he is showing at my supposed rejection.

As he fiddles with his pockets I walk over. I grab at his face, turning him towards me, and kissing him as best as I can. He jumps at the action, pausing as he figures out what's happening. Then as quick as any incubus could be, he reacts. He holds me close as he expertly molds his lips to mine. I want to pull back and continue with whatever I was going to say but his tongue is teasing at my lips. Who am I to deny such a tempting request.

We split as we hear a pair of teenagers giggling to themselves. I pull away, chuckling as he keeps me close. His eyes remain closed as his jaw clenches. He seethes silently before he slowly peels his lids open. His black eyes slowly fade away as he stares down at me so stern. I can't help but cup his cheeks, petting him with my thumb.

"You know I want everything with you, right? Not just the sex or carnal pleasure you can give but the sweet stuff too," I smile kindly," I'm not like the others, I want to ride the Ferris wheel with you and laugh at how tiny everyone looks from so high up."

A loving smile spreads across his face," They look like ants from so high up."

"Yea, they do," I chuckle," now I need you to pick that lucky duck and win me a prize because so far I'm a far more talented date than you are." he snorts, loosening his hold on my waist. We split away, him turning to the pool and quickly pulling a duck from the water. Without turning it over he looks to me.

"What stuffed animal do you want," he asks. I look from him to the duck then back again. He seems so confident. I open my mouth to retort with some teasing comment but he stops me with a smirk. I squint at him, understanding the challenge. He knows he won. Instead, I look to the large toys lining the front of the booth.

"The Domo doll," I smile back at him. He nods, walking over to the booth worker. He tosses the duck to the man who turns it over and sighs.

"Any toy from the top row," the man grunts out. I scoff, shaking my head in disbelief.

We stand in line for the Ferris wheel, him holding his little whale and I hugging a large stuffed cartoon character. I catch his eyes, smiling widely at him as I hug the toy closer. We near the ride, a worker opening the swinging door to the carriage. I stuff my prize in before myself, Silas following behind. The worker closes the door along with the latch as Silas throws his arm over me.

The ride slowly takes us to the top, stopping as people below get on and off. "Did you have fun tonight," Silas asks. I look up to him, enjoying the sight of his hair ruffling in the breeze.

"yea," I snuggle into his chest," I did." he gives me a squeeze, kissing the top of my head.

"Good," he answers," I had fun too."

The ride stops at the very top, the view taking both of our attentions. The lights and people below make me feel whimsical. The cold air cools my heated cheeks and Silas warms me from the breeze. I find my attention shifting from the colorful sights below to the sweet man beside me. I stare up at him, watching him look out in the distance. A small smile tugs at the edge of his lips, a content sigh leaving his nose.

"I know I'm better than the view but you can look at me anytime compared to this," he turns to me. As our eyes meet everything stops. It feels so cliché but right as we lean towards each other till our noses brush against the other's.

"Silas," I mumble. Before I can say anymore he jumps to capture my lips. I choke on my breath, meeting him with as much eagerness as he gives. He slowly crowds me against the corner of the carriage, pressing his chest against mine as he attacks my lips. His tongue delves in, swirling with mine as a groan leaves my lips. Everything feels so amplified with him. The way his body heats my own, the way his hands pull my hips against his. I feel so hot despite being so cold. I want him, I want him bad.

"Come on guys, people are waiting," someone calls from behind us. Silas slowly pries his lips away from mine, sighing as his eyes open. His pitch-black eyes stare down into my own, promising so much with crotch throbbing appeal.

"My place," he asks with a cocky grin. I can't answer besides a nod.

The next few minutes feel like a blur as we race to the car and to his apartment. Traffic laws are ignored as all I can feel is his heated palm on my thigh. I don't know when we get to his place but all I know is his hard cock grinding against my clothed crotch. At some point we end up in his room, the soft blankets shock me out of a stupor. The seriousness of the situation clears my head.

Silas notices me stiffen, his lips against my neck leave as he looks down at me. He pets along my arms," Shh, it's alright. You want to go slower?"

"Y-yea," I answer, petting on his arms.

"I can do that," he kisses my forehead," we can go a little slower. Just let me tell you how tonight will go down." his tone is teasing. I find myself smiling, amused by his waiter sounding tone. Speaking like he is going to read the specials off the menu.

"Well, you’re a virgin, correct?" I nod," then you get the trifecta."

I scoff," The trifecta?"

"yea," he smirks," fingers, tongue, and cock." his tongue clicks on the final word, adding to the teasing. I fluster, turning away as I picture all this. In answer he brushes his nose against my neck, growling with interest. "now let's start with taking these clothes off."

The motion of removing another person's clothes feels just as intimate as anything I've ever experienced. He bares his chest before me, allowing me time to be distracted by such a sculpted torso. As I pet along his chest he lifts my dress up. His fingers touch at my underwear, I stiffen at the contact. The burning in my belly wars with the anxiety dwelling in my chest.

"It's ok, I got you," he purrs near my ear," keep touching me, I like having your delicate touch on my chest." I follow his demand, petting nervously up his chest as his fingers dive under my clothes. I buck into his hand, embarrassed immediately for doing so. He calms me by kissing my cheek. His fingers quickly delve between my folds, pressing where I need him most.

The sudden attention to my swollen clit brings my back to an arch. I press my clothed chest to his bare one. The rolling growl coming from him makes me whimper. His fingers swiftly glide over my nub, building me quicker than I ever have alone. He kisses and licks my neck, lathering me in attention. Before I can get used to the quick slides of his fingers he presses them down and inside me. His middle fingers squelch as they swiftly go in.

"Silas," I clench as his shoulders. His fingers begin to thrust in and out, petting along my walls with a strange filling feeling.

"Does it feel good," he asks, I nod," no, kitten, you need to use your words."

I open my mouth to answer but his thumb presses to my clit, massaging in short fast circles. I choke on my words, throwing my head back with a broken cry. His fingers cease their thrusting in favor of bouncing against a sweet spot.

"Does it feel good, I won't ask again," he scolds with a smirk.

"Y-yes," I whimper. He rewards me with quicker motions, basically throwing me to my peak. I claw at his shoulder as my body racks with shudders till I'm suspended over my end.

"Cum for me," he purrs near my ear," I want to see you cum for me." I cry out, arching away from him as he forces my body to its end. I clamp around his fingers, fluttering as I grind in his hand. I barely notice him watching me, too focused on my climax.

"So beautiful," I faintly hear him say.

I soon fall slack to the bed, dropping my arms from around his shoulders. His fingers squelch as they are removed from inside me. The wetness on his fingers trails over my thighs before he is removed from my underwear. I watch him lift his fingers to his mouth, his tongue flicking out to clean them.

"Fuck," I whisper as he licks his palm. He smirks down at me as he twines his tongue around his ring finger.

"You taste divine, kitten. I can't wait to get a direct taste," he purrs. Those black eyes are all I can look at as he slides his hands under my dress.

He is tender as he removes my clothes, kissing up my stomach as he lifts my dress. As my bra is tossed to the side he tilts his head in admiration as he cups my breast. He fondles them for a moment, getting distracted by taking off my underwear.

I soon lay bare before him, feeling like a feast with the way he looks at me. He falls over me, framing me with his arms as he fists the blanket. I watch him lean forward, my lips part in preparation. I close my eyes, ready for his lips upon mine. Yet, instead of getting a kiss, I have the blanket below me ripped out from under me. I open my eyes in time to see him removing his pants. The blanket rests on his shoulder, splaying out behind him like a cape.

I watch him confused, momentarily looking at his crotch. I don't have enough time to admire his standing cock as he falls on his stomach. His hands grab at my thighs, spreading me as he scoots up.

"It's time for me to get a taste," he smirks. I sit back ready to watch him bring me to a swift orgasm like before. He surprises me by throwing the blanket over his head, blocking my view of him.

"what are you doing," I ask as I fist the sheets. I can feel his hands petting on my thighs, see the blanket shifting.

"I want you to close your eyes and feel me," he answers. His nose bumps my crotch, startling me. I clench at the sheets, conflicted on how this will play out.

His tongue flicks at the seams, only partially delving between my lips. He is slow in his explorations, teasing with simple touches. The feeling is completely new, completely different from any of my solo sessions. With the added benefit of not knowing what's going to happen. He works his way from the bottom to the top, drinking any and all I have to offer from the previous orgasm. The sensitive skin gives way to new, wonderful sensations. It's not overstimulated like I would assume but its…perfect. Hardly expect anything less from a sex demon I guess.

I relax, not climbing to unbearable levels of pleasure but sitting in a state of comforting arousal. His fingers brought me swiftly to an end, satisfying the craving while calming my nerves. I hum with a grin, carding my finger through my hair as my leg pets along his back. I feel his lazing lapping, delving inside with his own groans of enjoyment.

He startles me with a quick flat lick to my clit. My back arches as I hiss, not prepared for the shock to run up my stomach. He does it again, circling the tip of his tongue around then over it. The electric and warm feeling is brain-melting. I find myself grinding into his mouth to feel more, surprising myself with my eagerness. He delivers in full, bringing me to a swifter climax than his fingers did. I feel like a porn star with my cries as I clamp my thighs around his head. I barely hear his own cries of pleasure as I do.

As I come into my own he throws the blanket off his head, looking way too happy to have gone down on me. "ya feeling alright," he hugs my hips," not too tired yet right?" his smug grin would have made me angry any other time. To be fair, those other times he never earned it.

I reach down and run my fingers through his hair. I smile tiredly down at him and hum in answer. He rests his chin on my pelvis, tilting into my hand with closed eyes. This isn't what I expected at all. I imagined wild coupling with animalistic cries into the night. This is… strangely better. I can't imagine he has ever done this before. All his conquest have been weird kinky sex that- I wouldn't say bragged- he talked about at work. Over divulging in every detail to the point you could paint a solid picture of sweaty bodies and soaked sheets. But this is better, not what I expected, but what I needed.

"you are too skilled at this for your own good, your ego needs a break sometimes," I joke as I pap his cheek.

"well, since this 'skill' is being used to please my lady, I hardly think it could be that bad. Though hearing you cry out for only me may make my head swell. Actually, it has," he gets up on his hands and crawls up my body. My eyes fall directly on his hard cock. It takes me a moment to get his joke, by the time I do he is pressing kisses my neck.

I grab a fistful of his hair and pull him back," that was an awful joke." he laughs as I bring him down for a kiss.

"They can't all be award-winning, besides I heard you like my stupid jokes," he grins against my lips.

"I never said I was a smart woman," I chuckle.

"But you are," he kisses my cheek," you are smart," kisses my nose," funny," my brow," sexy," my eyelid," and best of all," corner of my mouth," you like me." I pull him into his next kiss, meeting his lips with mine. But damn he is right, I do like him.

"now are you ready for the main course," he gropes my hips. At the question, I feel his cock resting against my thigh. The nerves he worked hard to rest are cranking up again. I think on every story and video I have seen on losing your virginity. Thinking about the pain or the countless unsatisfied women. What if I don't like it? What if it hurts too bad? Too many questions float by.

As I get lost in my train of thought Silas cups my cheek. He turns me so all I can see is him. He looks between my eyes, his face focused and concerned. It’s a strange look for him, having never considered him to ever be concerned for anyone, let alone me.

"You know I won't hurt you, I don't think I could if I tried. I promised you this would all work out, I will make this good for you. Just talk with me, ok? Can you do that for me, love," he raises his brow in question. I look up at him, noticing every detail of his blue eyes.

"yea, I can do that," I answer. He smiles down at me, the feeling almost similar to when a child gets a cookie after being good. He leans down and kisses the tip of my nose, resting his head against mine with a content hum.

"Do you, Chloe, wish to be bounded to me from this point forward? To be my mate and lover till the day we expire," he asks with all seriousness," no pressure." he tries to smirk, to add humor to this but I can see the worry. It's almost humbling in a weird way. I reach up and cup his cheek, tilting my head with a smile.

"Make love to me, Silas, and be the first person I see tomorrow," I pet under his eye. His smile is blinding, his eyes light up with too much joy to be anything but heartwarming. He turns his head and kisses my palm before resting himself on his hand.

He adjusts himself so he rests at my entrance. The weight shooting anxiety up to my head. With a well-timed glance and encouraging smile from him, the small seed of anxiety is gone. He won't hurt me. He frames my head with his arms as he presses his tip in. my stomach clenches at the odd intrusion. Silas lowers his head and presses wet kisses to my cheek. I try to relax, focusing on his lips more than his cock. He shoves forward slowly. I can't think for a moment, only feeling this very new stuffing feeling. The smooth glide of his cock is surprisingly a welcome feeling. I expected sharp pains accompanied by a hard snap of his hips. Then again it's kind of dumb of me to assume he wouldn't be considerate and take his time. He has been nothing but patient with me.

"We doing alright," he asks without a strain to his voice. I open my mouth to answer but he takes the moment to slide the rest of the way in. I choke on my words and take to nodding instead. He chuckles, still peppering my face with gentle kisses. "you feel perfect my love," he praises," it's like I was made for this, for you. You fit around me so welcomingly." he pulls back before grinding himself back in. The build-up made this moment all the sweeter. He pulls out again then glides forward. He kept true to his word, he didn't hurt me. Very much the opposite, I think as my eyelids flutter.

His pace is slow, his kisses wet and warm. I could get used to this. I pet up his back, holding him close as I find myself meeting his unhurried thrust. An urge for him to do more is overwhelming but as I buck into him, he keeps his pace. I grow frustrated at this.

"faster," I sigh into his ear.

"there you go," he praises as he ups his tempo," I will do anything for you, just ask." our thighs clap lightly as we meet. I undulate my hips with each downfall, grinding myself into him. He grunts to my surprise, thrusting a tad faster as I buck. I like that sound, I need him to do it again. I let go and scratch at the nape of his neck, moaning and crying into his ear.

"Silas, oh fuck," I whine as I arch my back into him. He bites down onto my neck, growling as he does. I can't help but smirk to myself, loving the sound of him. "Silas, please. Your coc-," I stop myself, feeling embarrassed to even say the word. His thrust slow, I groan in disagreement.

"say it," he hisses near my ear.

"Please," I wrap my legs around his hips, pulling him closer. Begging him to go back to fucking me.

"Say it," he repeats. I whimper below him, not giving a damn at the moment how wonton I look. He lifts his head from my shoulder, looking down at me. The look on his face is my new favorite view. He looks as wrecked as I feel. Sweet Jesus.

"your co-cock," I spit out," I love it." he grins, picking up the pace again. Slamming into my hips with great vigor. I cry out, writhing beneath him.

"What do you like," he asks. I can't figure out how he can speak when I'm nearly at the peak of brain failure.

"so, hard. Just for me," I choke out," fucking, love your cock, want you- need you to cum in me. Please."

He hums," I will. Fill you to the brim, then when I do I'll fill you some more. Your cunt is mine, my beautiful mate. This cock is yours to ride whenever, cause only I can do this to you." he snaps his hips harder on the next thrust," only I get to see you this way. Only you get to bring me to this level of want. By god, I wanted to fuck you during dinner. Rip your panties down and take you in front of everyone," he rests his head against my head, watching me fall apart at his words. I whimper and moan without a care. My insides feel like they are on fire, nearly burning me as I near my end.

He watches me with rapt attention," Cum for me, Chloe. Let me feel you squeeze my cock, please, love, I need it." I cry out, stuttering as my body stiffens. He watches with a grin, fucking me through my climax. He grunts and groans as I flutter around him, begging him to reach his own end. I pant against the pillow as I watch him try to maintain his cool. Trying to prolong the experience for a second longer.

I tug on his hair," Cum for me, Silas. Please, I need to feel it, need to feel you." he gasps with a startled yelp. His eyes clenching close as he finally peaks. His hips buck wildly, clapping my thighs with his own. Silas shouts and whimpers as he falls apart. I feel his hot load shoot inside me, the sensation startling but welcomed.

"Chloe," he whines," fuck!" his body falls slack onto mine, his weight making it hard to breathe. I don't say anything, just pet his hair and listen to his labored breathing.

"Damn, I need a minute," he grunts as he shifts to the side. I move to sit up but he quickly grips my arms," hold on, I don't want to leave you just yet" the words send a warm feeling through my chest. It's oddly satisfying to hear that. I hum as I settle back against the bed.

"thank you," I find myself saying.

"don't thank me. In all honesty, I should be thanking you. I have been less than savory with you and it took me way too long to get my head out of my ass. You have been way too patient and forgiving with me. Thank you," he says into my shoulder, finishing it off with a kiss.

"I love you, Silas," I mumble against his cheek. I nuzzle my head against his, really feeling the effects of three orgasms.

He hums, pulling me closer," I love you too, Chloe." he finally pulls out and adjusts me in his arms. We both fall asleep in no time.

I wake the next morning to his beautiful face. We both smile, share a kiss, then go make breakfast together.

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

Sweet jesus, this was my white whale. i don’t know why it was so hard for me to finish this. i would write like 5 paragraphs and not touch it for weeks. it took me strapping down and forbidding myself from touching any other stories besides incomplete ones, even then i would skip this one. so i really hope y’all liked it.

Check out my Archive | Masterlist | Main Blog

#exophilia #monster boyfriend #Enigma-IM #fluff #carnival #bonding

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the-river-person · 3 years

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Mistral Sans is now Community Shared

To echo the words of @undertaleauoc, Mistral is "open for use" without the need to request permission from the creator (me) though I’d like to be tagged and credited still. Mistral Formerly named: Sans Age: 10 to the power of 100 years (technically a little more than that by now, but the number is so huge that it's no longer relevant.) Gender: Male Appearance: Appears much like Classic Sans, except for the silvery-white crystalline formations growing all over his body. These can get quite large if he hasn’t removed them in a while, and are often quite sharp to anyone with flesh instead of bone. He makes an effort to keep the Kenón from growing up over his head and face, or from completely encasing his body, but it's difficult to keep up with since it grows faster whenever he happens to be in the Void itself. He wears a long brown overcoat, gloves, and long black trousers, mostly in effort to hide the Kenón as much as possible or keep the sharp points from cutting people by accident. He also keeps a red bandana around his neck, something given to him by Papyrus. His eyes never went back to their original state after the Void-Sickness. Instead of dark hollows with a white iris, they seem to be a pale grey, like a well of deep nothingness. Backstory: Mistral’s Universe is based upon the question “What would happen if the Human just never stopped the Resets, but went on forever?” And the resulting Tale that followed was one of mindless repetitions for time out of mind as the Human would Reset in order to prevent the Underground from being destroyed. Eventually the human, who was no longer human, stopped when Sans suggested a different means to preserve their Universe without killing. This Underground has a deep history of worship and lore that surrounds their Angel, and Sans played the role of Judge, a historical job where someone representing the Angel’s Justice would be called upon to make an absolute Judgement upon anyone or anything. The King called upon him to bring his judgement upon the entire Underground for their part in everything. Formerly a scientist under his Uncle Gaster, he helped come up with the “Solution” which the entire Underground was inoculated with to help them remember beyond Resets. He himself was a victim of the Void poisoning like that which affected Gaster’s Followers and was only saved from being wiped to a blank slate by Gaster’s efforts. A fragment of Kenón (Void-stone) and determination was placed in his soul, causing the crystals to spread from it. In later years as the Underground thrived despite the Resets, he pushed himself to get another degree, this time in psychology, and eventually became a practicing therapist/psychologist (as well as the Underground’s willing delivery boy. He liked being able to see and talk to people all the time, and get to know things.) Upon the destruction of his Universe he was thrown into the Void with his Uncle Gaster, where they were rescued by the mysterious River Person. They met with Ink!Sans who explained the Multiverse and gave them the means to travel it. Now they travel from Universe to Universe, or sometimes wander the Void itself, or the Anti-Void. Gaster (now named Majuscule) is searching for his children, and Sans (now named Mistral) is helping while searching for the Ship his brother escaped with and whatever survivors of his people there might still be. Personality: Mistral is old. Though he was in a mindless forgetful repetitive state for much of the Resets, and has few memories of his own childhood beyond what Papyrus reminded him of, he is significantly mentally older than most of the other Monsters from his Universe. The determination in his soul (along with the Kenón) makes him very strong willed and much more powerful than he was before. It also gives him a minor energy boost. His years as a scientist specializing in studies of the Soul and Physics, as well as his later degree in psychology and practice as a therapist, make him a fairly discerning person who is easily approachable and can talk about a number of different subjects with ease. Despite his actions during the Genocide Routes, he is a much more mentally stable person (possibly one of the most stable Sanses out there from what I see) and is very much a pacifist, refusing violence altogether and choosing to let his words and mind guide him out of trouble, or his teleportation to let him escape danger. Because of his refusal to consider physical violence, even in his own defense, his skill in using fighting magic has atrophied. He can no longer summon the blasters at all, and his bone attacks are weaker. His teleportation on the other hand is much stronger and he can do it more often without tiring too much. The other effects of his refusal to fight means that he must proactively avoid confrontation whenever possible. Mistral uses his knowledge of how people think and act to guide his interactions with others, putting even Monsters from the Fell Universes at ease with well timed and thought out humorous comments, as well as just generally being willing to listen and try to see from the point of view of other people. He can tell puns, but they usually sound a bit forced, like he memorized them somewhere and was just waiting for a point to use them. Very rarely he’ll come up with the perfect one on the spot and be absolutely thrilled with himself. More often he uses dry humor, throwaway lines, or Hyperbole.

His willingness to try and defuse the tension caused by aggressive Monsters he’s dealing with can sometimes backfire on him and serves to make the Monster even angrier and more violent. Mistral will then flee, not wanting to fight them, but often marking himself as guilty or suspicious in the process when this happens with an authority figure who has confronted him for his presence.

The Kenón crystal growing all over his body tends to freak people out as well, which is why he hides it as much as he can beneath the overcoat, gloves, and bandana.

Like all skeletons of his Universe, Mistral has a great knowledge of fonts and writing systems, punctuation marks, ciphers, and typography. It is a very important subject to them as it very closely ties with how they see themselves, their identity as a person. This may be rather strange to skeletons from other Universes who do not share this background. A similar problem comes when skeletons from other Universes find out how strongly he and the Monsters of his world believe in the mythical Angel of Mount Ebbot and often pray to them or swear by them (or use “Angel” as a swear).

He’s also very interested in the concept of Identity and how it can change over time or be altered by events in your life, and how names connect to the concept of identity.

Can I use Mistral in my comic/story/animation/etc?: Sure. He’s a wandering type character, so it's likely he’ll show up in countless Universes and places all over while searching for his brother and his missing cousins. Sometimes he’ll be with Gaster and sometimes not.

One thing to note is that his story will have a continuation, so if in your story you detail events that involve him beyond just a brief meeting, chat, or background character… Just be aware that it's probably not going to be canon to the story I’m planning for him (though if we take other Multiverses into account it could be canon elsewhere).

I would like to insist that you tag and credit me on his use (Credit is good. Tagging me makes it so I can come see your wonderful creations).

Can I ship Mistral with this other character/characters?: Yeah, why not?. Canonically he’s aesexual and only very passingly interested in the idea of romantic relationships. But sure, ship him with whoever you like. Just know that it's not canon to this Multiverse.

While I would still like to be tagged in stuff that involves him. I know I can’t stop nsfw art/writing and other things of that nature from happening, much as I might like to. But be warned, If I see it or am tagged with that, or am sent asks of that... I will block you. Fontcest, Incest ships, child ships, or smut in general will all get you blocked instantly.

Canon height and weight: 4-5 feet high (same as Classic Sans). Weight was trickier. He’s a skeleton. A human skeleton is only about 15% of your body weight. So classic is probably somewhere around 16 or so pounds. But Mistral is covered by continually growing crystalline structures of Kenón. Since the crystal is heavy but spread out and somewhat kept under control, it probably only doubles his weight, making him 32 pounds.

Canon strength: Mistral isn’t a fighter. His attacks are weak because his desire to actually fight is nonexistent, even if he has to defend himself or others. But his actual physical strength, as opposed to his magical attacks, sees a significant increase to that of your normal Sans. The Kenón crystals actually increase his defense by making his bones stronger and more crack resistant, and his self healing is well equipped to deal with most breaks, though they’re still quite painful.

He also has increased endurance for longer physical or magical activities so long as combat or confrontation isn’t part of it.

Since he weighs more, he can’t jump as high as a Sans who weighs less (not that it's a huge difference. He’s only 32 pounds. Plus his strength can mostly make up for it by pushing himself off harder when jumping.)

Is it okay if I draw him with another gender, age, height, or sexuality?: Go for it. Have fun. Tag and credit me. But remember that it’s not canon to THIS Multiverse that I’m working in.

Canon Birthday?: September 16th (though he hasn’t celebrated in a LONG time. He probably doesn’t remember his last actual birthday party. Papyrus might though…)

Font?: Used to be Comic Sans. But now it's Mistral (upper and lowercase).

Original AU: Aeontale by

a_river_is_a_liminal_space

(or the-river-person. basically… me)

Can I send Asks for more details if I need or want them?: Yes. My askbox is open. I’ll answer what I can. I’ve put everything I can think of on here, but inevitably there’s always something missed in things like this. So ask away.

#mistral sans #community shared oc #undertale au #aeontale #character bio

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retvenkos · 3 years

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survivors | d.m.

Harry Potter: Golden Trio Era - Draco x Slytherin! Halfbood!Reader, angst, slightest fluff

word count: 11.2k

tw: blood, mentions death, mentions of war, pessimistic ending

A/N: this could be read as a platonic reader, if you want.

Summary: Draco couldn’t fix the Vanishing Cabinet himself, no matter how hard he wanted to. (Y/n) hadn’t wanted to help him, but they decided to, despite themself. Neither knew each other very well, but there seemed to be an understanding. Perhaps they could fix it together, and perhaps (Y/n) could fix the broken boy, too. Or maybe both of them would be shattered beyond recognition.

and i am angry at this world because i was not one of the innocent they decided to save.

ii.

During his sixth year at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy didn’t feel as alive as he once did. This castle was colder and quieter than it used to be, and as he patrolled the dungeon corridors for his prefect duties, he felt a chill in the air; the cold pricked the back of his neck - that bit of exposed skin between the ends of his hair and the stiff collar of his uniform. Despite himself, he twitched at it’s touch; the cold reminded him of darker memories that threatened to pull him under, reminding him of what happened over the summer.

If he closed his eyes, he was still there.

The harsh clicking of his father’s cane as he walked down the hall, someone else accompanying him by the sound of their footsteps. A voice that sounded like the hissing of a snake - high and cold and beckoning him forth. His mother’s frightened gaze and his father’s stiff jaw. The soft pleads of protest. But who were they to defy the Dark Lord...

Draco could still hear the sound of their approach, echoing against these aged, stone walls. The incessant sound filled his senses. His fingers twitched. His arm started to burn as the sound of footsteps came nearer. Echoing, echoing, echoing...

“You would be an idiot if you weren’t such a genius.”

A voice, not at all what he was expecting, brought Draco reeling into the present. The footsteps weren’t that of phantom memories, but the sound of someone in the castle - in this dungeon with him - traversing the corridors in the few moments before curfew.

“You could make a fortune off of your skills if you sold them the right way. What other students here can make their own spells?”

Draco stepped closer to the wall, his interest peaked. He fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve, waiting for the voices to speak, once again. He wouldn’t scare them off. He had never been much good at being a prefect, anyway.

“Michael, we talked about this. They’re all a work in progress - do you remember what happened last time I tried them out? I won’t make a fool of myself because they aren’t perfect.”

“That was one time, and you knew things weren’t going to go well. And I can’t remember the last time Hogwarts pumped out an actually decent spell creator! The talented only come once every lifetime - you shouldn’t pass this up.”

The voices devolved into arguing for a moment, until one of them swore lowly. “It’s curfew. You need to get up to Ravenclaw Tower.”

“Think about it, (Y/n).”

“Go.”

Footsteps filled the corridor once again. Draco took a deft step backward, further into the shadows, and a fellow Slytherin rushed past the corridor, never noticing the prefect that watched them. Draco pushed his lips into a thin line, grey eyes narrowing just a bit. The echoes faded, and when the corridor was silent, he breathed. Running a hand through his hair, Draco turned away, disappearing into darkness and shadow.

iii.

When Draco Malfoy sat down next to them in Charms class, (Y/n) supposed it was an oversight. Rumors about Draco not feeling well had been circulating the Slytherin gossip lines for the whole two months that school had been in session; Malfoy had missed classes regularly, skipped out on meals completely, and seemed to be neglecting his usual bully behavior, trading it all for a personality that seemed to be more like that Blaise Zabini than the boy he used to be. Sitting next to (Y/n) had to be a symptom of this strange illness that seemed to have captured him - maybe he was too tired to care.

Yes, that seemed to be it - he was tired. He certainly looked it, when (Y/n) spared him a glance, their eyes flicking over to him for a half moment while Flitwick was demonstrating their lesson for the day.

There were dark circles under his eyes, a sort of gaunt appearance to his well shaped face, and even though he seemed to be very keen on stopping it, with his eyes focused the way they were, his hands seemed to be shaking, just slightly.

(Y/n) turned their attention back to the worn textbook in front of them, scratching notes on a spare bit of parchment. They tried to focus on the words written on the page, but their mind still wandered to the boy beside them.

Together, the two students’ thoughts swirled like winds in a tempest - never in one place at one time, but simultaneously everywhere. This world seemed to be pulling everyone in all possible directions, spreading them ever thin, as though trying to test when they would snap.

Both Slytherins, different as they were, weren’t the type to break.

Some days, they wished they were.

(Y/n) failed to notice the careful way Draco appraised them. His eyes flitted from their old school supplies to their mended robes, and yet the newness in other belongings that perhaps didn’t need to be bought anew every school year. (Y/n) eventually caught him staring, and Draco leveled his gaze with theirs.

“I need your help,” and even his voice resounded from his throat, as though he had no energy to sustain it in his chest.

(Y/n) blinked. Once, twice, three times. “I’m sorry?”

At the front of the classroom, Professor Flitwick was giving instruction on the Reducto curse, but his voice was fading into background noise, now, as (Y/n) stared at the boy beside them. Of all the things they could have guessed Draco Malfoy to say to them, that was not one.

“You know what I asked for.”

Again, he was tired - too tired to explain his baffling request, too tired to give any kind of context as to why he had come to them, or whatever he needed help for.

“My help?” They didn’t get so much as a sigh, which was interesting, to say the least. (Y/n) wanted to scoff, but they had to keep their voice low enough for the professor to not take notice. “Why would you- What purpose—” their mind eventually caught up with them ”—Why do you think I’d give it?”

“Because I’m—”

“Draco Malfoy, yes.” The scoff escaped them, agitation setting in. (Y/n) pulled their gaze away from the boy to turn back to the front of the classroom, eyes narrowing as they pretended to read the writing on the blackboard. “What would your father think of you getting help from the likes of me?” They all but spat their words under their breath.

Draco seemed to twitch uncomfortably at the mention of his father, but he played it off with a roll of his eyes - the first real reaction (Y/n) had got out of him the entire conversation. “He’d think it shrewd of me.”

“Like keeping your enemies close?”

“Like keeping allies near. Us Slytherins are all one big brotherhood, aren’t we?”

“I think you muddied those waters when you’re obsession with blood purity extended to belittling us halfbreeds.” (Y/n) fixed Draco with a withering stare. He looked down at the desk, scrutinizing the aging wood. His demeanor shifted to something deeper than what lay on the surface, and a wiser person would have stopped there, but (Y/n) couldn’t let it go. “Suddenly you want to be family?”

Draco breathed in deeply as though by expanding his chest and allowing for more oxygen, the tension between them would dissipate. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The two lapsed into silence, and Professor Flitwick's voice floated over to the two of them, regaining precedence.

“It’s important to keep in mind this spell is very volatile. It’s unlikely you’ll get it correct on your first try…”

(Y/n) allowed themself to decompress, their shoulders dropping and their hands relaxing on the page of their textbook.

For what could Draco Malfoy possibly need their help? They weren’t even friends, but he had the gall to call them family.

“I’d settle for partners.”

The bell rang. Students around them started to pack up, hurrying to their next class. Draco didn’t move a muscle.

(Y/n) fixed him with a stare that betrayed their display of anger and showed some of the interest within. They picked up the bottle-green bag beside them. “Then I suppose that depends on how much you’ve changed over the summer,” they spat, already standing to leave.

“Quite enough, I think you’ll find.”

(Y/n) paused on their way out the door but resisted the urge to turn around, instead pushing forward through the bottlenecked door with renewed conviction.

Who did Draco Malfoy think he had become, asking for favors like they were old chums or something of the like? What did he even need help for, that he couldn’t ask his posse of loyal followers? That Blaise Zabini was smart, and Theo Nott wasn’t too bad, either. Of course, Theo was a halfblood too, so maybe Draco had managed to piss him off in his fourth year as well, when he started to sneer at halfbloods as though he were somehow greater than them. It wouldn’t be surprising, really, if Draco had somehow managed to alienate all of his “friends” in some way or another. He wasn’t known to have much of a filter with his thoughts.

Maybe that was what all of this was about. Draco had mentioned his father thinking their conversation was “shrewd” - maybe Lucius Malfoy had a little conversation with his son about not alienating the people around him. Perhaps there was a little father-son chat about revitalizing the family image with the Death Eaters and the rise of You-Know-Who being what it was. How quaint. Did they have him updating his father in person, too? Is that why he looked like he hadn’t slept since summer?

Part of (Y/n) insisted that they were being overdramatic about all of this and that they should get a hold of their emotions. No one was really at liberty of being emotional during times like these, and maybe, deep down, Draco really had become something that wasn’t beneath asking genuine help of someone without having ulterior motives.

After all, he had been tired - without real signs of deception or bigger purpose… and he was… shaking - as though genuinely nervous or afraid and.... and he had said something that made them stop in their tracks… that the summer had changed him “quite enough,” said with a sort of bitterness and resignation that was unlike any kind of Draco Malfoy (Y/n) knew…

(Y/n) slid into their Herbology seat with practiced ease, and when they went to grab their textbook, they came up with an Astronomy book, instead.

“What?”

(Y/n) didn’t have Astronomy, and this textbook was far too nice to be theirs. Maybe it belonged to their roommate? But then why was it in their bag? (Y/n) clearly had the right bag since they had pulled out their textbook in Charms, and—

(Y/n) flipped to the inside cover of the Astronomy textbook in front of them.

Property of Draco Malfoy.

Professor Sprout started the lecture just as (Y/n) swore under their breath.

Their Herbology partner turned to them questioningly, and (Y/n) asked to share their textbook for the day. Their partner complied readily enough and (Y/n) shot them a smile. The rest of the lesson, (Y/n) calculated the quickest way from the greenhouses to the Slytherin common room, where they would no doubt find Draco Malfoy skipping yet another meal and doing whatever it was that occupied his time. They had switched bags, somehow, and (Y/n) was keen on getting theirs back.

When Herbology was finally over, (Y/n) all but sprinted to the dungeons. Of all days for this to happen...

When they reached the steps that led down to the common room, they saw Draco Malfoy standing at the bottom. A book was in his hands, and as (Y/n) descended the stairs, they got a better look at it.

Their heart dropped.

Draco was flipping through the pages of a tiny, leatherbound book. It looked inconspicuous enough, a kind of journal that was old and weathered, but (Y/n) knew who it belonged to, and what was hidden inside.

It was (Y/n)’s spellbook - always stuffed to the bottom of their bag in case inspiration or genious struck All of their spells were in there - from the nearly refined to their half-baked disasters, every spell (Y/n) had ever had the idea to create was in that book, along with every failure. If Draco had looked at their disastrous attempts from third year...

“I’m not here for games, Draco.”

“Neither am I.” Draco held out the book to them and (Y/n) snatched it, also taking the school bag that was at his feet - no doubt theirs. “I only needed to check - Ravenclaws have a way of dramatizing things, and since you weren’t happy to help…”

“Check what?”

In the half-light, it was hard to tell what Draco was feeling, or at least, what he’d allow to show. But when he spoke, his voice still carried a fatigue that wore him down and made him appear as though without an agenda. “That you can help me.”

(Y/n) rolled their eyes. “Again, what makes you think that I will?”

“You need money, don’t you? I recognize signs of wear when I see them, and you were rather quick to get back your used textbooks - probably borrowed, since you don’t have any older siblings and our textbooks aren’t as old as our parents. The (L/n) family must have come into financial trouble recently,” Draco reported with a sigh, as though he found no glee in this run around of his. Was this the same boy who used to flaunt his observational prowess, making scathing remarks about the most minute details of others?

(Y/n) wanted to snap that they didn’t need his money, but they had enough common sense to not be proud. The Malfoys were one of the richest families at Hogwarts. If Draco was willing to pay... at least he would be good for the money… and he had been looking at their spellbook. If he needed a spell, it would be nice to experiment on someone else’s galleon, wouldn’t it?

(Y/n) swallowed. “What do you need?”

“A spell, and your secrecy.”

(Y/n) nodded slowly, still weighing their choices. They had nearly made up their mind, but something still ate at the back of their mind, like an itch that couldn’t be satiated. “Why did you think I’d help you?”

“I knew you would.” Draco fiddled with his sleeve. “Because you want to know my secret.”

iv.

When Draco said they were going to the Room of Hidden Things, (Y/n) hadn’t expected the room itself to be hidden. It would have been ridiculous, and yet, looking at it, everything seemed to make sense. The room only appeared when you asked for it, and it contained thousands of knick knacks, all sorted and piled on top of each other haphazardly, the facade of order.

If everything ever hidden lay within this room, (Y/n) wouldn’t be surprised. The room seemed to stretch off into infinity, the walls on either side disappearing behind stacks of lost things that reached impossibly high, never appearing to meet a back wall. Everything in the Room of Hidden Things was seemingly left to oblivion, stacked and scattered with no real rhyme or reason, things left behind and obliterated from memory. As they walked deeper in, (Y/n) found themself searching, as though there was something they needed to find.

If Draco felt the same urge, he hid it well, winding around piles of lost things like one would walk around their own home in the dark, completely aware of where everything was and able to avoid things that others tripped on. (Y/n) found themself wondering, ‘How many times had he been in here?’

Draco stopped in front of a tall, imposing cabinet with wrought iron detailing. The black wood seemed so stark against the rest of the room that (Y/n) wondered how anyone could miss it, and yet, if they turned their head as to put it in their periphery, the cabinet seemed to disappear.

Funny, how it could be there, but not.

After a moment, (Y/n) was able to place why it looked so familiar. The Vanishing Cabinet. Why was it here, of all places?

“It’s broken and no mending charms have worked on it - not even in conjunction with others.”

(Y/n) nodded, opening the door to the cabinet and taking a look inside. So that’s the kind of spell he needed.

“You probably heard about Montague getting stuck in a kind of limbo last year when the Weasley twins shoved him in.”

“So it has a twin.” It was more a statement than a question, but when (Y/n) caught Draco’s eye, they found an affirmative answer that almost looked guilty. (Y/n) turned away, rifling through their bag to find their creation book.

(Y/n)’s mind was flitting about, again, trying to call up all the information they had ever learned about passageways and vanishing cabinets, mending spells and charms. To modify a spell would probably be too simple for the complexities of a Vanishing Cabinet. They would have to start from scratch. (Y/n) flipped to the page where they wrote down the methodology of apparition spells. Maybe the answer lay within the creation of the spell rather than the outcome. Apparition spells might apply to the spontaneity of the Cabinet...

Draco handed (Y/n) a book or two that were clearly ancient, the pages themselves written in fading ink.

“I found these in that pile—” he gestured to a stack of books that reached into the heavens “—they’re the only decent information I’ve found so far.”

(Y/n) nodded and moved to sit on the floor, placing the books carefully in front of them. Draco retreated to the base of the tower of books, picking up a few that were scattered around a large chair that caught (Y/n)’s eye. It seemed out of place - pulled from the pile of furniture that was closer to the entrance and devoid of the thick layer of dust that seemed to permeate everything in this haven of the lost.

After a moment, (Y/n) realized it as a makeshift bed - a blanket that looked like it once belonged to a Hufflepuff thrown over the arm, a stack of clothes next to the chair, and Draco’s bag hanging from it.

How often was he in here?

(Y/n) turned their gaze back to the Vanishing Cabinet before them, trying not to dwell on what the Slytherin Prince had become. They had a job to do; a Vanishing Cabinet needed fixing.

But why, of all things, a Vanishing Cabinet?

“Planning on disappearing, Malfoy?” Their tone was light, playful. (Y/n) turned to face him, and he was stock still.

Draco didn’t respond, just looked at the cabinet with an intensity that seemed to bring the weight of the word onto his shoulders. He tugged at his left sleeve, and for a fleeting moment, an answer was swimming in his eyes.

‘Yes.’

It had been around two weeks since (Y/n) had been first introduced to the Vanishing Cabinet, and ever since, their evenings were spent in the Room of Hidden Things, their attention split between homework and the puzzle before them.

One part of them was intent on creating the right spell. If they were able to do it correctly, this new spell could be revolutionary, potentially changing the way mending spells were thought of for years to come. With the way that Vanishing Cabinets worked, it wasn’t just the cabinet that needed to be fixed, or the passageway in between, but the space that was warped when the door to the cabinet was closed. It was mystifying, to say the least, and the possibilities were endless.

Another, more nagging side of (Y/n) was intent on figuring out why Draco needed a Vanishing Cabinet in the first place. What purpose did he require of it? Better yet, what purpose could it serve? The possibilities for this, too, could be infinite.

“(Y/n)? Are you listening?”

Michael Corner, their friend of six years, bumped his shoulder into theirs. They were walking to Potions, and he had been chatting about how he hadn’t seen them in a while - not since they started slipping out of the Great Hall early after dinner.

“Yes - you think I’ve been trying to perfect my failed spells from third year and I’m too proud to tell you that I actually do listen to your advice.”

Michael grinned. “So… are you?”

“I am working on my spells, if that’s what you’re after.”

“And have you taken my advice on selling them?”

(Y/n) thought for a moment. After all, they were getting paid for what they were doing for Draco, so technically a ‘yes’ would be appropriate. But if Michael started to ask who bought it and for what reasons, (Y/n) wouldn’t be able to say.

“Maybe,” they said, lamely.

It seemed to be enough for Michael, though, and he talked excitedly about the possibilities as they made their way into the Potions classroom. (Y/n) approached their seat and Michael groaned. “It sucks that Slughorn assigned us partners. I’m stuck with Hermione Granger and, well, you know how she is. Potions could be so much better if we got to choose who we work with.”

(Y/n) sat down in their seat, sighing before fishing for their textbook in their bag. “You’re not the one stuck with Malfoy,” they deadpanned as usual, but the words didn’t fit as naturally in their mouth as they once did.

“Yeah, but when does he even show up to class, anymore?” For emphasis, Michael slid into the Slytherin’s assigned seat.

The two devolved into their usual banter, talking about common interests and idiotic assignments. Professor Slughorn walked into the room two minutes or so before class started and when Michael swore, he fixed him with a stare. Things were as they always were, but then something changed.

Draco Malfoy walked into the classroom, and Michael was surprised, but quick to slip out of his seat. He chose to hover near (Y/n)’s end of the table, and while he was careful not to stare, his eyes flicked to Draco. He wasn’t the only one; the whole class seemed to notice Draco’s presence, but Malfoy seemed to be avoiding the production of it all - very unlike him. The pallor in his skin didn’t seem to be getting worse, but the melancholic air that seemed to follow him was palpable.

Any day, now, the rumors would get worse and the speculation would start. What was eating at Draco Malfoy?

(Y/n) had been working with him closely for two weeks, now, and even they weren’t any closer to figuring out the truth.

Harry Potter seemed to have particularly keen eyes, whispering to his friends without losing eye contact.

The whole of Hogwarts seemed to be holding its breath, unsure of what was to come, but anticipating how bad the storm was going to be. Michael tried to ignore the shift in demeanor, nudging (Y/n) with his arm.

“I’m still surprised that Harry Potter ended up getting the Felix Felicis - I was honestly expecting Padma or Hermione to get it. Since when is Harry a potion making prodigy?”

Beside (Y/n), Draco stiffened. (Y/n) let out a puff of air like a subdued scoff and Michael smiled. So the Potter-Malfoy rivalry was still going strong.

Michael scratched out a note on a spare bit of parchment and stuck it in (Y/n) textbook with a conspiratorial wink. “I’ll go see if I can snag some of Potter’s notes, yeah? Maybe he can spare a bit of genius.”

With that he was off, and (Y/n) rolled their eyes before turning to the front of the classroom. Draco was still on edge beside them, his shoulders taut and head bowed in such a way that (Y/n) couldn’t catch his eye.

It was later, when (Y/n) was flipping through their textbook to the instructions for the potion they were to make, that they found the note Michael had left behind.

‘At least you know you have something to make his blood boil.’

vi.

“We’re going to need space,” (Y/n) muttered to Draco. They had agreed to meet by the statue of Lachlan the Lanky when going to the Room of Hidden Things, and Draco was already there when (Y/n) arrived. “Testing out this spell could be dangerous in such a cluttered space - the entire room could be destroyed.”

Draco nodded deftly and (Y/n) could tell by the way his eyes narrowed that he was thinking of a way to fix their problem. It had been a little over a month since the two started to work together, and after being Potions and Alchemy partners, working beside each other during their free period, and spending their nights in front of the Vanishing Cabinet, the two knew each other better than they cared to admit. (Y/n) still held fast to the idea that they were acquaintances at most, but there were times when they saw him in the Room of Hidden Things, sitting on the chair he used for a bed, and they knew what he was thinking. Acquaintances couldn’t do that, could they?

Draco walked past a section of the corridor three times, his perpetually tired expression furrowed into concentration, and the vanishing door appeared. As soon as they could, the two Slytherins ushered themselves in. This time, they were met with a bright light.

(Y/n) blinked furiously, and when their eyes adjusted, they realized they were looking at the sky.

Bright blue and without clouds, the sky seemed to mimic that of a summer’s day. The sun that beat down was a welcome change from the cold winds of December, and (Y/n) let the warmth fill them as they took in the view. The Room of Hidden Things had somehow shifted into a vast, open field that was full of tall, yellowing grass.

The field seemed to stretch into oblivion, never quite ending as it reached a horizon point. (Y/n) felt something like calm wash over them. This place carried a mixture between knowledge and peace. A little ways out, but close enough to be identified were the only two things that upset the sprawling landscape - a willow tree with low hanging branches, far more serene than the Whomping Willow that Hogwarts students were familiar with, and the Vanishing Cabinet.

“What is this place?” (Y/n) still gaped at what lay around them, eyes eagerly taking in every color that seemed to bleed in the way a painting would.

“The Room of Requirement is whatever you need it to be.”

“And the Room of Hidden Things…?”

“Inside it.”

Draco looked worse, somehow, in the full light of the sun; his skin was more pale, like death had already touched him and all he had left to do was walk to his grave. (Y/n) couldn't look long.

The two started toward the Vanishing Cabinet. (Y/n) felt the distinct urge to put their hands out to feel the grass brush against their skin, to see just how real this beautiful illusion was. If the room could create this, what else could it fathom?

If (Y/n) could stay here forever, would this room create a reality beautiful enough to keep them?

(Y/n) sat their bag down a few paces away from the Vanishing Cabinet and rolled up their sleeves. Draco retreated to the foot of the weeping willow. (Y/n) checked it to make sure that it stood far enough away from the blast zone. It seemed alright.

(Y/n) placed a spare bit of parchment into the Cabinet and took a few steps back.

“Harmonia Nectere Deambulatio!”

(Y/n) turned their wrist precisely and grey wisps of light illuminated from the tip of their wand. The Vanishing Cabinet before them lurched forward abruptly and (Y/n) staggered a few steps backward. The Cabinet righted itself and after a few moments of hesitantly watching it to see if the cabinet would be pitching itself to and fro once more, (Y/n) quickly approached and opened it.

The paper inside was far worse than what they expected; the parchment shredded and burning, as though it did some acrobatic routine for the circus with very poor aim. (Y/n) quickly doused the flames and turned back to their book, scratching out the failed attempt.

(Y/n) sighed and started again, trying out a few variations of the spell they had already drafted up, praying that one of them would work. After an hour or so of the Vanishing Cabinet turning out botched attempts, (Y/n) decided they needed to rethink the spell itself, and not the delivery.

This wasn’t their first spell to go wrong, but it was definitely the hardest, since gauging what needed to be fixed was near impossible. (Y/n) figured that it had to be the passage between each Cabinet. The slicing of the paper was most likely a failure to use the passage - it was torn on its way to the other cabinet and when fragmented, couldn’t be supported through the warping of space, so it was spit back out and was lit on fire from the friction.

(Y/n)’s focus, then, should shift from the spontaneity of the Vanishing Cabinet and work on the passage rather than the walk through it. It was the space between that needed warping… perhaps they should look at their notes of Transfiguration spells, they were particularly good at warping space… a safe bet, too, since Transfiguration was fairly testable and not overly theoretical, compared to other spells...

(Y/n) looked at one of the books Draco had given them a week prior. From what those books taught, tangibles were off the table with Vanishing Cabinets. A safe bet might not fix anything. But anything else might be more risk than it was worth...

Maybe a principle of Alchemy could be used. Transmutation might be the key - not shifting the length of the passage, but shifting the properties of the passage, making it safer to traverse… of course, transmutation spells were highly dangerous when not perfected, and seeing as most of the creation of their spell had to be theory rather than tested reality...

Both (Y/n) and Draco would have to be very sure it was the route they wanted to take, and then they would have to be incredibly careful. Especially in a room where space itself warped… if anything went wrong, the spell could kill both of them.

(Y/n) had never been the best at Alchemy, but Draco was a prodigy when it came to the subject. It was one of the few classes he showed up for, anymore, and since (Y/n) had gotten better at reading him, they noticed that Draco actually took interest in the subject. He seemed to be fascinated by the idea that one thing could be made into something completely different with dedication and patience.

But how much could (Y/n) trust Draco? He hadn’t screwed them over, yet, but would he, eventually? Maybe it was only a matter of time…

But, then again, what did he stand to gain?

Both of them were working day and night to solve this problem. Draco may not have fully understood how spells were made, but his research was invaluable, and there was no way either could do it on their own. Fixing a Vanishing Cabinet was improving upon Ancient Magic, all of which was confusing and uncertain, to say the least. There was a reason why there were few Vanishing Cabinets in existence, and a reason as to why Dumbledore didn’t fix the Cabinet himself. It’s near impossible. There’s no way Draco could do it on his own.

He needed (Y/n), and he seemed to know it, too.

(Y/n) sighed and walked over to the willow tree where Draco sat, calling out to him, their voice faint, like it would be in a real, empty field. They parted the tall grass as they went, feeling the scratch of it on their legs and arms. The sun seemed to have dipped lower in the sky, but the suspension of time that the Room of Requirement always held still stood. (Y/n) could only guess how long they’d been here - a few hours, maybe - but it didn’t feel like it had been long enough.

“We’ll have to shift our theory - I think the basis of this spell has to be Alchemical properties or at the very least Transfiguration. It’s tricky, though, since this magic is so old…”

Draco was asleep, a book from the Room of Hidden Things opened on his stomach. He looked disheveled, pale blonde hair mussed up, his robes in disarray. His sleeves, always pulled low, were starting to ride up on his left arm and (Y/n) could see the skin beneath, pink and rubbed raw, as though he scratched and agitated the length of his forearm all day long.

(Y/n) sat down beside him, far enough away as to give him privacy, and yet close enough so that neither was alone. The field around them suddenly felt more exposed than before - (Y/n) understood why Draco chose to sit underneath the tree; the low hanging branches of the willow tree created a sense of security - like they could hide, if they had to.

Draco had nightmares. It didn’t take long to realize that - he twitched and fidgeted in his sleep, expression twisting into something torn between fear and pain. (Y/n) wanted to wake him from his spell, but when they looked at him and saw the pallor of his skin and the circles underneath his eyes, they knew it was best to keep him resting.

Sometimes you fight a war on two fronts, and there is no escaping it. Draco needed to rest. And who was (Y/n) to decide whether the terrors of sleeping or waking were worse?

At some point, they must have fallen asleep, too, because they awoke to Draco shaking their shoulder, his eyes averted and his hands cold. The painted sun had dipped over the nonexistent horizon, and the moon was out.

“We need to go. It’s after curfew.”

(Y/n) stood up and smoothed out their uniform, nodding deftly.

“I’m a prefect, so just follow my lead and no one will ask questions.”

vii.

“We’ll try out the transmutation theory.”

(Y/n) pulled their gaze away from their Charms essay to stare up at Draco incredulously. It was nearing midnight, and with most of the students being gone for the holiday, the Slytherin common room was empty. Draco had just entered and was on his way to the dormitories, but he stopped on his way and spoke to (Y/n) in a low tone.

“You know the risks, right?” Draco just stared pensively into the fire that blazed beside them. “Are you willing to die for this?”

Maybe it was the flames that threatened tears to his eyes. “I’m dead, either way.”

viii.

The bell rang, signaling the end of Transfiguration, and the classroom erupted with life, people closing their books and racing out the door. As far as last classes went, Transfiguration was okay, but at the end of the day, everyone wanted to get out as quickly as possible. Michael nudged (Y/n) when he was shoving off, reminding them to grab some dinner before they holed themselves up for the evening. (Y/n) shot back a retort and he flipped them off as he left, earning a scolding from McGonagall.

“Sorry, professor.” Michael ducked his head apologetically, but when McGonagall turned around, he caught (Y/n)’s eye and winked.

(Y/n) rolled their eyes, shoving a quill in their bag as McGonagall fixed her attention to them. “(Y/n) (L/n).”

The Slytherin snapped to attention. “Yes, professor?”

“Would you remind Mr. Malfoy that he still has my class, even if he chooses not to attend?” McGonagall took a step closer and (Y/n) held their gaze, more surprised than anything else. “It’s not imperative he show for lessons, but he does need to turn in his work if he expects to continue with this subject.”

(Y/n) was caught off guard. “O-Of course.”

“He is slated to take Transfiguration next year, and N.E.W.T.s will not be kind to those who don’t dedicate themselves.” McGonagall looked at (Y/n) over the top of her glasses, seemingly more stern than before. “I know you and Mr. Malfoy are close - perhaps you will be able to motivate him.”

(Y/n) shrugged their bag onto their shoulders, a little too eager to leave. McGonagall seemed to take note, but waited patiently for (Y/n) to speak. “Oh, um… Draco and I are just partners in class.”

McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line. Was it… amused? Knowing? “I’ve heard, you frequently meet up by the statue of Lachlan the Lanky, as well.” Her eyes still carried that intensity. Perhaps her gaze was more of a warning.

(Y/n) looked down and swallowed, mind racing. “I’ll tell him, professor.”

“Thank you.”

(Y/n) walked out of the classroom, and it wasn’t until they were in the dungeons that they dared to breathe. McGonagall's words were inconspicuous enough, but it was the way she said it that struck (Y/n) to the core. If McGonagall knew about them meeting up at the statue, what else did she know? Maybe it wasn’t much, but she felt justified to bring it up. And in that tone…

She could know anything, maybe even more than (Y/n) - and if McGonagall knew, surely Dumbledore did, as well.

When they entered the Slytherin common room, Draco was inside, sitting with Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson. They were talking in hushed tones, and the concern in their gaze was palpable. If it has been a few months ago, (Y/n) would have pretended like they hadn’t seen anything and gone avoided their stare. But now, they just pressed forth.

At the sight of (Y/n) approaching, Pansy stood and pulled Blaise with her, putting a hand on Draco's shoulder before leaving. (Y/n) locked eyes with the two retreating figures and there was something grateful in their stares.

(Y/n) averted their gaze.

“Draco,” (Y/n) sat down on a couch across from him and kept their voice low. “I think Professor McGonagall knows.”

Draco was careful not to show interest in his body language, but his eyes were sharp, wary. (Y/n) leaned in a bit, telling him all that happened, recalling the strange way that McGonagall looked at them and how she knew where they met up. The shadows of the fire played against Draco’s gaunt features, making him look almost ghostlike as he listened intently.

“The only reason I could see her keeping tabs on you is because of that rumor Harry Potter is spreading about you giving that cursed necklace to Katie Bell.” (Y/n) shook their head, blinking and they missed the way that Draco froze at the mention. “But either way, we need to be more careful.”

For a moment, the two just sat in silence, eyes intent on their hands as they tried to see a place beyond this present. Both were unaware of what the other was thinking, and yet they both wished the same - that is world would stop around them - if only for a moment.

The fire behind them raged and the voices of those surrounding them didn’t cease.

(Y/n) sighed and tipped their head back, looking at the glass ceiling above them, dark waters rippling from the movement of merfolk and the Giant Squid. What would it feel like to be suspended for your whole life, never coming up for air? Peaceful, perhaps.

“Don’t worry about the professors.” Draco spoke suddenly, and (Y/n) sat up to find him mimicking their actions, still looking up at the lake, his hands fidgeting with the sleeves of his button-up. “They know perfectly well they could stop us if they wanted to. They could know everything if they wanted. But they don’t.” There was a bitterness in his tone that seeped in slowly, then all at once. “They don’t meddle in anything I do. They don’t concern themselves with us. They don’t—”

Draco cut himself short. (Y/n) looked at him for a minute, their expression soft but broken - a little wondering. The wondered if they understood Draco a little more - maybe they recognized that anger, simmering on low, the fire just able to be sustained but burning out.

“They don’t save us, do they?” and it was a whisper, but it felt earth shattering.

Draco sighed, his eyes fluttering closed. “Not us.”

ix.

On Wednesday nights, Alchemy students were expected to go up to the 16th turret where classes were usually held to do an extra lesson. Part of their curriculum required the moonlight filtering through stained glass to complete, and Slughorn said there was no way around it. It was the only night of the week when Draco and (Y/n) didn’t go to the Room of Requirement to work on their project, the only night when they breathed just a little easier.

The sky was lighter than the usual inky night. The moon was full and brightly reflecting, and it’s solemnity in the sky was a stark contrast to Professor Slughorn’s excitement as he flitted about, giving instructions on how to complete the assignment. There were a few stars that managed to twinkle in the sky, and (Y/n) found themselves transfixed by them, wishing they were admiring the night sky for stargazing, instead of work

It was much easier, admiring something from a distance; dealing with things closer to the ground was heavier on the heart - it took more of a toll.

Draco worked beside them quietly. Things between them usually were quiet, with the occasional word or moment of recognition in the heart of the other. Questions weren’t usually welcome, but (Y/n) could sneak in a few, every once in a while. Especially during Alchemy; Draco was more relaxed up here - almost content.

Slughorn went over to Padma Patil at the front of the classroom, leaving the pair of Slytherin’s in shared solitude.

“I can’t imagine you’re sleeping well, in the Room of Hidden Things.” (Y/n) whispered so no one would hear, sure to make their tone soft, unlike anything that might set the other into a mood. Draco turned to them for a moment, impassive, but didn’t say a word. (Y/n) tried again. “I realize the Cabinet’s important, but enough to sacrifice your health? Why?”

More silence. There had been a time (Y/n) wouldn’t have minded.

“Can’t you tell me anything?”

Draco’s jaw flexed, and he was so thin it stuck out more than normal, sharp with a jagged edge. (Y/n) eyed him with a guarded expression of their own, allowing silence to lapse between them as Slughorn walked by. He checked on their progress with an impressed hum, and once the professor was out of earshot, (Y/n) interrogated Draco once more.

“I just want to know something - this is dangerous for me, too.”

Draco seemed hesitant. After a moment, he spoke, “I have to do this,” he whispered, almost more to himself than anyone else.

“I don’t understand why.”

“No, you don’t.” Draco looked at them sharply but (Y/n) wasn’t one to back down. His eyes flicked around the room, as if to see if anyone noticed his sudden movement, but no one seemed to take note. Still, Draco turned back to his work, shooting his next words out of the side of his mouth, eyes blazing with something that was white-hot, but not anger. “And you wouldn’t.”

“So I get to do your dirty work, but without an explanation? Did you forget we’re being watched?” (Y/n) shook their head, expression tight with anger.

“If I don’t do this, I’ll die. Is that a good enough explanation for you?” Draco’s jaw twitched and (Y/n) heaved a sigh, through with his dramatics. Every day it got worse and Draco didn’t seem to be opening up anytime soon. It was exhausting, and for what? A few Galleons? A feeling like they were somehow helping him?

A secret? Draco was fiddling with his left sleeve, again, and (Y/n) had the familiar feeling that they already knew the answer to any question they might ask.

The rest of the evening wore on in silence. Both Slytherins were tense with emotion, thoughts swirling around them, the tension in the air almost thick enough to taste. Occasionally, the sounds of others wafted towards them - Slughorn’s footsteps, excited whispers, low swears and were quickly reprimanded - but neither spoke a word or did so much as to spare the other a glance. Eventually, Slughorn dismissed everyone, walking out himself, and the only two left were Draco and (Y/n).

(Y/n) stood up and gathered their things, and after a moment's hesitation, faced Draco with a guarded stare. They breathed in, “I’m going to figure out what’s happening, Draco. But I’m not going to like it if I have to figure it out on my own.”

With that, (Y/n) turned to leave. But before they could walk away, Draco had caught their arm. (Y/n) turned back around with a sigh. He was standing, now, and the moonlight that filtered through the stained glass window drowned him in deep shades of red.

“Do you know my family’s allegiance in this war?”

(Y/n) felt their blood turn cold. “Well, I…” they stammered, “I figured—”

“Then you have your explanation,” he cut them off bitterly, and was quick to look away, releasing his hold on them and cleaning up his things.

(Y/n) blinked. Once, twice, three times. Tightening their grip on their bag, they walked towards the door to open it, but their hand rested on the knob. Their mind was like a tempest - never in one place at one time, but simultaneously everywhere, trying to remember everything they had ever believed in and everything they thought they knew.

“We’re meeting again tomorrow, right?” And (Y/n) hated the way their voice sounded; soft and unsure. They looked back to see Draco - really see him - but his expression was just as conflicted as ever, just as pained and stiff and grasping. It was almost as though he were drowning in his own sin, bloody and red.

After a moment, he nodded, grey eyes pausing, for once, never leaving theirs.

“Then I’ll meet you there.”

Draco passed (Y/n) the apple and they set it down in the middle of the Vanishing Cabinet, it’s lively green skin stark against the black cabinet. They shut the door carefully, and took a step back.

Yesterday, for the first time in their five months of working together, a piece of parchment Vanished properly. After three different theories on the spell, about 12 different spell variations, and many late nights, it was finally working. There was a sort of peace in that, and yet something akin to dread seemed to settle in the air - almost thicker than the dust that permeated the Room of Hidden Things.

Draco seemed to feel it, too. His weight seemed to settle heavier in his bones, his entire essence dragged downward, somewhere where he couldn’t be found. They weren’t going to be saved by anyone but themselves, but sometimes it seemed Draco didn’t have the fight in him. Not anymore.

His hands were shaking, and the boy made to fix the cuffs of his sleeves. (Y/n) reached out and grabbed his hand and he turned to them, sharply. (Y/n) didn’t say anything, just squeezed his hands once, then let go. His hands stilled.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

It was best done as a whisper, with the slightest curl of the wrist. The light was soft and melancholic. The Vanishing Cabinet didn’t make a sound nor shudder, just stood there, imposing as ever.

Draco opened the cabinet. It was empty.

Despite themselves, both smiled.

He closed the door.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

The wrought iron was cold as (Y/n) pulled the cabinet open, once more. They picked up the apple, same as before, and it was perfect. (Y/n) turned back to Draco and gave him a solemn nod. He walked over to the bird cage that stood beside his makeshift bed, pulling out the white songbird within. It sang.

Draco closed the door.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

The singing stopped, and (Y/n) didn’t need to open the door to know that it worked. But they did, and the cabinet was empty. When the cabinet was secured again, and all that was left was to say those three words, they both hesitated. The two Slytherin’s stared at each other, unwilling to breathe in fear that it might not work.

Or worse, maybe it would.

Draco lifted his wand slowly, and when he spoke, his voice was thick, but each word carefully crafted. “Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

The silence was deafening. Draco’s eyes flicked to (Y/n), and when he saw his own fears reflected in their gaze, he swallowed hard.

Inside, the bird was dead, it’s tiny, white body sitting in a sea of darkness. (Y/n) picked it up, knowing they had to determine how it died to fix what had gone wrong when it rematerialized. When the bird was cupped in their hand, it’s body was still warm.

They turned around and Draco was crying.

xi.

The Room of Hidden Things was a maze. Without windows or any real sense of the passage of time, tit could feel claustrophobic and dense. The candles and torches the endless room used for light threw long shadows and at times, there was something lonely about the place. On occasion, though, when (Y/n) and Draco spent afternoons amongst the clutter and set candles near them, the room could feel cozy - maybe even warm.

The two had been working quietly for a half hour or so when (Y/n) felt the itch to ask a question. As always, they pondered letting it pass, but their curiosity got the better of them. They set their quill down and turned to look at the boy across from them. “Tell me something about Draco Malfoy that no one else knows."

Draco, used to questions by now and in a better mood than most days, didn’t bother to look up, but responded, anyway. “Why?”

“You learned a few secrets of mine when you skimmed my spell creation book. It’s only fair that I get to use something against you.”

“You know about this place.”

(Y/n) looked at him unimpressed, but still, Draco didn’t raise his head. They sighed. “Give me something more than that. Technically, this is my secret, too.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but his quill stopped scratching, and he closed the textbook before him. “Like what?”

“Like…” (Y/n) shrugged as Draco watched them, his grey eyes lighter than usual, less filled with the weight of all things. “Alright, I’m allergic to pumpkin, but I wanted to try pumpkin juice so badly in our first year that I had to go to the infirmary on the first day of school—” (Y/n) was smiling at the memory, and it was the first bit of happiness they had allowed themself to have for a while. “—it was nothing too bad, and Madam Pomfrey was quick to fix me up, but I couldn’t taste for the next week. A real shame, too, seeing as the first few feasts are always the best.”

Draco’s lips were pressed into a thin line, only the very edges curling upwards, so slightly anyone else would have missed it. A genuine smile. (Y/n) was proud of themself for having coaxed it out of him. Funny, how much they had started to care.

“Something idiotic, then?” and the lilt to his voice was almost amused.

(Y/n) rolled their eyes. “You have to have something.”

Draco thought for a moment and (Y/n) watched him as he tried to pull a memory. They noted how much younger he looked, here, in a light dim enough to be considered conspiratorial, but bright enough to be distinct from the rest of their existence. It was almost as though they belonged here, two more lost things in a sea of used belongings.

“I tried to grow out my hair like my father’s in the summer before our first year.” Draco’s voice was soft in reminiscing, but it grew louder with fondness. “A cousin told me I looked like a girl and I cut it off that same night. My mother fixed it for me in the morning, right before we went to Diagon Alley.”

(Y/n) let out the ghost of a chuckle, but when Draco joined them, their laugher grew, echoing through the endless room.

xii.

“So... tell me, is Slytherin gossip really just made up of lies, or are you actually hanging out with Draco Malfoy? Is that where you’ve been sneaking off to?”

Michael and (Y/n) walked side by side, catching up for the first time all week. They had been heading to lunch when Michael realized he left his quill and ink in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, so the two decided to take the walk back together. Somehow, their conversation landed on gossip around the school, and of course, Michael had to bring up Draco.

(Y/n), used to dodging questions by now, simply rolled their eyes. “I don’t know, did you actually join a secret army last year and not tell me about it?”

“I already told you that Harry himself didn’t want any Slytherin’s involved. How was I expected to go against the Boy Who Lived?” Michael defended himself poorly but passionately, pushing his dark hair out of his face. Suddenly, his narrowed. “But yes, I did. So does that mean you’re admitting to hanging out with the Slytherin Prince?”

“If it makes you feel any better, it’s only because we’re partners in Potions and Alchemy. Slughorn has this weird thing about classroom symmetry.”

Michael chuckled at (Y/n)’s annoyance, but continued pressing in the way that only a Ravenclaw could successfully pull off. “Then do you know what’s wrong with him? There are bets going around, and I just put down 8 Sickles on him having some rare illness that Pomfrey doesn’t know how to heal.”

“Is him being a werewolf one of the theories?”

“It was, actually,” (Y/n) snorted and Michael turned around to face them, walking backwards down the hall, “But after Padma saw him in Alchemy class during the full moon, the idea was thrown out. Seamus Finnigan lost a Galleon or two.”

“Any other ingenious ideas?”

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but was bumped into abruptly by Harry Potter, walking the other way with a bewildered and shocked expression. He reeled backward and Michael apologized, but all Harry did was nod absentmindedly before continuing down the corridor, walking quickly as though trying to create some sort of distance.

“Weird.” Michael huffed, watching Potter as he retreated. The two friends shared a confused glance before continuing down the hall, and after a few steps, (Y/n) slipped on something slick.

The floors were wet with Harry Potter’s trailing footprints. (Y/n) looked at Michael and they both had the same, strange urge.

Follow them.

The two set off down the hall, neither speaking a word as they followed the trail. No one else was in the corridor but them, and the sound of rushing water filled the corridor as they got ever nearer. The footsteps led to the boys bathroom, which must have busted a pipe or two, judging by the flooding. Inside, someone was muttering a healing incantation, their voice echoing with a concentrated sort of aggression. Michael looked at (Y/n) questioningly before stepping inside, calling out.

“Hey, is everything alright in here?”

The bathroom was a disaster, but in the middle of the floor was Draco Malfoy, still and lying in a pool of his own crimson blood. Professor Snape was crouched over him, trying in vain to stop the bleeding as it drenched his shirt and dissipated into the water around him. (Y/n) stood rooted to the spot, their breath coming in short and their heart pounding their chest. They couldn’t take their eyes off of him, life ebbing away from him, the only indication that he was still alive being his laboured gasps.

They wouldn’t sustain him for long.

“Get. Out.” Snape looked at the two with a ferocity and Michael turned to leave, tugging on (Y/n)’s arm with an expression that was seemingly everything at once - pouring forth from busted pipes, flowing down the corridors...

For a moment, (Y/n) didn’t feel in control of their own limbs. Michael called their name, an urgency lacing his tone, and (Y/n) blinked. Once, twice, three times. The world came into focus. They shook their head.

“Go,” they whispered, and it only took a precisely aimed stare to get Michael to disappear.

Snapped out of their daze, (Y/n) rushed forward, kneeling beside Draco and ignoring the professors command to leave. Their hands shook as the pulled their wand out from their newly soaked bag, but they uttered a healing spell under their breath - something they had created in their fourth year - praying to Merlin that Draco would live.

Snape stared at them for a sharp moment, with a look that seemed to be knowing and confused at the same time.

Together, the blood that they were kneeling in made its way back into Draco’s body, but the wound - a deep gash on his abdomen - still wouldn’t close. When Snape said he needed to take Draco to the Hospital Wing, (Y/n)’s clothes were drenched and their face was damp with tears they hadn’t realized they wept.

(Y/n) trailed after the professor, not caring they were missing class, their mind still hyper focused on Drac’s survival. They had never seen so much blood outside the body. And with him lying on the flooded floor... how much had escaped him? He would have bleed out, had noone arrived sooner...

Madam Pomfrey didn’t allow (Y/n) to hover while she worked, so the Slytherin sat outside the heavy doors, still dripping with water but not caring as they tried to calm their breathing. They would be waiting outside when Pomfrey finally allowed visitors, and when they Draco again, they couldn’t afford to let their fear show so plainly.

Slowly, their body returned to something fit for survival - worried but functional. Their heart rate was erratic, and their jaw no longer trembled. (Y/n) dried themselves off and waited, sliding down the wall until they sat with their back pressed against it.

They wouldn’t leave until they knew Draco was okay. They couldn’t leave him.

Not like this.

Snape was allowed to wait inside, possibly helping the Healer, and two agonizing hours later, the doors opened and the professor stepped out. His robes swished about him and despite everything, he still carried his usual composed confidence. The Slytherin Head of House turned and fixed (Y/n) with a stare that left them feeling vulnerable - as though any secret they ever had had just been told, without uttering a word. For a brief moment, (Y/n) wondered if professor Snape was a legilimens, or if they were just shaken, still.

But then another thought crossed their mind. ‘Did it matter?’

“You can go in.”

(Y/n) was inside the infirmary before Snape had time to turn away.

The Hospital Wing was silent, and their hurried steps echoed in a way that made their heart beat louder their chest. Madam Pomfrey didn’t look surprised to see them, just apologetic. “He’s unconscious for now. It should wear off in 20 minutes or so. He’ll be fine.” She pointed to a nearby chair and (Y/n) pulled it up, sitting at Draco’s side and eyeing him closely.

After seven months of spending nearly every waking moment together, (Y/n) knew Draco Malfoy better than anyone else. They knew all that he had once been and all he became.

(Y/n) knew the toll that his secrets took, and how unrelenting they were as they tore at everything Draco was. Harry must’ve known, too. He must have sensed it - maybe all those months ago, when he looked at him in Potions as though ready to duel. But to nearly kill Draco?

(Y/n) didn’t know what had happened - or just who Harry Potter was. But they couldn’t believe something like was intentional.

(Y/n) had to believe Harry didn’t know what he did.

This war made monsters of them all, but did the best of them have to succumb to its dangers? Did everyone in this world have to get twisted and suffer so? They were all innocents, and yet they slaughtered each other like enemies. Did none of them shed tears?

There were many more terrors to come, and (Y/n) had to believe that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, would be strong enough and kind enough to forgive them. Sometimes this world leaves you without a choice; sometimes it leaves children to nothing but ruins. (Y/n) was just a child, and they didn’t know who to save or even how to do so.

But they did know a few things. A simple, handful of facts that would have to be enough to get them through.

Across the room, Madam Pomfrey took her leave, wandering to the back office where she kept many of her potions.

Despite everything, Draco looked peaceful as he slept - something (Y/n) had never seen, despite the two dozing off plenty of times while working together. He was always in turmoil, no matter his conscious state. So to see him so still was unnerving; it was almost as though he had finally given up.

(Y/n) noticed the sleeves of his shirt had ridden up, and before they could reach out to fix them for him, they noticed the end of a curling tattoo on his inner, left arm. They stared at it for a moment, the curling end of a snake, sitting inside of a skull. (Y/n) considered it, expecting fear to grip their heart but feeling something like sympathy, instead.

They already knew, deep down, what was branded there. They had known for a while. It wasn’t a revelation, and part of them didn’t want to reach out and expose the rest of the tattoo. Did they need to confirm it, now? It was silly, the idea that seeing it would make it more real.

They saw it every day in the way in hands shook, or in the anger in his eyes. They didn’t need to see a tattoo to know what Draco Malfoy had been branded. Sometimes, (Y/n) believed that the ink on his skin didn’t make him different, at all.

How quickly they had grown to trust him. And yet, how quickly he revealed himself, when the two of them were the only souls still awake and bleeding.

(Y/n) pushed the rest of the sleeve down, covering the exposed skin. A cold hand grabbed their own.

Draco stared at them, grey eyes alert and panicked. For a moment, he didn’t seem to breathe. (Y/n) pulled away and his grip went slack, his expression still torn and frozen in place, the only difference being the tears that were welling in his eyes.

“It’s alright, Draco.” He was running from a catastrophe, these days. He seemed to live in the fallout of terrible revelations. A younger Draco wouldn’t recognize him, if he could see himself, now. “I already knew.” Draco tried to scoff, but it came out a sob. Did it somehow hurt worse, the admission of knowledge rather than a sudden reveal? Did it paint him, to realize he had been known all along?(Y/n) tried to offer a smile, but it didn’t quite meet their eyes. “You’re not the only one who’s observant.”

“Why are you helping me, then?” His voice was hoarse and unsure.

Why, indeed?

“You and your whole family will die.” Tears pricked at (Y/n)’s eyes, though whether they were of frustration or sadness, they did not know. Perhaps it was both.

“Others will die because of us,” Draco breathed the words, as though he didn’t want to admit it to even himself.

“They’d find a way inside Hogwarts somehow - nowhere’s safe. But… but if we do it this way… maybe more can be spared.”

“Everyone will die,” Draco shook his head, every emotion he had ever felt spilling over, seeping out of him like all of that blood collecting on the bathroom floor. He has been holding it in for months, and now he was letting go all of it go, bursting forth until he had nothing left. “You don’t know them like I do, we — we’re all dead.”

“Not yet,” (Y/n) wiped at their cheeks furiously, resolve making their voice strong. “We can still save most of us. It’s Dumbledore they want, isn’t it?”

Draco let out another choking sob.

“Why don’t we just tell him?”

“Don’t you see?” Draco was shaking with emotion, his face red and streaked with tears. His every word was punctuated, trembling with a mixture of anger and sadness and fear. No matter where he went, there was so much fear. “I’m the villain in their story.”

(Y/n) took in a shaky breath and put their hands in his. They were still crying, but it wasn’t for themself. “You’re not a villain, Draco. You’re just a boy,” they whispered, but the sound of it seemed to echo around them. “And we’re a brotherhood, right? So I’m here for you. Even if it is just us.”

And they cried together, two voices who’s echoes sounded like one.

xiii.

“Harmonia Nectere Passus.”

This time, the songbird lived. It sang through the thick wood of the cabinet, it’s lonely tune bright, as though it knew spring was upon them - as though it knew nothing of the impending frost, and the death that was sure to follow. Draco and (Y/n) didn’t need to open the door to know that it worked. But they did, and the tiny, white body ruffled its feathers before flying into the sky, chirping happily as it circled the towers of lost things, alone, the last living thing inside the room.

Draco stepped back from the Cabinet, his entire being trembling. It wasn’t until (Y/n) reached out to still him that they realized they were shaking, too.

They both knew it, but neither felt they had the courage to say it.

“This is the end.” (Y/n) forgot to clear their throat.

“Of Dumbledore.” Draco turned to them, all of his life in his hands, all of his regrets on his face. His voice was thick and his eyes were dull. “But not the war. Potter may still win. Somehow… if he survives.”

Both of them knew this world wasn’t kind to survivors.

But (Y/n) held his gaze. “Will we?”

xiv.

maybe one day they will find me under all of this rubble.

-- taglist: @musicallisto, @theletterhart, @locke-writes, @randomfandomimagine, @brokenandheadoverheels, @timeofmadness, @writerdream22, @lotsoffandomrecs, @neelia-thedaughtherof-athena // message me if you want to be added!

#harry potter #golden trio era #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x platonic!reader #draco malfoy x slytherin #draco malfoy x you #gender neutral reader #angst #slight fluff #reader insert #one shot #imagine #long fic #fanfic #fanfiction #hp #i honestly considered waiting to publish this but i've held onto it since october and it's time to let go #feedback is appreciated

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sweetness47 · 3 years

Text

Almost Too Late

This is for @idreamofplaid and @girl-next-door-writes for their ‘They Belong to Us Now’ Challenge. Hope you guys like it! Congrats on your milestones btw.

Warnings: Swearing, death mentioned, dark spirits, kissing at the end, pining I’m going to say PG-14

Prompt #16: If You die, I’m going to kill you.

Theme: AU Castle

Pairing: Sam x reader

Life was good, or mostly. My friends and I hunt monsters, save people from the things that go bump in the night. This isn’t what your thinking though. We don’t drive places. Most of our travel is done by horseback or hiking. The industrial revolution came, left, and is in the process of being reborn, but it’s very slow going.

Every day is a new adventure. It’s just four of us: me, Dean, Sam, and my friend Charlie. Oh, and spoiler alert…I’ve had a major crush on Sam forever! Like seriously. I mentally drool when he talks to me, stands close to me, and my underwear is a sopping mess by the time the day ends. It’s super hard being so attracted to him, especially since he has no clue. I hesitate to bring it up, my worst fear is that confessing my feelings would ruin what we have.

That would kill me.

So I suffer silently. Charlie has noticed my pining, and has tried to get me to admit my feelings to him. But I’m terrified. If I lost him because I chose to share my attraction, I’d never be able to live with myself. I would lose the one thing in my life worth living for, besides friends, and that would kill me, literally.

I’ve pictured all the different ways I could approach the subject. I could casually just walk beside him and slide into my feelings. I could just jump him while everyone’s sleeping (my personal favorite…for obvious reasons) but what if he rejects my advances? I just can’t find an outcome where I’m not overthinking, where I don’t see chances of disaster, of rejection, of heartbreak.

Ugh. FML. Seriously.

Our travels bring us to a long abandoned castle. It’s creepy as fuck, but if properly fixed and cleaned up, it could actually be a really good home for us to work out of, a place where we can just hold up and crash, seek safety, keep our belongings we don’t usually need on hunts.

It’s really big, in an intimidating sort of way. I shiver as I walk closer and touch the stone walls. There’s a presence or two here, things that are tethered to this ancient land, to this castle. It’s dark, and dangerous.

And it knows we’re here.

“Guys? We’re not alone here.”

Sam, Dean and Charlie all turn towards me, and wait. They know I’m able to feel things, so if I say to be careful, they listen.

I continue. “I don’t know if there’s more than one, but whatever is in here is dangerous, like deadly. And it already knows we’re here. The good news? It hates light. Bad news though…the sun will be setting in a couple of hours. We won’t stand a chance if we don’t make a plan.”

“Is it worth us even staying? I mean, we could always find another place to shack up.” Dean’s voice tells me he’s going against his heart. He really likes this place as much as the rest of us, but he also knows not to take my feelings lightly.

“Maybe, but how often do we come across such a magnificent place? A lot of castles have long since been destroyed by one disaster or another. With some work, and luck, we could make this our home. I love the idea of having a solid place to rest once in a while.”

I love Charlie. She’s never one to beat around the bush. Straight forward and honest. I nod in agreement, but as I stare at the dark looming windows and the ancient structure of the castle, I can’t help but wonder if Dean might have a point. I personally have never felt something this dangerous before and frankly, I honestly don’t know how to deal with whatever dwells inside.

The human called YN is correct, something dark and dangerous does occupy this castle. Me. I am the biggest threat here, the banshee that recently sought refuge here is nothing compared to my dark power.

I am a void, a darkness, sentient and silent. I feed off fear and humans, the ones that are foolish enough to try and remove me from my home. Many have tried. None have succeeded.

I am near indestructible. I revel in the power I possess. I will never let anyone take it from me.

I used to be malicious, hell bent on finding the next willing victim to feed my hungry darkness. Then my brother entity, the one hunters dubbed “the Empty” made a deal with an angel, where the angel would help save what was left of this world and then go willingly into that void.

The anguish I felt from those the angel considered family was horrific. They mourned. I hated the idea that the one like me could be so cruel. We were made for harbouring souls, ones that had no other place to go. We were made to feed on those dead and lost, to grow and suck the life from them. But we were never to make deals to take a willing live being, no matter the end game.

That was what our creator told us. My brother didn’t listen.

I did.

I left because of that. And was punished for it.

Now I am tethered to this stone building. I’ve been here for a long time, and have grown quite fond of the peace and quiet. Most of my energy is gotten from stray animals, or the occasional human. But I absolutely refuse to leave.

So I prepare to fight. I won’t lose this home.

Sam peeks through the door and down the dark hall. “Sounds like fun. Shall we?” He grabs a flashlight and steps over the threshold. The moment he does, I feel the change in whatever has possessed this place.

I grab his arm. “Sam, be careful.”

He nods. “Always.”

I snort at that response, because for as much as I love the brothers, they have had a tendency to get into some stupid situations.

Dean follows Sam, then Charlie and I step inside. I’m blown away from what greets us. The first archway we encounter opens to a massive foyer, large enough to rival a grand ballroom, with corridors leading off in all directions, as well as a grand wide staircase, gleaming with gold accents and dark cherry wood railings. All I was missing was the fancy ball gown and a crowd of ballroom dancers to complete the picture.

Honestly it felt like we’d stepped into a fairy tale, but the danger looming in the background dispelled that notion pretty quick. And now that we were inside, I could definitely sense more than one. The first one, the dark presence that resided in the walls, it was intelligent, and it didn’t feel as threatening as the other. Spirit number two was restless, malevolent, and downright deadly.

“Guys, just a heads up. There’s two different entities here, both are dangerous, but one of them is more so than the other. Be careful. We go in pairs. Watch each other’s backs.”

Everyone nods, and Dean whisks me down one hall while Sam and Charlie explore the other. The moment we’re alone, Dean calls me out on what I didn’t say.

“Ok hotshot, spill. What aren’t you telling us?”

I sigh. Dean knows I have a thing for his brother, and has encouraged me numerous times to tell Sam how I feel. He also knows I have a habit of keeping important information from the others when I feel like it could jeopardise an outcome.

I stop and face my friend. “It’s just a feeling Dean. Honest.”

Dean purses his lips as if trying to figure out if my words are the truth. “Ok. But the moment that changes, you tell us. None of this hero bullshit you usually pull. I saw the look in your eyes. Your spooked. And you never get spooked like this.”

He’s right. It’s one of the reasons I’m good at hunting the things that go bump in the night. I don’t scare easily.

I nod. “I know. I promise to tell you if the feeling becomes more. Ok? Can we drop it now?”

He does, but only because I have a tendency to blow a fuse if I’m pushed too far. And I need to be on top of my game if I want to stay ahead of the dark.

An ear-splitting, high pitched scream echoes through the entire castle, the walls vibrating as it bounces off everything it touches.

Dean and I look at each other and say at the same time. “Banshee!!”

We radio Charlie and Sam. They confirm they heard the creature as well, and promise to keep a close eye on their surroundings. I can’t shake the heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach though. It’s almost like someone’s going to die…

FUCK!

“Dean! We have to find Sam and Charlie now!”

He takes one look at my facial expression, and whatever he finds there is enough to convince him not to argue. Another banshee scream fills the halls, and we take off back to the main foyer as we try to radio Charlie and Sam. They don’t answer, so we head in the direction they took when we split off.

The horrible feeling grows with each step, and when we stumble upon a broken two-way radio, I swallow hard. Dean calls out, but neither answer. I look at the elder Winchester, who’s grim looks mirror my own.

Suddenly, we’re thrown across the room by the high pitched wail, having been too distracted to notice her presence. I recover quickly, my need to contain her is great, she is a road block in my quest to find my friends and make sure they are all right. I summon my will, and I throw everything I have, everything I am feeling, at my nemesis. Her screams fade as she disintegrates before our eyes.

It’s then we see Charlie and Sam, both of whom are lying on the ground, motionless. Charlie is moaning and attempting to open her eyes and sit up, but my focus is on Sam, or rather his lack of movement. I’m paralyzed by fear when I notice his shallow breathing, the struggles he has just trying to breathe.

I fall to my knees beside him. “Sam? Baby, talk to me.”

He coughs and smiles weakly, blood trickles out of his mouth with each wheeze. “You called me a pet name. I knew you liked me.”

Tears fell as I smiled at his attempt at humor. “Asshole! Don’t you dare try and distract me. I swear Sam, if you die, I will kill you. Do you hear me? I will fucking hunt your ass down and kill you!”

His answer is to chuckle, but it quickly turns to another bout of coughing, and more blood oozing from his perfect lips. He never gets to say what he’s thinking as his lungs give out, and he stops breathing.

My worlds stops. I can’t breathe.

A gasp leaves my lips, and quickly turns into a strangled cry. I fall over him, hugging his still form, begging him to wake up, to come back to me. I can’t live without him.

Why the hell did I pair with Dean? Why? I could have protected him! I’m such an idiot! And now I’ll never be able to tell him I love him, I’ll never hold him again, or kiss him the way I’ve always imagined.

Because he’s gone.

That’s when I feel the other presence, the heartache that mirrors my own. The entity within the walls is feeling my pain, which is weird in itself, like it’s mourning my loss.

So I engage it in conversation.

You…why do you mourn my loss? I ask it in my head.

There’s no delay in the answer I receive. I have felt human loss before, it saddens me. What makes this human special?

I love him. He is everything to me…the air I breathe, the life in my body. He’s my reason for living. Is my answer.

This time there is considerable pause before it talks to me. I can bring him back for you. All I ask in return is to be allowed to stay in these walls. I have grown to like it here.

Deal. If you can save him, I will not harm you. But you can never harm me or my friends for as long as we live in this place.

The entity agrees, and I feel it join with my mind, it’s darkness seeping into my body, taking my power and my connection to Sam. I involuntarily move my hands to hover over his chest, and close my eyes as power is released from me into him.

Sam’s body shudders and suddenly he gasps, sitting upright, his lungs taking in gulps of fresh air. He coughs then looks at me, eyes wide.

And I fold my arms around his neck and kiss him.

It takes about two seconds for him to kiss me back, parting my lips with his tongue. Kissing Sam is everything I imagined and more, he tastes sweet, like cotton candy. I’m crying again, but it’s tears of joy. I eventually tear my mouth from his, needing to say three words.

“I love you.”

His response comes immediately. “I love you too YN. Always have.”

He kisses me again, leaving Dean and Charlie cheering and teasing us to get a room. I look up, and a shadowy figure smiles in my direction. The entity.

Thank you. I manage.

It nods, then fades into the walls.

@idreamofplaid @girl-next-door-writes @drkcnry67 @lyarr24

#they belong to us now #sam x reader #au castle #post apocalyptic

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painfulbass · 3 years

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☾ ˚⊹ ❛❛ GENERAL QUICK CROSSOVER GUIDE

So crossovers are usually difficult for a lot of people. So, because I tend to think about these things, I thought I would make this comprehensive list/guide to writing crossovers with me. This isn’t anything in concrete, but to get the ball rolling or to help make it easier for both sides to contribute to plotting. It can be hard when you don’t know the fandom.

FNF, or Friday Night Funkin’ is a rhythm based game around rap battles. The Protagonist (known as BF) is trying to prove himself and win over his Girlfriend’s (GF) Dad, and it spirals from there. Gameplay style, it is very similar to Dance Dance Revolution, and the music is a fast pasted dubstyle/chiptune soundtrack.

What a lot of people know FNF for, however is the Mods. Due to it being on Newgrounds, and the creators having it be open asset, many creators are able to make their own “weeks” for players to challenge their skills in. Ruv, and those within Mid Fight Masses, are one of those mods. You can find most of their lore scattered in the scenes of their week, or by going on their official FNF Wiki.

Now, what does this mean for crossovers? I put it under a read more, simply because this is going to be a lot. I’m going to explain crossover verses I have. How I make them, and how YOU could have your character be in the FNF verse quite easily. So go under the read more to continue reading.

☾ ˚⊹ ❛❛ RUV IN OTHER UNIVERSES

Here are some just ideas that I came up with. While not EVERY interaction will work with these, they are ideas. They’re meant to kick start ideas and inspirations. I do not consider these full verses until I’ve talked with the other mun to make sure that they are okay with it. These can easily be changed, and swapped out for different things. My main goal here is to try and keep Ruv down to his core elements while fitting into a new setting.

POKEMON- Ruv, along with Sarv run the church- which she has turned into a sanctuary and a Nursery. Much like in Canon, Sarv is supernatural, and Ruv as a run away criminal vowed his life for all eternity to protect her. With church’s going out however, the next next step would be a PokeNursery. Ruv acts as protector of the Nursery from trainers and groups alike. He usually is seen sitting on the roof, throwing pebbles at kids or passerby’s who irk him in some way. You can always find his Onix, his Low-Key Toxtricity, and his Absol around him or the nursery at all times. He does still have his strength, speed, and other abilities. The “face” he has is also a mask- an attempt to hide his identity as the wanted criminal.

OWL HOUSE- Ruv was a wanted criminal for the longest time. His magic, due to where he was born was a lot less like those around him. He could fit into the covens, but anything he did reflected back on him. Living alone, and learning to just modify himself he became a wanted criminal with a bone breaking shout. However all of those times soon came to a stop as he met the winged mistress he stays with now. Protecting her (though she is much more than capable of protecting himself) she runs one of the many sects in the area. It isn’t the best building, but it’s out of the way and he usually isn’t spotted. However, unfortunately his past comes back to haunt him. He has no choice, and begrudgingly assists the Guards to repay for his crimes. Tied to Sarv through magical bonds, he has made it clear to those in charge and to her- should something come between his duty as a guard or her, he would chose her a million times over.

DUCKTALES- Ruv is the petrified remains of the guardian of St. Sarvente. Awoken as the earth was shifted off of it’s orbit and forced into something it’s not, the callous guard is in search of the one he calls Sarvente, whom he claims is the Ruler of Souls and the one he Vowed to Protect. He is, 100% made of stone.

TOONTOWN- Stickfigures aren’t uncommon drawings. One’s as complicated as he and Sarv though usually get a few eyes. Not only that, but video game characters are always treated differently in Toontown. Maybe it’s because of a developers history, or lack there of. The story of Ruvyzvat being a heartless killer however spreads like wild flower, and while he and Sarv will primarily stay at the church... sometimes curiosity becomes too much.

KINGDOM HEARTS- FNF is it’s own world. Keyblade turned into a microphone, Ruv & Sarv are some of the first that would be met. Despite their challenge, they are rather distanced from the troubles of the Darkness and Light and would be semi-good companions.

THE BLACKOUT CLUB- Ruv is a 16. Any day will be the day that a voice will end up taking over, merging with his mind. That’s fine. Much like how Seed-The-Grudge would want, he’ll just get revenge.

HAZBIN HOTEL / HELLUVA BOSS- Ruv ironically enough is one of the few in Hell who does not make him dead. In fact, in some cases that can make him extremely rare. This crossover he IS able to accompany Sarvente into the Underworld, and follow her on her treks through it. While most assume he is a dead sinner, he usually just doesn’t answer. However something about being here and meeting those who reside within the land sets him off. He’s a tad more feral, and a tad more willing to go to the violent answer.

PORTAL- Violence core. What else is there to say? Alternatively, him being a test subject would be fascinating, especially if he was grabbed post-vow. The man is immortal, and therefore would have messed with the tests just by the fact that there is only way for him to die. Death isn’t the worst thing to happen to a man however, and he does still feel pain.

RWBY- Ruv has the ability to manipulate sound waves, specifically his own). Trained with great strength and and even greater speed, his form of combat is continuously dodging as he looks for a weak spot. Weapons of choice are shot gun snow boots, and his sickle that doubles as a short sword.

DOCTOR WHO- Sarv has the ability to create portals. While they are MEANT to be used to intergalactive travel, but instead parallel world travel that in of itself is monumental for a lot of DW plots. Ruv and Sarv can easily go from one universe to the next, however chose to stay in the church. Not to mention Ruv’s skills in target elimination and his abilities would make for some individuals to repurpose him into a weapon. While they have been approached by UNIT on several occasions, they always refuse. However, enough time has passed that they’re starting to notice that the couple in the church aren’t aging...

FNAF- RUVYZVAT and SARVENTE were creations of Fazbear Entertainments as karaoke machines... if we want to go the robot route. If we want to go the normal person route, Ruv was hired by Fazbear’s because it’s one of the few places that doesn’t do a background check, and when he said he wanted to wear a mask as part of the work outfit they were all for it. He runs the karaoke machine though. Stays away from quite literally everyone. While he isn’t the infamous killer of children here, he does have a reputation of his own that he is running from, and that does tend to make him silent.

BATIM- Criminal on the run stumbles into the wastelands formerly known as Bendy’s. Actually enjoys it at first because the cartoon was popular when he was a child. ALT. Stickman drawing of one of the artists come to life. Usually pretends to be Lost One, but when he’s alone with another (Sarvente) they turn into their stickman version selves. Has the ability to jump between 2 and 3 dimensions, but none of the strength or voice.

PSYCHONAUTS- Agent Ruvyzvat, Russian sector. Ruv is working for the Psychonauts in some weird, turning event. Mainly because the sole woman that he trusts and saved his life, Agent Sarvente brought him in. The two are inseparable, and despite Sasha and Nein being infamous for their clinginess, these two take it to a whole knew level. Ruve’s “loud voice” is actually a psychic ability he can use outside of the mind to jumble and confuse thoughts and has no damage on anything physically in the present.

GRAVITY FALLS- Sarvente is a Demon, much like Bill. Where sa Bill desires nothing but chaos and madness, Sarvente is trying her best to keep the world like it is and preserve it’s beauty. Seeing such beauty in a runaway criminal, she and he run to the forests of Oregon. Throughout Weirdmageddon, neither managed to be captured or turned to stone, however Ruv seemingly gained his incredible voice abilities. Now, they live in a semi-collapsed church out in the forest. Sarvente always asking those who come her way to join their church, Ruv is suspicious why such events would happen in such a small town, and is distrusting of most everyone he sees.

DETECTIVE CONAN / KAITOU KID / ANY ANIME OR SERIES LIKE THAT- VERY infamous criminal. Take his “Wanted Dead or Alive” that exists in all other verses, and ramp that up quite a bit. Usually wears a mask whenever he is committing a crime. He does seem to be in it for the fun, though it’s hard to tell with the stoic and expressionless looks. That being said, he does seem to have a very clear goal of what he wants. There are no patterns to where he hits, or what he takes. From wallets of people off the streets, to priceless artifacts. He’ll find where Sarvente went, and how they were able to change her mind in such a way.... how they could corrupt her.

MODERN / NON-EXTREMELY FANTASTICAL- Ruv is honestly a rather down to Earth individual, in some terms. He is untrusting of EVERYTHING, but also due to his own strengths finds little that fear or challenges him. Keep him mind he did make a deal with Lucifer (or his Lucifer) for Immortality for protecting her. While he will always be doing things on his own, a lot of his end goals and motives will come back to her. Without her involvement, he is a walking, talking, machine of destruction with no sway on which side he decides to tear apart.

☾ ˚⊹ ❛❛ GENERAL STOPPING POINTS FOR WANTING TO PLOT

DON’T KNOW THE WORLD YOU’RE FROM / YOU DON’T KNOW MY LORE. - That’s fine. I can get my hands dirty. I can research. In fact I usually would love nothing more to. I love learning about new fandoms, or new media to get into. You shouldn’t be afraid of that. As for mine- It should take someone less than an hour to get through all of the links I have posted in the RESOURCES tab in my bio. I’ve timed it. So if you have an hour to spare, or 15, or just enough time to read his wiki that’s fine. He’s not from a long running show, or anything like that. You can catch up extremely quick.

WELL WHAT ABOUT A BOOK/COMIC? HOW WOULD HE FIT IN?- If we are talking about Super Hero comics, then it depends. 90% of the time I will just play up his wanted status a lot more, and make it more of a reason for an interaction. You just ran into a man who has killed hundreds. If your muse is a super hero, or a vigilante? Would you let him go? What a villain? That might make a good partner.

TV SHOW? LIVE ACTION?- Again, it depends on the type of show. Superhero follows the same above. If it’s investigative, have him be a witness. Or a falsely accused man who can prove he isn’t the guilty party. Is it more supernatural- well he did make a deal with Lucifer and is an immortal now from it. There are a million ways to spin it. Don’t look at making him a big character. Quite honestly, side characters that you pass in the street have just as much backstory, and as long as there is a plausible chance of interactions then we can work it out from there.

☾ ˚⊹ ❛❛ GENERAL IDEAS TO BE AWARE OF THAT MIGHT HELP

HE IS A WANTED CRIMINAL.- Meaning his name Ruvyzvat is known. Despite his crimes going on for decades, he is on the run and never stopped. Several city, state, countries, and possibly nations are looking for him, and looking to take him in.

HE IS ALSO AN IMMORTAL.- While he hasn’t been around forever, and nearly not as long as Sarvente has been, he HAS been around for at least 100 years, give or take some. He can be injured, but even fatal injuries heal in an almost Deadpool like way.

HE ALSO HAS SUPERNATURAL POWERS.- His speed and reflexes alone is not something to be taken lightly. He does train and fight with Lucifer on what used to be a semi-regular basis. He has moved and adapted to be able to make sure no one but the singular person he trusts is able to lay a hand on him. That isn’t to say you can’t catch him off guard. You also have his inhuman strength to worry about, but most of all his voice. His voice which could completely demolish a building, and that isn’t the full strength. He has an amazing control over it, but that certainly isn’t a trait of his to ignore.

HE IS NOT ALWAYS IN THE CHURCH. I MADE SURE OF THAT WHEN I MADE MY BLOG.- He goes on walks, and he goes on errands. He also goes to the Gym on occasion, though not as often. He enjoys walks on the beach far earlier than anyone should be awake at. What I’m saying is running into him OUTSIDE of the church is possible. That being said, meeting him IN the church is your best bet for him warming up quicker. He feels safer in the church, and therefore usually wishes to stay there.

DOESN’T FIT THE STYLE OF CHARACTERS/WORLD? - If he doesn’t fit, then I can work to adapt him into something that WOULD fit. What characteristics about him doesn’t work. This is when I would need plotting help. If, lets say it was an all animal world, we can talk about what he is, his traits, and other such things. I am always happy to not use my icons- I just like to because I think they’re neat and I worked hard on them.

WHAT WOULD HE BE DOING?- Any number of things. He likes throwing pebbles at people. He mainly guards and protects Sarvente and her things, but I know we’re talking besides this. He cannot cook, but he does actually sew, and he does read quite a bit. Working on his fist to fist fighting would be a big one. He likes secluded areas, which especially work for explorer’s and people who walk off the beaten path.

IS THERE ANYWHERE HE COULDN’T BE?- He wouldn’t be at a bar. Ruv doesn’t drink, at all. I also don’t see him at any parties unless Sarv dragged him to them. Writing starters or plotting around those are perfectly fine, but do not expect his muse to be comfortable while he’s there.

HE SEEMS OVERPOWERED.- At times, he certainly can be, but only when he feels it’s necessary. He doesn’t flaunt his abilities, and most he has are out of self preservation. If you as a mun are worried about him and what he can do, the best thing you can do is read my information, look into his wiki, and then come and talk to me. Ruv isn’t someone who will 100% abuse what abilities he has, especially since now he is trying his best to be better for her since it makes her happy.

☾ ˚⊹ ❛❛ GENERAL IDEAS TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTERS IN HIS UNIVERSE

LOCATIONS?- The Church, the back alleys, the karaoke bar (that primarily does rap battles), the Alternate dimension that Sarv made so that he can be loud and not retrain his voice.

MOTIVATIONS?- If your muse is in the FNF world, then be ready for some sick beats to be dropped. Your muse could be rescuing someone from the BBEG and going through the slew of minions to sing against. There’s always the alternative side of this of “what the hell is going on?”

MY CHARACTER ISN’T FROM THERE, SO THEY WOULDN’T FIT IN.- Well I do have a “main” verse which replaces raps with fists. Looking for someone important to them, in the search of a deep and hidden artifact within the search, the rumors of a man born 100 years ago- theres a lot to be found in the library if you looked.

WHAT DOES THE FNF WORLD CONSIST OF?- It consists of Demon Daddies, Singing Skeletons and Pumpkins, Tankmen, a Demonic Lemon Demon, Sentient Video Game Characters, and if you take the mods in you also have Demon, Angels, Ghosts, Deadly Ex’s, Bomb Headed Men-- I promise your character will fit in at the end of the day.

ISN’T HE EXTREMELY AGGRESSIVE AND HARD TO TALK TO?- He can be. He talks in very short sentences, however I do my best to give my reply enough that you can reply to. Actions, and I chose to be very descriptive with his expressions in this case. Ruv spend many years alone, and sometimes with him, actions speak louder than words. When you or your muse figure that out is up to you.

WELL WE CAN’T DO AN ENTIRE THREAD IN A CHURCH.- I never said we had to. He is more than happy to leave the church should he want, and should there be a reason. Usually, (despite what it seems) he does like helping people, so you can lure him out that way ;)

#∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹ 𝕽𝖚𝖓 𝕬𝖜𝖆𝖞 𝖂𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝕸𝖆𝖓 ⊹ — ❛❛ v. crossover.#∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹ 𝕴𝖙'𝖘 𝕶. ⊹ — ❛❛ resources.#∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹ 𝕴𝖙'𝖘 𝕶. ⊹ — ❛❛ psa & updates.#∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹ 𝕴𝖙'𝖘 𝕶. ⊹ — ❛❛ save.#i added all i could think of #just so i could kinda help out when it came to plotting but #even if we don't know each others universes or anything #this is pretty comprehensive so i hope it helps #i spent a while on it and it should be pretty helpful to anyone who wants to write with me but has no idea how #now if you excuse me im going to scream because of how long this took #∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹ 𝕾𝖎𝖓𝖋𝖚𝖑 𝕰𝖓𝖉 ⊹ — ❛❛ headcanon.#∘⡊ ☾ ˚⊹ 𝕾𝖎𝖓𝖋𝖚𝖑 𝕰𝖓𝖉 ⊹ — ❛❛ meta.

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