#the original sketch was going to lean more into the acceptance part rather than the pride part so idunn would be vibing amongst other guys | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language, nudity (but, like, for art), and violence Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, including violence between the shipped pair, leaning heavily into the "enemies" part of "enemies to friends to lovers" Summary: Local vampire discusses art, depictions of certain anatomy, and enjoys the company of her feral soulmate for 4.5 minutes. Then it goes to shit (as things tend to do). 0-60 Real goddamn quick. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly

4: Portraits For Ghosts

“Am I really supposed to just… stay here? Did she honestly think that I, of all people, would behave? The universe gave me two good hands, and by God, I intend to make that someone else’s problem,” you mutter to yourself as you get dressed. It’s not that you necessarily had anything in mind, rather that you hated the idea of waiting around for who knows how long for Cassandra to return. Especially considering what she had done prior to leaving. Sure, you had laughed, but that hadn’t meant much in the end. At this point, you hadn’t even been out of the dungeon for a full day yet, and the memories of what happened there were fresh in your mind. Nightmares, too, even if you had pushed them aside to deal with Cassandra’s. Why did I bother? You wonder, frowning. There was hardly any point to comforting a monster, no matter the way they trembled.

Or at least that’s the lie you sold yourself.

Soon enough, a knock at the door brings you out of your head. Daphne, maybe, you think, remembering the maiden from yesterday. When you open the door, however, you’re met with an unfamiliar woman. She’s a few years your senior, at the very least, and appears surprised to see you. In her hands is a very enticing tray of food.

“Lady Cassandra wanted me to bring this to you. I am… I am glad to see you are feeling better already,” she says, voice shaking. What was with these maidens and assuming you were anything like your soulmate? Though that last part did catch your interest. Something told you that she wasn’t at all referring to your time in the dungeon. If you had learned anything from Daphne, it was that the best way to get information was to be indirect. So you graciously accepted the food, before speaking, dodging your way around your ignorance.

“Yes, it’s amazing what a bit of meditating can do for the soul- and body, that is,” you start, watching closely for any veiled reactions. Even within the first few words you can tell that this stranger wasn’t expecting you to be pleasant. “Out of curiosity, what did my Lady say about my condition? There are, uh, a few details that I hope she did not share. I’m sure you understand.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, the maiden is nodding, appearing eager to satisfy you. Maybe a hint of fear can be useful, after all.

“No worries, Lady Cassandra did well to respect your privacy, and we would not dare question her further. She simply explained, to her family, that you were dealing with a migraine. I only heard this because I was helping serve breakfast,” she explained, smiling softly. You’re quick to nod, mimicking her expression for maximum empathy. “Do you require anything else? I am here to serve, you must only ask.” Ah, perfect. Would she have offered this even if you hadn’t attempted to be charming? Probably, but your politeness certainly didn't hurt.

“Well, there is one thing… as long as it’s no trouble.”

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It had been a risk, asking the servant to take you to a room you weren’t sure existed, but one that had paid off brilliantly. Even if said room was nothing like you had anticipated. Who would have thought that Cassandra, you think, would be an artist? What’s far less surprising is the fact that the studio (or ‘study’, as you had called it) is a disorganized disaster. Discarded papers lie scattered around an overflowing trash can, a cabinet with an attached tool rack is missing pieces, and in one corner there are literally random shards of broken glass lying about. What is this, performance art? Part of you feels tempted to clean up the mess, if only to occupy your time. Instead, you decide to examine some of the pieces within the room. Maybe somehow they’d tell you something noteworthy about your soulmate.

First, you move to your left, where a workbench houses strange sculptures. For the most part they’re abstract, jagged edges contrasting with gentle curves, but there is one you think you understand. It’s very clearly a bust… of someone’s ‘bust’. Guess that solves the age old question of ‘boobs or ass’, you think, stifling a giggle. Moving on, you shift your attention to the exposed section of the cabinet. One row is dedicated to small vials, each labeled with a concerning ‘blood’, despite the fact that it’s clearly not refrigerated. Still, you have heard of artists painting with blood before, but you seem to recall them mixing it with something else. Perhaps Cassandra had done the same? Though you did wonder if she had any difficulty resisting the urge to drink the blood, at least prior to mixing it.

Shrugging, you continue to the other side of the studio, squatting to get a closer look at the broken glass. As expected, there’s no discernable pattern or purpose. Huh, you think, wonder why she doesn’t clean up. Maybe she’s waiting for a servant to do it? Guessing her reasoning was rather difficult, especially considering your lack of context, such as how long the mess had been here. Deciding that this was a pointless distraction, you move on to the only other thing of note in the room: An easel, in the center, with a canvas nearly as tall as yourself. So far, there’s little on it other than pencil lines, a sketch marking where to paint certain details. Only the (start of) the background has been colored. Understandably, it’s hard to make out what exactly the finished project would end up representing. Based on what you know of Cassandra and her family, however, you infer that this- with four figures, one larger than the others, protective- is a painting of the castle residents.

“Family means something to you, hmm?... I hope that mine does not miss me much, for I will never see them again,” you say to yourself, instinctively reaching out towards the art. Before you can touch it, or think better of it, the door to the studio is flying open. In storms Cassandra, fists clenched at her sides. As soon as she sees you, she’s rushing forward, pulling you away from the easel. “Hello, darling. Glad to see me feeling better, yes?” You teased, smiling wide at her. Feeling a bit emboldened by your earlier success, you go a step further, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I swear to fuck, if you touched any of my stuff-” Cassandra starts to say, intentionally ignoring the kiss, even though her cheeks get flush at the contact.

“Nope, not a single thing. Not even the broken glass. Nice touch, by the way, makes the whole space feel a helluva lot cozier,” you interject. For a few moments she holds you by your shirt collar, staring you in the eyes as if determining whether or not to believe you. Somehow, some way, she declares you innocent, releasing you with an irritated sigh. After pretending to dust yourself off, you return your attention to the central canvas. “Do you do a lot of art of your family? I passed by several pieces on my way here, though they were certainly in a different style.” Another pause, with Cassandra waiting for you to spring a verbal trap.

“Some of those are mother’s work,” she answers, tentatively, eying you closely. When you merely nod in reply, expecting her to elaborate, she starts to relax, little by little. “I doubt you passed any of mine. Mother tends to keep those closer to her quarters, or near the main entrance.” Interesting, you think, why hasn’t she addressed my original question?

“It sounds like she’s very proud of you,” you muse, still facing away from your soulmate. There’s a slight shakiness to your voice, as your mind starts to dwell on memories of your own family. Perhaps noticing this, Cassandra takes a few steps closer, one hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite sure if you needed (or perhaps deserved) any comfort. In this moment, you feel far more vulnerable than you had the day before. Taking a deep breath, you try to center yourself, before perfectly ruining whatever trust you had just established with Cassandra. “Something tells me she doesn’t know about the titty sculpture though, right? Can’t quite imagine that one being displayed where everyone can see it.”

To your immense surprise, Cassandra gives you a blank stare.

“You… you really don’t know anything about my mother, do you?” She says, after several awkward seconds. It feels strange to think that she had been furious, merely a handful of minutes ago. “If you actually behave for a while, I can show you some of her favorite pieces around the castle. Then maybe you’ll understand.” Intrigued, you debate how exactly to respond. On one hand, you did want to see the art, but on the other hand… misbehaving was your goal of the day.

“Sounds like a nice date to me. Why not start the tour right now?” You suggest, hoping to meet your ‘politeness quota’ earlier rather than later. Still, it is in your very nature to be chaotic, and you find yourself giving Cassandra an affectionate shoulder touch. It’s not at all genuine, but the two of you blush nonetheless. How could you not, when your blood was bound together, hearts made to race in sync?

“Don’t get friendly with me,” Cassandra stammers, unadjusted to the way her pulse pounded. “This isn’t a date. We’re just- it doesn’t matter, actually. As long as it means getting you out of my studio, I don’t care.” With that said, she takes your hand in her own, pulling you towards the exit. If she has any feelings about the soft touch, she hides them well… unlike yourself. Cheeks flushed, you’re half tempted to yank yourself out of her grip, hating the way your heart skips a few beats. Would I still feel this way if I didn’t know we were soulmates? You wonder, biting your lower lip to prevent any unwanted comments from slipping out. Soon enough you’d have art aplenty to distract yourself with. Hopefully.

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“My God, you were not kidding. I don’t- I can’t even think of anything clever to say,” you chime, staring dumbfounded at the several statuettes of naked women. They seemed to fulfill some other purpose, one you couldn’t parse at the moment, but you could hardly think about the details right now. “I mean, good for your mother, for sticking to a theme, I suppose,” you continue, tripping over your own tongue, uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly amused by your flustered display, Cassandra lets out a hearty laugh.

“Good to know some things can shut you up. I’ll have to keep this in mind for next time you bother me,” she teases, light-heartedly. Her words only fluster you more, though they quickly give you room to counter, much to your joy.

“Is that so? Planning on carrying around a busty bust for the rest of your life, or thinking of going the more au naturel route?” You asked, briefly sticking your tongue out at Cassandra. It takes her a moment to understand what you’re getting at, but as soon as she does she’s smacking your arm with an offended huff. Despite her irritation, the blow is relatively soft, and you swear you can see her fighting to hide a smile. “Starting to go soft on me, are you? I hardly even felt that one.”

“So you’d prefer I hit you harder? And to think you called me kinky,” Cassandra fires back, without a hint of hesitation. Now both of you are laughing, softly, like old friends sharing fond memories. It’s… weirdly nice. A warmth fills your chest, even as you try to remind yourself that you shouldn’t be happy right now. Damn it, you think, suddenly frowning, hands clenching. We shouldn’t be having fun banter, back and forth like a real couple. Not when I’ve still got wounds from her hands on my skin. Instinctively you reach up to your face, thumb running over the marks Cassandra’s nails had left behind. The touch stings, bad, no matter how gentle you try to be. Noticing your shift in expression, your soulmate inches closer. “If your wounds are bothering you, I can have one of the servants get more ointment or whatever it is we have around. I don’t want you to-... There’s no reason for you to suffer more than you need to, besides, I don’t want you complaining all day.” Of course she couldn’t bring herself to imply that she cared. Of course. It wasn’t like the two of you were actually capable of being soft for each other, obviously. All of your confusion melts down, boiled by the warmth in your chest, turning to a familiar, albeit painful, rage.

“Right, right! Because you care so fucking much, yeah? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I-” you jab a finger towards her chest, accusatory- “talking to you? Why am I pretending you're not the one who did this to me? You’re the fucking reason my face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my brain-... I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened down there. I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head, every time I close my eyes, every time I look at you. I…” You trail off, chest heaving a little, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra’s standing tall, unflinching, but there’s a noticeable regret in her expression.

“What. Are. You… going to do about it?” She asks, through clenched teeth, fighting back the full force of her emotions. You can’t tell what exactly she’s feeling, but you know that you want her to show you. Every part of you is itching for a fist fight, regardless of how stupid you know the idea is.

“Depends, dickwad, on whether or not these statuettes are properly secured,” you snap, already moving, fully abandoning all impulse control. By the time your hand grips the first sculpture, Cassandra has put you in a headlock, forcefully tugging you backwards. Panic sets in, making you try to jam your elbows into her stomach. Before long both of you are tumbling to the floor, bodies already aching, limbs flailing wildly in an attempt to hit a target, any target. In the end the air is knocked from your lungs as your head smacks against the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” you grumble, coughing, finally processing just how much of a dumbass you were. It’s clear that at least one of the previous day’s wounds has reopened, and you feel something wet and sticky on your shirt.

“Finished, asshole?” Cassandra wheezes, sounding dazed, roughly pulling you up by your shirt collar. You nod, refusing to meet her gaze. Then she’s sighing in relief, letting you lean on her for support, holding you surprisingly close, considering the circumstances. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Again…”

#cassandra dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #enemies to friends to lovers #blunt teeth sharp tongue #got some fun banter in this one!#followed immediately by heartbreak #they want to be soft so bad #but they do not know how #i promise they will eventually be soft #you have to remember that this is still less than 24 hours after part 1 #the reader is traumatized

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

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When We Were Young Part Eight

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader Rating: T Notes: Not beta-read. I hope everyone’s having a good week! I hope everyone’s had a good week and is doing well :) Thank you for all of the likes/reblogs/replies 🥰 Warnings: Some fluff; some angst. Summary: Your mother was deathly afraid that you would come through this season without a proposal; you had never been more afraid that you would receive one.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” You accused Sherlock as he captured one of your rooks. “I disagree. I believe I’m enjoying it exactly the right amount.” You rolled your eyes openly, careful not to let your smile widen as he chuckled. “It is your turn, dove,” He added. Your eyes darted to Cornelius, whom you saw shift in his seat at the use of the pet name. He had been steadfast in his chaperoning of yourself and Sherlock whenever the detective made it a point to stop by, as he had nearly every day for the last three weeks. You were unsure if Dawson had caught wind of your other… Visitor (Sherlock wasn’t a suitor, he wasn’t courting you, surely. You refused to put too much stock in the books and flowers that he brought; even if the books were on topics that you loved; even if Mrs. Lloyd insisted that carnations stood for fascination, and small sunflowers meant adoration, and kennedias signified mental beauty, and Peruvian heliotrope were for devotion, and mossy saxifrage represented affection).

You looked down at the board. “Aren’t you always the one counseling me not to rush into my next move?” “I suppose I am,” Sherlock mused. “Then perhaps you only pointed out that it was my turn to distract me from the bigger picture.” “Do you really think that I would do something like that?” “I think that that is exactly what you would do,” You looked up at Sherlock from under your lashes, and this time, you couldn’t help but share his smile. You reached out, your fingers settling on your bishop. Sherlock made a soft sound in his throat. “Shush,” You ordered. “You’re certain?” Sherlock asked. “It’s not going to work this time, Holmes,” You insisted, moving the piece before sitting up straight. Sherlock cocked his head to the side; the movement put you in mind of a small, confused puppy. “What’s not going to work?” His tone was woven with innocence, but you knew better. This was the third game that you’d played with him that afternoon, and he’d managed to make you second-guess yourself during the last two. “You know what. Now take your turn.” You watched as he clasped his hands under his chin, resting his chin and lips against his knuckles as he surveyed the board. In his concentration, you let your eyes wander his face. He tended to get this furrow between his brow when he was thinking; now and again, his eyes would narrow, but only a touch and just for a second. You heard him push a short huff out through his nose before he hummed thoughtfully. You didn’t follow his gaze back to the board. Instead, you continued to watch him unabashedly as you asked, “What now?” Sherlock’s eyes flitted to yours, and you felt a shock of warmth spread through you. He held your gaze with such intensity that you almost missed his moving his queen and murmuring, “Checkmate.” You looked down at the board before you leaned back in your seat, groaning in frustration. “You did far better this time than last,” Sherlock said, sitting up. You could tell that he wasn’t teasing you, and you hummed. “I didn’t beat you, though.” “You will, dove. Just not today.” You raised a brow. “No time for one more?” “I’m afraid I have to meet with Lestrade in,” Sherlock reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out his pocket watch, “Nearly half an hour.” “Ah,” You nodded, “New case?” “Yes, though from what details he told me, I’m hoping for a speedy resolution.” Your brows rose. “That sounds rather unlike you. I thought you preferred the cases that were more difficult to unpick.” “I do, but I have...Other things occupying my mind at present.” Beautifully vague; classic Sherlock. “Things regarding Enola?” You asked. He hesitated in answering before he settled on, “Some.” You stood when Sherlock did, and you cleared your throat, signalling his departure to your Uncle Cornelius. You heard him folding his paper. “I’ll be stopping by to see her tomorrow,” You added, clasping your hands, “She told me that she’d be quite occupied with Edith at the tea rooms, else, and-- and I will have to leave town at the end of this week.” Sherlock cut you a look, briefly sharp, then stunned. “This week?” He asked, frowning. “Yes.” You’d been planning on telling Sherlock at some point during his last few visits, but the two of you just seemed to get so caught up-- with conversation, or chess, or cards. “I’m afraid her mother has been quite miserable without her,” Cornelius added, rounding his armchair. You glanced at him. He knew as well as you that that was a lie; she had been irate with your departure, and only grew more and more frustrated when you’d stalled in town. She’d only allowed it for as long as she had because Cornelius had reported to her that Dawson was visiting you with some frequency. It was unlikely that he would make a trip out to see you at your home. Your mother was deathly afraid that you would come through this season without a proposal; you had never been more afraid that you would receive one. You could see on Sherlock’s face that he didn’t buy the reason for a moment, but he gave a stiff nod, murmuring, “Of course,” before he turned to look at you. “I will do my best to see you at least once more before you leave London.” “I would like that,” You said; your heart twinged with how much you meant it. -- Enola tended to get caught up in things; you knew that about her. That was why, when you arrived at Baker Street the following day, you found her not at home. Mrs. Hudson apologized profusely, offering to let you wait in the sitting room for her. You accepted, and in solitude, you took your chance to look around. It was a cozy room. Sherlock and Enola seemed to each have their own corners: Sherlock’s was by the fireplace, beside a bookshelf; Enola’s was by the window, with a desk that was stocked with books and drawing pencils. You chuckled at the caricature of Mycroft that you’d last seen at Ferndell pinned to the wall beside the window. You ran your fingers over the back of Enola’s chair before you turned, drifting toward Sherlock’s armchair. He had a reading table beside it; there was a wooden box with a pipe engraved on it, and a stack of books. There were a few pieces of paper sticking out of the books here and there, and you could just make out Sherlock’s handwriting. You glanced toward the door, holding your breath for a moment. When you were sure that you couldn’t hear anyone coming, you picked up one, scanning the title on the spine: On the Origin of Species. Your brows rose before you reached for the one under it. It was a plain-covered book, unassuming. You hummed, curious, and set the first book aside in favor of flipping through the second. You smiled a little when you saw sketches. You knew that that was one thing that Sherlock and Enola both held a love for. As you flipped through, you recognized Ferndell; there were a few pressed flowers with their sketches, meanings, and uses jotted down besides; you snorted when you spotted a caricature of Dawson. It depicted him with rather a large head and very small, beady eyes; his coat had money bursting out of the pockets, and he was leaning heavily on a dandy’s cane. Had Sherlock given your suitor gout? It certainly looked that way. You turned the next page and then froze, your breath catching in your throat. It was… Well, it was you. Sherlock had sketched you in profile. Your eyes were downcast, your lips drawn up in a smile; there was shading around your cheeks, making it look as though you were blushing. He’d made you look so soft, so...Gentle, but somehow mischievous. Was this how he saw you? Sitting on the page beside it was a flower petal - white, pressed, but still soft. It looked familiar, but you couldn’t place it at first. You trailed your finger over it, frowning, before you realized that you had last seen it at the dinner party: your gardenia. You heard the door slam shut downstairs, and the thunder of footsteps, and you hurried to shut the notebook and set it down on the stack, replacing the other book on top of it before you hurried over to the window. You turned to see Enola burst into the room, grinning. “I’m sorry, I got caught up,” She apologized as she shrugged out of her coat. You smiled, chuckling, “It’s quite alright.” “Would you like some tea?” Enola asked, but she was already heading for the kitchen. You followed close behind, answering, “Certainly.” As the two of you settled back in the sitting room with your tea, you couldn’t stop your gaze from straying to Sherlock’s reading table now and again. Enola was sharp, you knew that; you didn’t know why you thought you were being sneaky. “He’s working on a case,” She informed you after she caught you looking for the fifth time that afternoon. You nodded a little. “Yes, he mentioned. He thought it would move along quite swiftly.” “Maybe it is. He was out all last night, and when I awoke this morning, Mrs. Hudson said that he hadn’t been in yet.” You frowned at that. “Does that happen often?” You asked. “Occasionally,” Enola shrugged, “But I don’t mind.” You smiled, then, trying to reassure yourself; you knew that she didn’t, but you couldn’t help but wonder where he was and what he was up to. “...Enola.” “Hm?” “You haven’t happened to see an odd glove around here that isn’t yours, have you?” -- Your visit with Enola ran late, as it always did. You heard the clock chime five and you frowned; you were going to be late for dinner. “I should be on my way,” You sighed softly. Enola opened her mouth to reply, but it was cut off by the thudding of footsteps coming up the stairs. There was a pause before you saw Sherlock sweep through the living room. He didn’t acknowledge either of you; you could see his shoulders hunched forward, his jaw tight with irritation. You watched as he opened his bedroom door, then flinched when it slammed shut behind him. “...And now we know how the case is going,” You muttered sarcastically. Enola wrinkled her nose as you straightened from your chair. You exchanged your goodbyes, and you were headed for the front door before you stopped yourself, glancing back toward Sherlock’s door. Enola had had no leads; there was still time to get your glove back. “Just-- I’ll be a moment,” You said. Enola arched a knowing brow before she nodded, stepping into her own room and shutting the door. You frowned a little bit. What on earth had that look been for? And why had she retreated to her bedroom? You shook the thought away as you walked over to Sherlock’s door, leaning in the doorway. You raised your hand, rapping your knuckles lightly on it twice. You heard a gruff call of, “What?” and you bit your lip. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea. “What is it--” Came an additional yell, and you hurried to answer, “It’s me.” There was a pause, and you straightened up as you heard Sherlock’s footsteps approaching the door. He opened it, and you were briefly taken aback. You’d never seen the man look so...Disheveled. His curls were mussed, as if he’d been taking his hand through them; he’d removed his jacket and tie, and opened the top two buttons of his shirt; his sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. You couldn’t help the way your eyes wandered his form before you met his gaze again. “I’m sorry, I-- Didn’t mean to disturb you.” “You haven’t,” Sherlock insisted, “I apologize, I didn’t realize that you were still here.” He tucked his hands into his pockets and peered into the sitting room, searching for Enola, before he looked back to you. “When does your train leave?” “Friday morning. The 10:30.” “Perhaps I’ll see you at the station.” That took you aback, and you were able to deduce a few things from it. “...I take it the case is proving a little more difficult than expected?” Sherlock pushed a heavy sigh out through his nose, leaning against the door frame as he hung his head; it more than confirmed your suspicions. “I’m sorry,” You added softly. He raised a hand, rubbing over the back of his neck. “It is nothing I haven’t dealt with before, but...I fear I may not be able to come and see you again before you leave.” You felt disappointment fill you, but you pushed it away, shielding it with a smile. “It’s alright, I understand,” You insisted, “I was glad to have your company while I was in town.” “And I, yours, love,” Sherlock murmured. Your heart soared at the words; you blinked at Sherlock a couple of times, certain that you’d imagined it. “Pardon?” You asked. Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “I-- I said I was glad to have yours, too, dove.” That feeling of elation plummeted as quickly as it had swelled, your heart dropping like a kite that had lost the wind. You’d simply misheard him. You lowered your eyes, nodding. “Of course. I should be on my way. Cornelius is expecting me.” “Let me hail you a hansom--” “No!” You rushed to stop him. Sherlock looked stricken; you felt bile rise in your throat, and you hurried to cover this with another smile. “I can manage it myself. Good luck with your case, Mr. Holmes.” You hurried out of Baker Street as quickly as you could, your glove completely forgotten. Tag list: @run-through-wa11s; @thefallenbibliophilequote ; @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem ; @maan24 ; @awkward-walking-potato ; @madalore ; @alexa-lightwood-blog ; @chelseaxaz ; @marwritesgood ; @runawayolives ; @parkerismybaby ; @magicstrengthandcourage ; @shesthelastjedi ; @wolfiepirate ; @xremember-me-notx ; @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 ; @alagaesian-bookdragon ; @libbymouse ; @truthdaze ; @crispysublimecupcake ; @cavillhavoc ; @juliesland ; @lyannamartell23 ; @seeking-a-great--perhaps ; @anxiousgoldengirl ; @gooddaykate-reads ; @rn7rocks ; @remember-happy-things ; @angels-pie

#When We Were Young #Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes x You #Sherlock Holmes Imagine #Sherlock Holmes Henry Cavill #Sherlock Holmes/Reader #Sherlock Holmes/You

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oddsnendsfanfics · 3 years

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Unraveling in the Sheets

Genre: Fan Fiction

Pairing: Henry Cavill/OFC

Warnings: Language, Sexual Content, NSFW

Rating: M

Length: Short Story

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: Spoiler Alert, there is smut. Be warned. It's there.

Also, I am no longer doing tags on posts. Since my list exceeds the tag limit. Please feel free to join the chat in place of the tag list.

Henry Cavill Master List

“How did you do it though?” Gliding the car into a free parking space, Henry glanced at Nell in the passenger's seat.

“How did I do what?” Eyeing him curiously, she tried to hide her gloating smile. She could be a terrible winner, even if she wasn't the winner, she had came ahead of Henry.

“You know what I mean, Nelly.”

He looked so silly, his new mustache curling when he laughed or smiled. Nell had to admit, if any man could wear the 'stache Henry did it well.

“Oh, you mean how did I suddenly leave your ass behind and finish nearly 50 positions ahead?” She laughed, crinkling her nose. “I told you, I've been working hard for this. Besides, you're too big. You move slower than I do. It's that simple. Maybe next year, you will finish ahead of me.”

“You're impossible.” Unbuckling his seat belt, Henry hurried to get out of the car and around to the other side, before Nell could open her own door. Nearly there, he frowned when she opened the door, stepping out of the Aston Martin. “You were supposed to let me open that.”

“I am supposed to do a lot of things that I do not.” Nell grabbed her hand bag. “I'll let you open the door, next time. You big dork.”

Henry was always the gentleman, even when Nell would rather rip his eyes out than speak to him in a civil manner. Not that she ever felt the former much, but on the rare occasion. Sometimes that's how things went for ex-lovers. The mid May air was growing cool, leaving a few goosebumps on Nell's exposed arms. She had expected to be back before now, which is why she'd left her sweater in the hotel.

“Well, happy late birthday. It was nice having dinner with your family. I've missed them.”

“They've missed you, too. I could tell that dad was happy you came along. He hasn't talked that much during a dinner since the last time you came over.” Henry smiled fondly. "I'm glad that you came, Nelly." Hands in his pockets, Henry sauntered along beside Nell. Approaching the main entrance, he held the door allowing her to enter.

When he'd invited her for the weekend, he wasn't confident that she would come. Wrapped up in work, Nell didn't take too much time away from Dublin these days.

"It was a nice break from work." Tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, Nell bit her bottom lip. "I know that you are busy, but do you have a few minutes to talk?"

"I always have time to talk with you." Scanning the hotel lobby, Henry tried to find a spot for them to sit and chat privately. "Should we have a seat at the bar?"

"We could, but I would really like to change. Do you mind coming up with me? We can just talk in the room. It's probably more comfortable anyway."

"Is this about the wild boy?"

"Isn't it always?"

Laughing, Henry pushed the call button for the elevator. Their son was truly something else. One day he would surely take over the world; Henry could see that coming from the day he was born. To say Ivan was Henry's pride and joy would be a massive understatement. He lived for their son. This weekend having Ivan, and Nell, in Jersey had been fantastic. A short glimpse of what life could have been. The ding of the elevator brought Henry back from his brief fantasy.

He and Nell had split up several years ago, there wasn't much chance she would feel the same as he did. Lost in the thoughts of happy little family. Allowing Nell to step onto the elevator first, Henry stood silently with his hands clasped in front of him.

“So, Ivan has been doing well in school?” He may as well get this under way.

“Define doing well,” Nell snickered. “I get a call nearly every day from his teacher. The woman is impossible, but knowing our son, he isn't making it easy for her.”

“I was like that in school. Right up until the day I left.” Henry shrugged. The elevator gently bumping to a stop, he stepped forward to hold the door for Nell.

Muttering a thank you, Nell dug for her key card, leading the way down the hall. She loved this hotel, it was the only one she stayed in, if she could help it, while visiting the Island. A great view of the water on one side, the other dazzling with a fantastic look out into the city. The first time she'd ever been to Jersey, she had stayed in the hotel and fell in love with the charm. There were days when that felt like a life time ago.

Opening the door, Nell paused to allow Henry in. “Have a seat. Anywhere you'd like. Sorry it's kind of a mess. I'm going to change.”

The hotel room was anything but a mess, minus the few sketch books that Nell had dropped on the bed. Always working. Henry took a seat on the edge of the king sized bed, casually glancing at the colour coded notes and designs that Nell had in one of the open sketch books. Costumes. A few notes detailed leather armor and Viking era clothing. She'd done well for herself, since he'd met her. The same shy costume apprentice hiding out on set of The Tudors, was now helping drive forward the details of Vikings.

In the bathroom, Nell pulled off her dress. The fabric had became clingy after a while and she needed to be more relaxed. Running shorts and a tshirt would do the trick. Sighing at her reflection, she bit her bottom lip glancing down at her top. The worn coral Nike tshirt was her favourite, it was showing the love and wear in a few spots. Perhaps she should have picked something less frumpy? She was a busy, single mom she didn't have to look the part. Ah fuck, who cared. Henry certainly wouldn't.

He was here to discuss their son, not flirt with her until she gave in to that smile. Or got lost in his eyes, those gorgeous blue eyes – the left with the flecks of brown. His charm alone was enough to make anyone weak in the knees. Damn it, she needed to get over it. He had moved on. She needed to do the same.

Blowing out a breath, Nell reached for the door, pausing when she heard Henry talking. His tone told her that he was speaking to Ivan. Quietly slipping out of the bathroom, she smiled.

“Hold on, just a sec.” He pushed the screen of his phone, allowing the speaker to connect. “Alright, wild boy. Say goodnight to your mum.”

“Mum, momma, mum.” Ivan's voice filled the room. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Ivan. Are you being a good boy?”

“Uh huh. I love you. Good night.”

“Good night, wild boy. I love you.”

“Night dad.”

“Good night, I love you. I'm going to be back soon, you go to bed and I will see you first thing in the morning.”

“Okay. Oh, dad, can Kal sleep in my room tonight?” Ivan was fond of the large black and white American Akita. Henry laughed.

“Of course he can. You and Kal go to bed, now.”

“Okay, bye.” A little too quickly, Ivan hung up the phone. Henry laughed at the eagerness, he would talk to his mother when he got back to the house. Making sure that Ivan and his dog had gone to bed as they were told, with no fuss.

"Can you believe he is growing this fast? My god where has that time gone?" Henry rubbed his hands against his face. His mustache and subtle stubble scratching his palms.

"Time is a cruel mistress." Rubbing her hands on her shorts, Nell stood. "Drink? I have a bottle of Johnnie Walker."

"Of course you do." Smirking, Henry shifted on the side of the bed. “I had a look at some of these designs, by the way. They're magnificent. My god, Nell, you are so talented.”

“You're saying that to be nice,”

Shaking his head, Henry accepted the glass, resting it on his knee. “No, I am saying it because its true. You are one of the most talented costumers that I had ever met. Are you enjoying the job?”

“I love it.” Nell smiled, leaning against the large wooden desk in the corner. “The work is great, the people are amazing, and Ivan is really enjoying it. I'm glad we went.”

“Good, that's good. He talks about it, a lot. He really seems to love being there. I'm glad. Once things settle, I am going to try and come visit. I kind of miss it, Dublin.”

“You should.” She smiled fighting the urge to scoff and roll her eyes. Henry was always busy. He'd make it to Dublin, when Hell froze over. “So, how is work coming on this new character.”

“I can't say much, but I can say that I will be happy when I can shave.” He rubbed the mustache expertly. “It's not as bad as some of the beards that I've had to grow, but it's not my favourite look.”

“You look good with a beard. I know you hate them, but you do.”

Leaning forward to set his glass on the bedside table, Henry licked the whiskey off of his lips. “I'm glad to have that compliment.”

“Sure.” Nell nodded, tipping her glass to finish the drink. “Another?”

“Uh, I'm good.” Henry motioned to his glass. Rubbing his hands across his jeans, he furrowed his brow. “I've been thinking, since I am fairly busy the next few months, what if I keep Ivan for a few extra days? Once you leave, I will take him back to London with me, until I have to go.”

Shifting on the bed, her face warm from the second glass of whiskey, Nell sniffled and cleared her throat. “What about school?”

“What about it? He isn't going to miss much, is he? They're nearly finished up and I don't know how long it will be, until I see him. Possibly not until Christmas.”

All he wanted was to spend a little time with his son, was that so hard? His next move would have to be calculated, Nell had been known to stat arguments over less. If Henry wanted to avoid a shouting match, he would have to go about this carefully. Reaching for his glass, he downed the remaining contents in one large gulp. Sighing.

“I want to hang out with him a little. It wouldn't be more than three days extra. Then you get some time alone, as well. Nell, I know that you need a bit of a break. You work so hard and take care of Ivan, please.”

“If you want to, then I suppose I can't really say no. What kind of mother would I be, if I didn't let you see him?”

“Don't say things like that, please.” Henry reached out, his hand taking hers. Gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “You are a wonderful mum. You know that.”

“Sometimes, I feel like I could do better. I really do.” Nell shrugged, allowing Henry to continue holding her hand.

“All parents feel that way, I am sure. I know that I feel like that, all the time. I guess it's natural, always wanting to do better, to be better, for our children.”

There he went again. There were times when Nell could not stand to be near him, other times she wanted to be as close as possible. Damn it. Watching him talk about Ivan and the few extras days they would be together, Henry's eyes lit up. His smile broad and the enthusiasm in his voice was one that dictated proud father. Nell nodded, only because she felt it was appropriate to the conversation.

Henry continued to chatter about how he wanted to take Ivan to a new exhibit at the Natural History Museum, in London. Leave it to the father and son, finding a day at the museum to be high on the list of fun. Nell sighed, continuing to half listen, half gaze at Henry in awe. One thing she loved – well love could be a strong word – adored? Enjoyed? About Henry was how much he loved Ivan.

Mid sentence about some Sir David Attenborough documentary that he'd watched with Ivan; Nell couldn't help it any longer. Leaning in, without warning, she grabbed Henry's face turning it to her and kissing him. Lips connecting, she stopped and jumped back as if hit by an electric shock.

Clearing his throat, Henry rubbed the back of his neck, but not pulling back. “I didn't know that the National Geographic was that exciting.”

“I'm sorry.” Hiding her face in her hands, Nell shook her head. Oh that had been a mistake. She had absolutely no right. None. Henry was crazy, if he didn't get up right now and walk out. If he was angry, then she deserved that.

Blushing, Nell shook her head. “Henry, I shouldn't have.”

“I'm certainly not going to complain.” He shrugged, leaning in his arm sliding around her shoulder. Nell glanced up, getting the nerves to look at him. Oh she had fucked up. “Next time, I would like some warning though.”

“Warning? Next time?”

“Hmm, yes. Kind of like this, close your eyes.” Henry instructed pulling her closer and kissing her. Nell sighed her body melting against him. She loved the way his lips felt on hers. Soft, with a slight force.

Straddling his waist, her arms wrapped around his neck, Nell's fingers laced together. Her lips leaving his, tracing along his jaw, nearing the sweet spot below his ear. A slight nip and he was an unraveling mess. Henry nuzzled his face into her hair, she smelled amazing. Comforting and warm. A groan erupted from deep in his throat, as predicted she had gone straight for that spot.

“Nell, Nell,” Henry cleared his throat, holding her at arm's length, “Janelle, stop.” Looking for any sort of sign that she truly felt that this wasn't a good idea, he sucked in a breath. “Are you sure about this? Because if we continue, I won't stop until...”

“I am.” She nodded firmly, “I don't want you to stop. I don't want to stop. Oh god, Henry. Please.”

“I need to know that you truly, absolutely want to do this.”

“If you don't stop talking and bend me over, I am going to kick you out and do this myself. Please, stop talking. If I didn't want this, I wouldn't have started it.”

A deep rumbling laugh followed, Henry rolled his eyes. God, she was something else. Who was he to deny a gorgeous woman what she wanted? Would this come back to haunt him? Probably. Did he care? Not much. Come morning they would once again go their separate ways, but that didn't matter right now. Right now, he could pretend that he had everything he wanted. And what he wanted was her.

Pulling her to him, Henry kissed her hard. Nell moaned, the force of the kiss was nearly dizzying. Arms around his neck, she rubbed her body against his, trying to grasp the friction that was created when she started to grind herself against his thighs.

“Henry,”

“Hold on, you need patience.” He brushed a bit of hair out of her face, “all in good time.”

Nell squealed when he stood, her legs desperately scrambling to hold onto him. In a futile attempt she huffed, when he let her go, standing in front of him pouting. Unbuttoning his shirt, Henry smirked giving her a heated stare. “Well, are you going to get on the bed or make me do all the work? Shorts off.”

Sliding the mesh shorts down her ass and along her legs, Nell made a bit of a show letting them pool at her feet. Stepping out, as slowly as possible, while lifting the old tshirt from her body. Allowing it to go where it would, as she dropped it. Sitting back on the bed, she could feel her heart in her throat and her stomach where her heart should be.

“Lie back.” Henry instructed, kneeling at the edge of the bed. Arms around her thighs, guiding her to him, he studied her for a moment. She was trembling as his fingers slid across her thighs, positioning her in just the right way.

“Oh god, Hen-Henry.” Nell's mouth was suddenly dry and her voice hoarse. His hot breath between her legs was tormenting her, in unimaginable ways. In anticipation she bucked her hips forward, trying to clench her thighs. Holding her knees with his shoulders, Henry chuckled.

“Eager.”

“Please.”

“You are...” He lingered, kissing the inside of her leg. “Gorgeous. Look at you.” He brushed his thumb against her. Nell whimpered trying to push further. “Hold on, hold on.”

“Why are you teasing me?”

“Because I want to enjoy the view, for a moment.” He shrugged, her legs lifting gently. A hand on her lower abdomen, as if holding her in place, he used the other to gently tease and trace along her calf. Without warning, his lips attached to the most sensitive part of her body with his mustache adding an extra sensation, Nell bucked her hips hard, shoving his face further between her thighs.

Nell's head was swimming, it had been a while since she'd felt this good from such an act. Sure, she'd had the odd date here and there, semi-serious relationships, but nobody could do this the way Henry could. He was a fucking magician, she was certain of it. Humming against her mound, Henry couldn't hide the laughter in his eyes, when she began to squirm and wiggle against his face. She was desperate and he was going to prolong this as much as he could.

Sucking her clit, his tongue generously lapping at her, he thoroughly enjoyed the show. Pushing his head as far down as she could, Nell was nearly in tears each time he leaned in, his mustache tickling in just the right way. Oh god, she gasped trying hard to find release. Henry was cunning, backing off at the right moments.

“Henry,” She whined, threading her fingers through his hair. “Don't tease me, I really need you to finish.”

“Stop being so impatient.” He was teasingly stern. Pushing her hands away, he locked his fingers with hers, holding them at her side. Lifting his head, he smirked, kissing up her body ending with another dizzying kiss. Nell sucked on his tongue, freeing her hands from his, she tugged him closer, pulling at fistfuls of hair.

Cleaning herself from his tongue and lips, she sighed. “I'm going to need more than that.”

“You're sure?” Henry paused, holding his weight on his forearms, resting above her. His jeans still on, he could feel the strain against the denim.

“Jeans, off.” She demanded, sitting up to watch. Shivering against the slight chill, her breasts on display giving him the perfect view of her erect nipples. Nell blushed under his gaze. She was not the tight, toned, and perky body she once was. She wasn't out of shape, by any means, but compared to Henry...

“You are gorgeous.” Henry complimented, his jeans on the floor, boxers being pushed down to join them. Stepping out of his pants, he stood at the side of the bed, in all his glory.

Nell licked her lips, reaching out to take him in her hand. Hissing under her touch, Henry involuntarily bucked his hips forward into her hand. Rubbing the head, Nell intently watched Henry while she leaned in taking him fully in her mouth.

“Fuck, Nelly.”

“Hmm,” She hummed, sliding her head back along his length. Hand wrapped around him, stroking in place of her mouth. Bobbing her head back down, she swirled her tongue around the base. He nearly choked her the first time she'd ever gone down on him. Oh how long ago that felt.

Dragging her tongue against his length, she felt her core tighten, with each moan Henry gave. His slight salty taste mixed with the aftertaste of the Johnnie Walker, Nell inhaled deeply through her nose, hollowing her cheeks around him. Gripping the back of her head, Henry tried to not force her too hard, as he began to guide her movement.

Happy to go along with what he needed to feel good, Nell allowed him control over her guidance. Her finger nails grazing the back of his thighs, she mentally checked the small victory when he threw his hips forward at the sensation of her wrapped around him and her nails on his skin.

“Good girl,” Henry mumbled, his head lulling back, his chest rising rapidly. “Keep it up, just like that. Oh shit,”

Nell's chest swelled a little, she could still make him feel good, even after all of this time apart. That was not something she would take lightly, even if this shouldn't be happening. Oh fuck, who cared? They were two consenting adults. Henry's legs quivered, his hands unsteady stroking the back of her head.

“Nell,”

“Hmm?” She glanced up at him. His face soft and his jaw slack, she could feel him tightening. The perfect time to stop her actions. “Not yet,” She smirked, wiping her hand across her chin, drool gone. “Fair is fair.”

“Jesus,” Henry grumbled. He had been so fucking close, the knot in the pit of his stomach clenched Slowing his breathing, he took a moment to think of anything else. Laundry? Running? How much longer until he had to renew his passport?

“Henry?”

“Yeah?” He snapped his head to look at Nell.

“Are we going to stand here all night, or...” She shrugged, a devious smirk on her face. Laying back on the bed, she curled her finger beckoning him to her.

“You're still sure about this?” Henry asked. His eyes on her, waiting to see if she had any hint of doubt or hesitation.

“I don't have a condom, but I'm clean. It's not like I'm getting pregnant, so....” If she were to get pregnant, there was going to be on hell of a hefty lawsuit against that surgeon.

“You're sure? I know that I'm...but I don't have.”

“if you don't want to, then I understand.”

“I do, though, but...”

Nell shook her head. “No buts. If you want me, then I'm yours.”

“Fuck, you're making this hard.”

Giggling, Nell glance down. “I think we're beyond things being hard.”

His body betraying him, Henry cleared his throat, she certainly had a point. Fuck it. What did they have to lose? Unless this, some how, came back to bite them. No, no he had to stop that. Give in, enjoy what was happening. It had been too long since he'd been able to watch her in such bliss. Bliss that he was responsible for.

“You're sure?”

Nell nodded siting up, opening her arms, “Come here.”

On the edge of the bed, Henry sighed, his large frame leaning into her. Nell held him for a moment, stroking his hair, the feel of his warmth against her sent shivers through her spine. Pushing him back on the bed, she bit her bottom lip, waiting for the go ahead. Henry gave her a slight nod, adjusting himself on the bed to get comfortable. Straddling his hips, Nell lifted herself to slowly take him.

Sheathing him inch by inch, Nell groaned at the fullness. This was her favourite part, taking him to the end, feeling him stretch her. Rocking her hips forward, she countered the motion sliding them back in the same tantalizing pace. Henry held her hips, pushing his up to meet her. Nell squeaked and giggled. She loved the way he hit all the right spots.

“You can touch me, don't be shy.” Nell winked, lifting her arms and crossing them above her head, allowing him a full view of her breasts. “Go on.” She encouraged.

His large hands cupping her breasts, Henry softly rolled her hardening nipples between his fingers, giving on a slight flick when she moved herself up on his length. Close to letting him slide out, she moved back down, her ass grinding against him.

The way her body moved against his was mesmerizing. Massaging her supple skin, from her breasts down her sides, one hand settling on her ass and the other on her hip. Henry loved the shape, even if she had changed a little since having Ivan. God she was stunning.

Hastening her pace, Nell rocked back and forth, up and down. Henry closed his eyes feeling every bit of movement, each clench. Taking in the sounds of her breathing, mixed with his, her small moans not going unnoticed.

“Henry,” She whispered, biting her bottom lip, leaning forward to touch her lips against his. “Please,”

Without having to be asked twice, he moved swiftly, turning them over to pin her beneath him. Nell sighed and stretched her arms over her head, the pull of her muscles caused another shiver. Her head now against the pillow, she reached, tracing the lines of his face with her fingertip.

“I don't know that I can be as slow as you were.” Henry nipped her finger. Holding back on his desire to pound her into the bed.

“Then don't.” Nell batted her eye lashes at him.

Somehow that was all he needed, that tiny bit of permission. Picking up the pace, Henry grunted. Nell moaned drawing her knees upward, allowing him an even better vantage to this position. As if the pent up emotions from the last few years, hours, minutes had been released the couple were lost in the sensation of skin on skin. The feeling of sparks and electricity coursing through them. Connecting them.

“Fuck, Janelle.” Henry hissed, his arm locked into position on either side of her head, keeping him from tumbling on top of her.

“Henry,” She squealed splaying her hands against his chest, tugging at the soft hairs. “Oh god. Please, don't stop. My god, oh fuck.”

“You are fucking amazing. Fuck, look at you.” Kissing her roughly, he sighed, steadying his pace. His hips slapping hers, Nell shook slightly her soft sobs of pleasure were enough to send him to an end.

Shaking with pleasure, Nell gasped trying to bring herself down from the high. Henry moaned, his head back and chest heaving. It had been a while since he had felt that good. Nell laid with her legs hooked around his thighs, no desire to move. Collapsing with his head on her chest, Henry allowed his body to rest. Sweaty and sticky, they laid tangled together. Neither one wanting to break the feeling.

Dosing in and out, Nell was the first to move. Her body growing heavy with Henry still on top of her. She needed to move, before seizing up. Pushing his head to the side, she giggled and kissed the tip of her nose when he lazily looked up.

“I need to pee,”

“Hmph.” Henry nodded, slowly rolling over. Allowing her to escape. Laying flat on the bed, while she scurried off to the bathroom, Henry pushed himself up off of the bed. He should be getting back to his parents, back to Ivan.

All thoughts of moving were squashed, when Nell came back, climbing in beside him. Her clothes still on the floor. Her body was comforting against his. “Hi,” she whispered, sliding in under his arm.

“Nell?” Henry laid with his arm around her shoulder.

“Huh?” Nell grunted, her face buried in his chest.

“I should head back.”

“If you want to. You can stay, I don't mind.” Nell yawned. Her eyes closing.

“Okay, but only for a little while.” Henry agreed, closing his eyes. In a few minutes, he would get up, shower, and head back.

With a start, Henry woke, a loud banging noise rattling him. Looking around the dark room, he squinted to find the source of the noise. Hearing someone whispering at a distance, Henry laid in bed, listening. Against him, Nell stirred, but didn't wake. Someone in the hall was talking, no doubt they had been the source of the banging. He had fell asleep, Nell wrapped against him.

Looking at his watch, Henry frowned. 4am. If he left right now, he could be back before anybody woke. If he left now, he risked Kal barking and waking the house. If he waited, he would risk walking in and having to explain himself to one or more person. Of course he could tell them that he'd ran into some old friends, had some drinks and stayed on a sofa somewhere. Too drunk to drive.

Shifting in bed, Nell sighed, her arm around his waist she snuggled in closer. She was content, who was Henry to try and disturb her sleep? He would wait an hour or two, before he made his departure. So what if he waltzed in, being faced by one of his brothers, or even his mother. He was an adult, if he wanted to stay out all night enjoying the company of a fantastic woman, then he would do just that.

Kissing the top of Nell's head, Henry smiled, sinking down further into the covers, closing his eyes.

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#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill smut #oddsnendshenryfics

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qqueenofhades · 3 years

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Modern AU Heartrender Husbands gives me the vibes of like they'll watch eurovision bc Fedyor wanted to and Ivan only begrudgingly agreed but in the end it's him who's standing really close to the TV with a bottle of beer loudly criticising the jury vote

Anon, your Mind. As 100% ever, I am so very easy to enable. As before, this is set in Phantom!Verse, and serves as a sequel of sorts to this (and as a further prequel to PEL).

Brighton Beach, 2014

It’s their first spring in their new home – they arrived in America in August 2013 and got this place, fittingly, right around Orthodox Christmas in January 2014 – and that means many things to them. Their apartment is in a formerly rent-controlled brownstone tenement right off the boardwalk, but prior to their arrival, it was occupied for fifty years by an old bat from Krasnodar Krai who apparently never, ever, threw anything away. (Fedyor is too scared to ask if she actually died in this apartment and her mummified corpse is lurking at the bottom of all the junk.) That is why he and Ivan were able to afford it, at least, but now that the weather is warmer, they have been spending all day cleaning, hauling boxes of crap to the dumpster, and trying in vain to get the smell of pickled cabbage out of the kitchen. It looks exactly like your Great Aunt Masha’s house, the one that traumatized you as a child and has never left your nightmares since. Home sweet home.

The upside is that the location is great, the apartment is surprisingly spacious and lovely – a big bedroom, a bathroom with two sinks and a deep claw-footed tub, a living room with high windows that let in lots of light, original crown molding and hardwood floors – and if it was located in the really chic parts of Brooklyn and inhabited by a tech-startup hipster rather than a Russian émigré spinster with definite hoarding tendencies, it would rent for some astronomical monthly sum. Fedyor has a three-ring binder full of paint swatches, sketches, furniture samples, and other plans to give it a total overhaul (he’s thinking a nice pale green for the living room?) But the one thing that spring definitely means is Eurovision, and it is just the ticket to relax from their grueling schedule of throwing boxes of junk away and hoping they don’t stumble upon a withered hand in a glass jar. He likes America and he’s excited for their new life, for all that they had no choice but to leave Russia in a hurry, but Eurovision is Eurovision.

Actually watching it, of course, is easier said than done. For one thing, Fedyor can’t find a blasted station that is airing it, when he could have just switched on the TV and found it right away back home. For another, Ivan is deeply dubious of the whole endeavor, having watched five minutes of it once when he was eighteen and turning it off in disgust, never to return. Fedyor spends a lot of time wheedling him to give it another chance. “Come on, Vanya. It’s fun!”

“It is a lot of homosexuals gyrating in leather to very bad music,” Ivan snaps. “They look ridiculous. And sound even worse.”

Fedyor glances at them – the fact that they’re sitting on the couch, he’s on Ivan’s lap with his legs draped over Ivan’s thigh, and Ivan’s arms wrapped around his waist – and coughs. “I’m not sure how to break this to you, darling,” he says, “but you are also a homosexual.”

“Maybe, but you would never catch me dead up there.”

“Of course not.” Fedyor rolls his eyes. “You might actually have to smile.”

Ivan makes a scoffing noise. Then he notices the full-on puppy-dog face that Fedyor is now giving him, and says, “Oh no. Oh no, Fedya. Do not look at me like that.”

“Why not?” Fedyor shamelessly snuggles closer. “Is it working?”

The predictable outcome is that Ivan grudgingly agrees to watch it with him, though they’re on American time now and Eurovision Song Contest 2014, held in Copenhagen, Denmark, is six hours ahead of them. Ivan thinks that it’s stupid to sit down and watch a lot of gyrating homosexuals in the middle of the day, when there’s still so much work to do, and tries to demand that they just watch the recording later. Fedyor says this is nonsense, you simply cannot watch a recording of Eurovision, and after a lot of investigation, finds the online streaming channel on his laptop and hooks it up to the TV so they can watch it there. Then he prepares his popcorn, his alcoholic beverages, and his glitter glasses, corrals his recalcitrant husband, and readies himself to experience pure joy. No wonder Ivan doesn’t get it.

However, the effect is both swift and remarkable. By the end of the first semi-final, Ivan is put out about the fact that Russia came seventh in the popular vote but was knocked down to eleven by the jury (this is evidence of an anti-Russian conspiracy, according to him) and when only Moldova, a tiny no-name non-EU former Soviet state, deigns to award them the full twelve points, he is openly incredulous. “Moldova?! That is all we get?! MOLDOVA?!”

“Well,” Fedyor says delicately. “There is that little situation in Ukraine, so I’m afraid we are not that popular right now.”

“That is bullshit,” Ivan grouses. “This is a song contest. The Tolmachevy Sisters are not Vladimir Putin. I am sure they have worked very hard to be here.”

Fedyor glances at him and wisely decides not to say anything. He is likewise a little peeved when the Russian contestants get booed by the Danish audience, but Ivan looks like he’s about to leap through the screen and throttle every single one of them. He thrusts out a hand. “Give me a drink, Fedya. I need it to suffer this indignity.”

Fedyor cracks the lid off a cold one and hands it over – there is the Brighton Bazaar just a few blocks away, stocked with Russian goods, so they are spared the ordeal of drinking Yankee beer – and Ivan takes a long slug. He thinks they can skip watching the second semi-final two nights later, since Russia isn’t in it, but Fedyor puts it on anyway. They both like Austria and “Rise Like a Phoenix,” sung by the bearded drag queen Conchita Wurst (there have been a few dumb comments about her from the usual suspects), but Ivan hits a fist on the arm of the sofa. “She was not better than the Russian girls,” he says loyally. “I still think that they should be the ones to win.”

“Right, well,” Fedyor says. “I think the only ones less likely to win are the Brits, and they never win, so we might be waiting a while.”

The grand finale, on May tenth, is an inadvertently hysterical exercise. They get up early and put on the pregame show, like the Americans do with their bewildering fixation on the Super Bowl, and Ivan gets even more furious when the Tolmachevy Sisters are booed again. “Are they not supposed to love everyone at this glitter bacchanalia? So much for the Scandinavians being tolerant and accepting people! The song is nice! They are nice girls! What is wrong with them?!”

“Come over here and give me a cuddle, Vanya,” Fedyor suggests. “Otherwise you will blow a blood vessel long before the show starts.”

Ivan growls like an escaped tiger from the zoo, but consents to sit down next to Fedyor. They both drink copiously once the festivities get underway, singing along loudly (and not that melodiously) to the various entries, Fedyor’s arm draped around Ivan’s neck as he sits on his lap and critically judges the acts before the official results pop up. Once again, the only twelve-point awards Russia gets are from former Soviet countries (Azerbaijan and Belarus) and Ivan looks like he’s going to have a conniption before Fedyor kisses him and he gets distracted for the next three minutes. “This is disgraceful,” he mutters, when they break away. “Not you, Fedya. Just the horrible way they have clearly rigged this show against us.”

“You know,” Fedyor says. “That’s Eurovision. You declare war on your neighbors when they don’t give you twelve points. Now they have the EU, they’re not supposed to fight anymore, this is the only way they can get all those old rivalries out. Just be glad that Australia isn’t in this year. You might have really blown a gasket.”

“Australia?!” Ivan shifts Fedyor to a more comfortable position on his lap and grabs for his third bottle of beer. “AUSTRALIA IS NOT IN EUROPE! It is not even anywhere NEAR Europe! WHY DOES AUSTRALIA GET TO BE IN EUROVISION!?!”

Fedyor laughs out loud. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Ivan says. “But this is still the stupidest thing I have ever seen.”

“Shh.” Fedyor nuzzles him. “Just give in, Vanya. Just give in.”

Ivan consents to turn his grumbling down to a simmer, and is somewhat mollified that Russia comes in sixth overall, which is better than even Fedyor thought they were going to do. Austria takes the champion’s crown, they can both agree that Conchita Wurst deserves it, and get up and dance around their still-junk-cluttered living room as she gives her bravissima performance. A few things have been thrown during the judging, but they can’t add much to the existing mess, and in Brighton Beach, “damage caused to the apartment because Russia got shafted during Eurovision finals” might actually be a legitimate excuse. As he leans against Ivan’s chest and grins into his neck, Fedyor has to admit that this place may just feel like home yet.

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #fivan #pel asks #henchmen deserve happiness too okay #anonymous #ask #fivan ff

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love-takes-work · 3 years

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Steven Universe: End of an Era: Outline & Review

I wrote this review in October but never got around to posting it here

Steven Universe: End of an Era is far more than an art book–it’s also a collection of behind-the-scenes material, stories about the experience of working on the show, planning documents and associated background info, and both older versions of developed concepts AND concepts that never made it into the show. It's a huge fusion of all those elements, and it's definitely an experience!

Some low-quality images are included with my review just to give you an idea of what’s there--it’s not a good substitute for getting your own copy, but here’s a tour!

Like the previous concept art book, Art and Origins, I'll be giving you a description of the structure and overview, while also collecting notable information for fans. Obviously just about everything is "notable" once again, but I'll aim for unique insight or perspective on the main source material, keeping the screaming about everything new to a minimum so you can also enjoy something for yourself if you pick it up. My low-quality photos should prevent people from feeling like I'm reproducing the book in any capacity. Please grab one while you can and have your own experience!

[SU Book and Comic Reviews]

OVERVIEW

The book is titled "End of an Era" for a couple reasons--obviously because it is released after the show has wrapped, but also because Gem history recently ended its "Era 2" and began Era 3--an age of prosperity and peace. The author--the person in charge of adapting all of this information into this slick, readable package--is Chris McDonnell, whose work was previously applied on the Art and Origins book.

The foreword is by N.K. Jemisin, a well-known science fiction author who's a huge fan of the show (and wrote a really excellent series that also has a weird geological connection, by the way).

And the cover, like its predecessor, is shiny and decorated with a beach scene featuring minimalistic characters--this time it's the Gems at night in front of the Temple, and on the back cover is a big pink leg ship in a cross-legged pose.

The interior covers are decorated with tons of amazing sketches of Steven and Connie on the front, and a bunch of Gem sketches on the back. Every interior page that most would leave blank is highlighted with some kind of sketch art or character exercise--it's so much to look at, so much to absorb.

The book is dedicated "For Eddie."

Its organization is different from the previous book in that it shares applicable work in chunks associated with groups of episodes rather than pertaining to different aspects of building the show.

FOREWORD

N.K. Jemisin gives us such a great introduction to the book--apparently understanding very well that the audience of this book is full of animation enthusiasts and adult fans more than it is full of kids, and explaining that bewildering journey some adults had from blowing this show off as a silly kid thing to falling in love with it hard and fast.

The important thing, Jemisin says, is being able to trust a storyteller with your heart. And it was clear to her that Rebecca Sugar knew what she was talking about and was saying important things about identity and the radical power that comes with accepting it and demanding respect.

Important also is how we handle heroes and who gets to be one in fantasy. That's part of the reason Steven Universe speaks to so many--because we see ourselves here, and know stories can be about us. Acknowledging the power we all have to MAKE THINGS BETTER with what we fight for is so important--especially if we're going to speaking to the next generation about it.

Highlighting Rose Quartz as a "born leader" who failed and Steven as a relatable scamp who did what she couldn't, Jemisin asserts that we can save the world.

1. END OF AN ERA

We start with an appeal to the audience to think about identity and the formative parts of our childhood--and how different it is if who you are and who you become is restricted, mocked, erased, or Not Allowed. Most people, if not ALL people, can relate to this, but for those of us with a special relationship with Steven Universe because of queer identity, this hits hard.

But it doesn't have to be anything grand to be something we respect--this show's authenticity comes largely from how personal everything is, drawn from real-life experiences and incidental truths from each artist's perspective, leaning hard on childhood and formative experiences.

Rebecca Sugar offers some interview bits to discuss writing philosophy and why "writing female characters" was difficult for a nonbinary person who'd been socialized as a girl and a woman. Rebecca has spoken before about how frustrating it is that marketing for cartoons was SO gendered when she was growing up (and to some extent still is).

The Gems in the story are all "she/her," but on their planet they're defined by their work, not by emotion or relationships (unlike women in our society), so having them be socialized opposite to how she was and be able to claim those emotions through choice and NOT as just an expectation "as women" was revolutionary. Rebecca wants her show to tell all marginalized people that they don't deserve to be in the margins.

Weighing in on other aspects of the show were Ian Jones-Quartey, Joe Johnston, and Miki Brewster. Ian describes feeling like at first doing SU was a thrill ride that meant they'd finally get to do all the cool stuff, but it quickly became a responsibility that he took very seriously--the need to tell a good story now that he'd been given a megaphone.

Promotional art, planning documents, character sketches, and concept art from the lighthearted to the stone serious is included, along with some very cool (sort of famous) timeline charts that track major characters' developments. It's emphasized by Rebecca that the developmental materials ARE NOT CANON (and especially are not MORE canon) compared the final show.

There are concept sketches alongside final art for Aquamarine and Topaz in "Wanted" (with Topaz labeled "Imperial Topaz"), the Zircons in "The Trial," Blue and Yellow Diamond, and the Off Colors (including Pink Lars).

And there's also a spread of "the two sides of Steven's life: Gem Magic and Rock N Roll" featuring Sadie Killer and the Suspects (referred to as "Buck's band")--as well as a cool "Crew Cameos" key and some concepts for short-haired Connie.

And then there's some more "finished" art with stills alongside concepts, including some background art, revision, and really cool "fairytale" art from some of the shadowplay storytelling bits. We get "Lars of the Stars," "Jungle Moon," and "Can't Go Back."

2. THE BEGINNING OF THE END: A SINGLE PALE ROSE

In discussing the huge reveals and Gem mysteries in the show, the pacing is examined, and emphasis is put on the intended "slow burn." One of the most difficult things in the show was to strategize so that every piece that was needed to support another piece in the future was placed properly to seed what it was supposed to.

Some of the ideas they developed were more of a group effort and were fit together collaboratively (like Amethyst's being younger than the other Gems and Jasper being from Earth), while others were intended from the beginning based on Rebecca's vision (the fundamental idea of Pink Diamond's true identity, for instance, as well as Obsidian's design and sword and our Pearl not being Pink's first).

The writing process gets a great deep dive here, including fun tidbits like how the orb in the moon base was inserted by Joe Johnston and they literally had no idea what it was for when they wrote the episode. They repurposed it when they figured out what they needed.

Rebecca credits her detailed timelines for helping keep the order straight, and discusses how other artists are sometimes flabbergasted that a storyboard-driven show can have this much detail and continuity and yet not get wrecked by the free non-scripted boarding process. But Rebecca and the Crew valued that approach and loved the way fresh eyes would handle an idea, making it come back alive, entertaining, vivid.

Several Crew members weigh in on the writing process. Lauren Hecht refers to making lots of incorrect guesses despite being on the inside. Joe Johnston recalled getting briefed on his first day and getting so excited to start working on this massive project.

Miki Brewster remembered being told Rose Quartz is Pink Diamond and being shocked--and also confused about why Ruby and Sapphire would need to be married if they're already basically married. Drew Green talks about being brought in late and getting to watch unaired episodes and a rough of the movie while eating cereal.

Ian Jones-Quartey complains about Pink Diamond's real jester-like form being leaked to the internet through a Hot Topic shirt. Rebecca piggybacks on that and says it was upsetting that the wedding was leaked because of toy fair keychains featuring Ruby and Sapphire in wedding attire. They'd always be worried about leaks, and sometimes Rebecca struggled not to talk about the reality of Pink Diamond before the reveal because she knew it would make so much more sense once the truth was out. And everything associated with Rose makes more sense once you know she's Pink--especially what happened with Bismuth, considering what we know about how Pink Diamond has a habit of treating anyone who no longer serves her interests.

When it comes to visual cues, Rebecca also talks about intentional designs to create a feeling of unity between concepts, like the flower shapes on Pink Diamond's palanquin lining up with the poofs of Steven's hair and the star imagery of the series. Steven Sugar and Mary Nash discuss how the Human Zoo incorporated this imagery, trying to look like Homeworld with a Pink Diamond touch.

Steven Sugar, as a game nerd, liked to throw in video game references from old and modern stuff to feel like he's inserting what he's enjoying and who he is from moment to moment, while Mary Nash, who related to Sadie as a basement-dwelling young person with cult interests, liked to include stuff from MST3K and cult movies. Pearl's hand gestures get a spotlight too--her reflex to cover her mouth when Pink Diamond was being discussed was analyzed here.

A "Top Secret Visual Timeline" from 2016 is included which tells us some Diamond history. It has an earlier version of Pink Pearl's fate and does not include Spinel since the movie hadn't been greenlit. The timeline includes the birth of the Diamonds, the emergence and major story beats for each major character, and some philosophy of the driving force behind each.

We're told that Pink Diamond straightened up, behavior-wise, after she lost her first Pearl, and that Yellow and Blue wanted to give her a planet but White only agreed to it to prove she would fail at managing a colony. Pearl, meanwhile, is so confused to have a Diamond who keeps asking her what she thinks when she doesn't believe she should have opinions.

And when Pink moonlighted as Rose to start conflict, she found herself leading an army to fight Pink's troops--then Yellow's, and eventually Blue's too. Lapis is said to be waiting for the conflict to end on Earth so she can terraform, but she gets trapped instead.

Pearl's love story with Rose is described as "an endless honeymoon" where she's free to love her, while Rose's is more like "I'm now the head of the family and I'm going to give everyone what they never had, so everyone is super special!"

Jasper is described as "adopted" into Yellow's army as the only successful Beta Quartz. And White Diamond knew that Pink Diamond was not dead--she thought she was just running away from home like a brat and would eventually be back.

3. THE HEART OF THE CRYSTAL GEMS

Now we discuss Rose Quartz--the original Pink Diamond. How she was selfish and selfless, never enough and always too much, and how Greg was her first partner who "challenged her" to be an equal. Rebecca describes Rose as being delighted by the idea that both she and Greg reinvented themselves, but when that leads her to want to share her past, Greg isn't interested--he only wants to know who she is now, and doesn't consider the old her to be her.

Rebecca likes Carl Jung's concept of "enantiodromia," which is the idea that extremes lead to their extreme opposite. This is demonstrated in all of the Diamonds. This narrative is interspersed with drawings of Greg and Rose being cute.

But another "heart" of the Crystal Gems is its relationships--particularly, Garnet, the fairy tale romance embodied. More psychological theories are discussed with regard to differentiation in a relationship making the relationship stronger, and how they made sure that happened for Garnet during the appropriate arc. Rebecca has struggled with the idea that she, like Ruby, went straight from a "family" group to a living-with-others situation and never lived by herself. But she also learned that you can in fact develop as a person in the context of a relationship--you don't have to be alone to do it. Ruby learned that too, and chose on her own terms to be with Sapphire.

The wedding made so much sense to Rebecca and the crew that they couldn't imagine a wholesome couple like Ruby and Sapphire not having a wedding episode. They wanted it for years: The wedding concepts always included the tuxedo for Sapphire and the wedding dress for Ruby.

But pushback (often blamed on the conservative standards of the international market) led to negotiations trying to keep Ruby and Sapphire's relationship from being explicit. Rebecca and the Crew were very tired of this double standard, and they were especially irritated by attempts to claim a wedding wouldn't be well received by a core demographic or wouldn't make sense for Steven's character. But other shows had done weddings and Steven had been established to love weddings already.

Rebecca kept adding more elements to the wedding episode to answer all the concerns, but she didn't want to back down from explicit marriage between these characters. They deserved it. And the audience deserved to see this as wholesome, like any other cartoon wedding. Eventually they got their way and were allowed to have the wedding. But the ordered episodes were also coming to a close without promise of more, so Rebecca had to request more episodes to be able to wrap up the storyline!

And of course, there is Steven, the true heart of the team. A very interesting aside discusses Garnet's leadership and how the network pushed the Crewniverse to acknowledge Steven as the leader. This was successfully resisted throughout as well--because Garnet is the leader (unless she's incapacitated, of course). It's fantastic that this concept was preserved because too often a young male chosen one is elevated above people with more experience and knowledge because of that chosen one tradition, so it's really nice to have a show acknowledge that team leadership is more appropriate for an adult.

4. ERA 3

Beginning with a discussion of the Diamonds, this chapter deconstructs the dysfunctional "family" of the Diamonds (who are said to be based on tropes about evil stepmothers and stepsisters), with the thread of dysfunction originating with White Diamond.

Yellow is physical, Blue is emotional, White is judgmental, and Pink is impulsive. Some philosophy on why Pink is naturally manipulative and why she clashes so much with White is offered.

White believes her identity is to be imposed on all because she is the pinnacle of what should be--and therefore, she has the right to make decisions and statements about and on behalf of everyone. But her secret is that she can't do what the others do--act or feel or want. In trying to be everyone, she is no one.

And this becomes very important when she confronts Steven about his identity and turns out to be wrong. The triumph of Steven being totally, fully himself is a beautiful, simple revelation that's described as far more satisfying than the theories about Pink living inside him or Rose returning from his Gem.

Also discussed is Gem architecture. A lot went into this idea, and Steven Sugar weighs in to say he had to think of what it would mean for a world to have buildings but serve no human needs. That's why it's mostly focused on transport and storage. Even the broken planet is meant to indicate a place stripped for its resources, and everything serves a function that is meant to avoid looking like the human equivalents.

And there's another layer, too: a difference between Era 1 and Era 2. Era 2 became more functional to hide Era 1's broken bits, and older Homeworld buildings still have some "ornate and ancient" feel to them. And the fact that props, tools, and even walls and doors could be living was taken from a concept Rebecca thought was horrible from old Busby Berkeley movies, where people were inanimate objects and it was portrayed as lovely. Tom Herpich helped conceptualize these living objects.

Steven dealing with "princess tropes" is discussed here too. The Pebbles (worked on with Pendleton Ward) were sort of his Cinderella's mice, and all the locked-in-a-tower, having supportive tiny friends help you, getting princess clothes made, attending a ball, having to mind your manners stuff was intentionally related to fairy tales.

The point of doing that (besides fun) was to easily invoke the feeling that Steven was being made to be someone he's not, and that he was being treated like THIS is who he really is when it isn't. White Diamond as the "evil stepmother" is discussed with regard to her detailed features and massive scale. They generally didn't put fingernails and eyelashes on characters (especially not to indicate that they were women or girls!), but they decided White would get all of these feminine markers for tradition's sake.

Rebecca also invokes several other references that were included and describes the princess tropes as "chipping away at his integrity" setting him up for the final challenge with White.

There is again tons of concept art: Homeworld architecture, Pebbles, Diamond diagrams, background Jades and Lemon Jade Fusion, Comby, Diamond extraction chambers, and White Diamond.

5. CHANGE YOUR MIND

Now we finally begin to discuss Steven's identity. The "Perfect Steven," discussed in several interviews before this book's release, was an idea back in 2013; the "ultimate Steven," beefed up and shonen-looking, was far from perfect because OUR Steven is perfect, while this alpha hero Steven idea (used in Steven Universe Future) didn't belong being idolized in such a show.

They thought about having Steven fall apart into organic half and Gem half early in the show (during "Giant Woman" after a successful fusion and unfusion, even!), but they didn't try the concept until the last episode. They didn't want the "Pink" Steven to be portrayed as "better" even though he would be more powerful, so they decided he isn't whole without his organic self and he's just as much of a shell as the organic half. They absolutely did not want any ending that required Rose to be inside him or waiting to come back. But the debates were fierce--what DOES it mean to have Rose's Gem?

Ian Jones-Quartey brings in an anecdote about his own family to emphasize some of the immigrant themes that inspired aspects of the show. He had a brother who reinvented himself elsewhere away from family without resolving issues, and all the ramifications of that were explored in the show through Rose Quartz. (He is careful to say he doesn't think his immigrant experience is like being from another planet!) But he did say you can hurt your old family even if they were toxic or didn't know the real you, and you can hurt your new family by hiding your past. The Pizza family of course was also a more direct reference to Ian's Ghanaian family.

In talking about the new Fusions from this episode, Sunstone is largely described by Miki, who also got to board the Sunstone section. Sunstone was described as a cool 1990s character and the evolution just continued into making them a fourth-wall-breaking PSA dispenser. Obsidian is also discussed, with their sword being an early concept. Steven Sugar said they totally knew it would be forged in action. Obsidian being similar to the Temple design is of course another very early detail.

The story of how James Baxter got involved with one of the final scenes (Organic Steven and Pink Steven fusing in front of White Diamond) was shared. His family was fans of the show and Rebecca Sugar took the time to drive to a birthday party for his daughter and give her a drawing. He then owed her a favor, and this was it.

Concept art is again included, this time with sample boards, promo images, a Diamond fight concept, costume design changes for the Gems, new Fusions, the so-called "Mega Diamond" ship conglomerate, some scenes from the White Diamond confrontation, Pink Steven, multiple pages of James Baxter animation, corrupted Gems and their healed selves, and photos from the "Change Your Mind" premiere and some awards. The show has won one design-related Emmy, a Peabody Award, and a GLAAD award.

6. STEVEN UNIVERSE FUTURE

The book doesn't cover the movie because it got its own book, but dives right into Future. Ian Jones-Quartey emphasizes that the movie and Future are separate and different from the original show, which ENDED. After all, after that, Steven has a neck!

Some new names are invoked now: new writers Kate Tsang, Jack Pendarvis, and Taneka Stotts. They were excited to have Steven make HIS OWN mistakes instead of trying to clean up someone else's! Now, instead of doing the usual shonen anime thing and having the final battle be a big physical rumble, Steven has to make peace with himself and take an active role in coping with what all the fighting has done to him and what effect it's had on who he is (and who he wants to be). There is no sudden "I love myself!" answer, either. It's always a process.

Drew Green and Maya Petersen, who came on board as storyboarders officially in Future, also weighed in on writing for a "mature" show, how to deal with Steven being a "moral compass" while being sort of unreliable, and what they learned as Crew that they didn't know as fans. Drew didn't know Garnet never asks questions. Jack didn't realize the show never deviated from Steven's point of view. Taneka was nervous but excited to collaborate. Kate was worried about how established the show was and what to do as a new writer to contribute appropriately.

Maya was on the old Crew but not as a storyboarder, so felt like some of the "old" ideas ended up not being appropriate for the "new" Future in an embarrassing way--and dreaded the idea of dealing with Steven's emotional problems when they were similar to stuff she'd been through. She also was personally behind the idea of Steven wanting to dump his problems by becoming Stevonnie, and got to work with Etienne Guignard on inventing the Pearl creation backstory with Volleyball.

There's some discussion of "depression hobbies," stress, and the show's pacing. And they say Etienne was entertaining at pitches. There's even some discussion of how Greg is taken off a bit of a pedestal because his terrible restrictive life in the suburbs sounded wholesome to Steven and Greg presented it negatively.

And then there is some information about how the Crew felt behind the scenes due to fan reactions and negative press. Ian discusses feeling offended when the Black characters are described as bad examples, as if their cartoonized but realistic-in-context features are automatically caricatures.

Rebecca Sugar felt beaten down by some of these narratives and began to access mental health services, inspiring some of the content of "Mindful Education." A long reflection from Rebecca discusses people's infighting about her show and what she had a responsibility to show or not show in the story. She learned a lot about bullying from Cartoon Network's anti-bullying program and learned that bullies thrive on whatever attention you give them--unless it is made clear to them by a peer group that no one is impressed by their cruel actions. Also, not all negative feedback is bullying. Constructive criticism is different. Self-awareness can help you avoid internalizing what bullies might do or say to you.

Segueing from the discussion of how people are affected by and connect with the show, we then discuss how they chose as a team what should be covered as the show came to a close. They didn't have time to do quite a few stories they wanted time for, like a Rhodonite story, a Lars side story, and Diamond "prehistory" and religion; all of it was put aside for the main arc with Steven.

They thought people would find those stories about Homeworld and Off Color history very interesting, but so much of the show had been about Steven's Gem adventures, so keeping him mostly on Earth seemed appropriate. The acknowledgment of his battle damage, of his trauma, was necessary and real, and helpful in an important way to the core audience.

Oh, and there was some stuff about a cheeseburger tree. Don't ask.

In discussing the "reverse escapism" of the original show (Gem aliens are intrigued by everyday human culture, and realism is necessary), Rebecca says her views have changed on escapism and gets why some people want a soothing feel-better show. She acknowledged also that her own escapist dreams-come-true fulfilled in the show didn't feel like escapism because they were givens to the majority of mainstream culture, but were never guaranteed to marginalized people.

Rebecca ties in her several-times-told story about "Love Like You" and how the middle bit was when she didn't feel she was worth looking up to, and the realizations she had to tie the beginning to the end. Feeling like someone will like you less if they know you more is terrible. So sometimes a show like this can be helpful in telling people that they belong when their fantasies are things like "I want to be loved" and "I want to know I exist."

In Future, Steven has to connect to who he is and love that person--and understand that person enough to finally feel that even if he's not fixing their problems or saving their world right this second, Steven deserves his family's love and support, and they WANT to give it to him.

There's a huge amount of supplemental material in this section so there's no way I could name it all. The charts for Future's timeline are pretty straightforward, though a few episodes like "A Very Special Episode," "Why So Blue," "In Dreams," and "Bismuth Casual" aren't specifically represented and a couple are in a different order ("Prickly Pair" was conceived as happening after "Fragments" and "Homeworld Bound").

Steven feeling like a monster, having intrusive thoughts, having not forgiven the Diamonds, and getting help/moving on--it's all there.

We have keys, color scripts, and boards for the new opening and some various backgrounds and storyboard art from episodes. Model sheets for Shep, Nice Lapis and Mean Lapis, Jasper, Steven Tag Gems, Pink Steven Powers, Monster Steven. New house concepts, Era 3 Homeworld concept art for the Diamond environments, and background art for the Reef.

New Connie and Greg designs. Concepts for Mega Pearl, the Rose Quartzes, Bluebird, and Morganite (who didn't get used). And there are some photos from recording and the conference room. There are even some extras from "Crossover Nexus," the crossover with OK K.O.!--including an unused cut scene that included Ruby and Sapphire fighting. The rest of the book is a bunch of adorable Crewniverse art--extras, blog drawings, promos, and gifts to each other.

NOTABLE

The first timeline chart in the book features a cool sketch of the original Off Colors, which at the time this planning document was drafted included unused Off Colors Flint and Chert.

We knew of their existence already because of an episode of the podcast, but these two unexpectedly appeared as incidental characters in the Steven Universe Future episode "Homeworld Bound," identified only in the credits. Sad to think that instead of banding with the Off Colors, these two were probably shattered for their crime (being Quartzes who don't want to fight) and that's why we see them being repaired in this episode. Later, there's some brainstorming for types of Off Colors and "a Ruby that wants to wear limb enhancers" is mentioned as well.

It looks like there was also originally more juice to the story of tracking down the events of the war culminating in Pink Diamond's assassination.

One of the timelines talks about Steven thinking it makes sense that Pearl can't talk about her involvement because she might have been a double agent, explaining why Rose Quartz always knew what Pink Diamond was doing. It seems like that bit was supposed to be included in Garnet's version of the story she believed in "Your Mother and Mine." Seems like they originally conceived Garnet's story to inspire the Off Colors to become pirates and freedom fighters, though in the show's canon this storytelling happened after Lars had already reinvented himself the way he did.

Sadie was also supposed to be sending letters to Lars via Steven, which is funny since the "Letters to Lars" episode is just a montage Steven letter. And of course it's specified that Steven was supposed to get Pink Diamond flashbacks by going to the Palace on Homeworld.

The second chart in the book makes references to Sadie's reinvention of herself as a parallel to Lars, Greg, and Pink Diamond all doing the same thing, and how positive it is to embrace such a thing--a version of yourself that YOU create.

I love that Yellow Diamond's arm ship arm-wrestling the Cluster was always part of the plan.

There's some more explicit direction to have Connie help Steven understand the Diamonds as "strict parents," and a lot more emphasis on everyone realizing Rose had been inspired by THEM rather than them all following her.

White Diamond is presented here as if she thinks of Pink Diamond as a "daughter" (whom she now understands she has "lost"). There are notes on how the Diamonds have a responsibility to their children and should attend to it before just continuing to make more.

One of the concept art images for the Off Colors features Rhodonite crouching by Padparadscha saying "Don't worry, I won't let them hurt you." It's very interesting because she DOES seem to protect Padparadscha in the show, but doesn't seem confident about it in her final version, even though it does seem like she'd be "programmed" to guard aristocratic Gems because of her Ruby and Pearl makeup. Cool.

A "Crew Cameos" spread was included, which is of great interest to some of us who loved seeing the Crew insert themselves into the show. Not every SU Crew person who's been represented in a crowd was there, but this crowd included Amish Kumar, Kat Morris, Amanda Winterstein, Angie Wang, Lamar Abrams, Emily Walus, Mary Nash, Joe Johnston, Christy Cohen, Danny Cragg, Hilary Florido, Danny Hynes, Matt Burnett, Ben Levin, Elle Michalka.

The official national flower of South Korea, Hibiscus syriacus, is the name of Pink Diamond's flower.

One of Steven Sugar's comments about the silhouette difference between humans and Gems points out that humans have ears. This seems to be pretty good confirmation that they are not supposed to have ears, despite that sometimes we'll see ears drawn on them in some frames.

Rose Quartz/Pink Diamond is characterized in this book as "self-hating" in a really interesting way, saying that because she believed she was not capable of compassion, she practically worshiped those who demonstrated that ability and thought they were so much better than her--which is described as "intoxicating" and resulted in others being drawn to her. How interesting is that!

Timelines reveal that early plans for Pink Diamond's first Pearl originally had her getting destroyed by Pink during a game, and then her destruction was rewritten as a punishment from the Diamonds after Pink Pearl defended Pink Diamond to the other Diamonds. They went back to the idea of her getting hurt by Pink for the final version, though the cracked face and control by White Diamond was not on the agenda until they started writing "Change Your Mind."

10.

The approximate ages of the major characters, based on emergence, are revealed on these timelines. It begins with a cracked-planet-looking graphic depicting four tiny Diamonds emerging at 20,000 years ago. Some suspicious "blacked out" redacting surrounds a long timeline tail that goes back before that, which may mean there are secrets they still don't want to reveal. But the dates go like this:

20,000 years ago: The Diamonds emerge.

11,000 years ago: Pearl is custom-made for Pink Diamond.

8,000 years ago: Sapphire emerges (on Homeworld).

6,000 years ago: Ruby emerges (on a colony).

5,750 years ago: Garnet is formed.

5,600 years ago: Lapis is poofed and put in the mirror.

5,200 years ago: Jasper emerges (on Earth).

5,050 years ago: The Cluster is planted.

5,000 years ago: Amethyst emerges (on Earth).

4,500 years ago: The Crystal Gems found Amethyst.

3,000 years ago: Peridot emerges (on Homeworld).

40 years ago: Pearl found Lapis's mirror at the Galaxy Warp.

And of course we know 14 years ago Steven is born!

11.

Originally the Diamonds were based on a quartet of themes: Love, Fear, Pride, and Sorrow. It got too complicated to keep and it was abandoned, with Pink's identification of "love" being described as "particularly outdated."

12.

Notes on a sketch say that Pearl was inspired to become bold and unashamed because Pink's questions drove her to have opinions, and it's said that Rose "fell in love" with her boldness.

13.

Rebecca tells the story of driving off a ridge and getting stuck in the desert, comparing this to Ruby's tumble during her Wild West adventure and using it as inspiration. She's told this story before but here it is in print. She also included the story about using the flowers from a friend's wedding to put in Ruby's hair.

14.

Rebecca describes having to "fight" notes she was given when it had to do with Ruby and Sapphire's relationship. One she describes as NOT fighting was for a signing card depicting Ruby and Sapphire dancing. It was called "too romantic" and she decided not to worry about it since it wasn't the actual show content.

She was also scolded over her book The Answer because the powers that be expected her to downplay that relationship. She always argued that queer youth deserved these things.

15.

Tom Herpich describes being inspired to name Blue Diamond's comb "Comby" because he was watching the news about Comey getting fired from the FBI. It's also a mineral-related term and I always assumed that reference was intentional, but maybe it's not and this is the only intended significance to Comby's name?

16.

Rainbow Quartz 2.0's design is not discussed, though the other two new Fusions from "Change Your Mind" (Sunstone and Obsidian) were. RQ2 has some sketches included, but no accompanying narrative in the text.

17.

A sheet of corrupted Gems and their healed selves is offered, though it doesn't appear to be final. The obelisk in "Serious Steven" is labeled Albite. The unnamed Worm Monster, Desert Glass, and Watermelon Tourmaline are included. An unnamed birdlike Gem represents the Big Bird monster from "Giant Woman." The crab monster from "Arcade Mania" is labeled Blue Chalcedony. The Tongue Monster is drawn uncorrupted but not named. The Flower Monster from "Back to the Kindergarten" is labeled Grossular Diopside or Titanite. The invisible monster from "Island Adventure" is labeled Moonstone. The Lighthouse Gem is labeled White Topaz. A form for Larimar that was used in "Change Your Mind" but changed in Future is there. The Slinker is listed as Chrysocolla. And the Crab Monster is listed as Aventurine.

On the next page, this is changed to Bixbite (as it was in Steven Universe Future), and we then also have Lace Amethyst, Blue Lace Agate, Crazy Lace Agate (Fusion), Ocean Jasper, the Mother Centipeetle Nephrite (Facet 413 Cabochon 12) and three other Nephrites, Angel Aura Quartz, a hooded Jasper, Zebra Jasper, Biggs Jasper, Watermelon Tourmaline (labeled as Fusion of Gem * Onion--huh?), Snowflake Obsidian, "Little" Larimar, and Orange Spodumene (who was the Worm).

18.

The Rhodonite side story would have been about the love story of a Ruby and a Pearl working for Morganite. Images of Morganite and her servants, unfused, are in the book. We do not get this additional information, but Rebecca said in a panel shortly before the book's release that Rhodonite's story would have been about finding out that she had been Rejuvenated 17 times because her components kept falling in love and needing to be reset.

19.

Referring to the Diamonds on one of the charts, Steven's perspective is "I can't believe I helped these" and then there's a censor bar. Welp.

20.

Some included art by Hilary Florido features Kevin with a souped-up Koala Princess car and another where Kevin is staring at himself in the mirror in front of an altar to himself.

21.

Rebecca's sweater collection is included in the Crew art.

[SU Book and Comic Reviews]

#steven universe #steven universe end of an era #su spoilers #long post #su merch #myblog

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rendezvousrenjun · 4 years

Text

address | p.jisung

✩ Time seems to fly by when you catch feelings for a mutual friend who also so happens to be your physics partner, and potential love partner. ✩ fluff + humor | 4.29k words | friends to lovers!au | beware! some cussing :(

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry I’m late-- oh!” You are thrown off-guard by the tall boy standing next to your friend, holding a large popcorn with both of his hands.

You were running late. Your friend Chenle had invited you to watch a movie this evening, and unfortunately you had overslept from your nap; waking up in a haste to get to the theater before the trailers were over.

Chenle may have told you about the new movie you guys were seeing, but he did not inform you of meeting a new person.

“Oh! I totally forgot to introduce you two, y/n,” he pauses to point to his popcorn-holding-friend, “this is Jisung,” he points back to you, “Jisung, this is y/n.”

Jisung reaches his right hand over to you, but retracts it back to awkwardly wipe some popcorn grease on his jeans. You smile at him as you two shake hands for the first time, his hand being firm and clumsy while engulfing yours. He forms a tight smile back at you while Chenle grabs the popcorn before it spills over entirely.

That was the first time you met Jisung.

You honestly did not know why you signed up for a physics class; it was the last semester of the year and you had rushed picking out classes, which was a mistake as you soon realized none of your friends were taking it with you.

Accepting your fate, you open the door to reveal the dimly lit classroom, quickly scanning for an empty seat. The moment you saw Jisung sitting alone, hunched over his phone, cross-legged, the stool next to him open, your instinct was to go over to him and plop right down.

“Uh..Hi Jisung..” You place your backpack down on the floor cautiously, making sure not to hit his leg.

“Oh Hi y/n..” He straightens up and removes one of his earbuds to look over your direction, raising his eyebrows to acknowledge you.

You let out a sigh, your body releasing some tension, “I’m glad you’re in this class I literally do not know anyone else.”

His posture becomes more relaxed as well, leaning closer to you, “Oh my gosh! Me too I was lowkey panicking dude--”

There’s a small exchange of relieved giggles before the teacher introduces himself.

Meeting Jisung the second time was pure luck.

And because of those two encounters you couldn’t deny that you had developed a bit of a crush. Everyday you had something to look forward to, with Jisung by your side during these painstaking long physics lessons.

Some days when the teacher wasn’t looking, Jisung would pass you notes despite the fact you two were literally shoulders apart.

↬ i have a good joke lol: what is your house wearing >.<???

You look at the small crumpled note slid over to you before looking back up at Jisung who was pretending to pay attention on what was on the board, his eyebrows crinkled and his pencil jotting down scribbles into the notebook he had ripped the small piece of paper from. When you whisper a harsh “what?” at him, he ignores you and shoots the piece of paper a glance with an expectant smile. You roll your eyes jokingly and click your pen to scribble down:

↬ what (ง •̀_•́)ง

↬ ADDRESS haHAHAHA get it

You watch him try to fight the laughter that was bubbling up inside him by looking down at his notebook, making you blush at his corny reaction.

Your teacher clears his throat, making both of your heads snap back up. He was currently going over the agenda for next week-- including a huge project that was worth a good portion of your grade. Again, you were thankful to have Jisung in this class, because much to your dismay, it was a group project.

“Jisung” you whisper, gesturing for him to come closer to hear you better, “wanna be my partner?”

He takes a moment to look at you, blinking and expressionless. You tilt your head a little, silently asking for his response. He comes even closer to you, making you scoot your body back a bit to make sure he couldn’t see the red that was creeping up your neck from his gaze.

“y/n.”

“Mm?”

“If I’m not your partner who else would want to be?”

“Oh my fucking--”

Your teacher looks over at you and clears his throat again while you straighten up. Under the table, Jisung squirms at the feeling of you pinching his thigh.

The next week passes too fast. You and Jisung have done absolutely nothing regarding the project.

“Yo yo JISUNG pwwwwwwak!” you say throwing down your bag in a hurry-- grabbing your stool to place it in an even closer distance.

“Hmmm?” Jisung doesn’t even look up at you, totally engrossed with the game on his phone.

“Can we please work on the project tomorrow?”

A couple of taps later, he dies and places his phone on the desk in a disappointed manner.

“Tomorrow…” Jisung trails off and squints at a random space between you two, “what’s the date today?”

“February fourth-- why? Are you busy? It’s okay if you can’t… I just thought we should get it done fast since it’s time consuming and the deadline is literally in three days…”

“Well, um, I’m not really busy-- where are we working on it?”

“Is my house okay..?? Kind of early in the morning so we can finish before sun down..?”

“That’s cool with me just text me your address--ADDRESS AHAHA”

“Not this again--” You facepalm, but deep down you must admit it was adorable of him to laugh at his own joke.

Jisung ended up arriving an hour or so later than the time you had originally scheduled.

When you opened the door he gave you an apologetic smile, the one where his cheekbones and gums show on his face. You resist the need to poke his tiny dimple.

“Hi” he raises a hand and wiggles his fingers halfheartedly.

“Hey” you mirror him, laughing off the fond feeling that started to grow in your stomach.

He squeezes past your front door and removes his shoes before entering. You follow behind him, a bit anxious at the thought of having a boy alone in your house. He shuffles awkwardly near your dining room table where you had set up all the materials in order to not waste any time. You look away for one second, about to go into the kitchen to offer him apple juice, but he grabs the exacto knife, activating your fight or flight instinct-- so you proceed to swiftly take it from his hand. He scrunches his nose at you, sitting down afterwards.

“We should play some music dude.” Jisung puts down his pencil and paper after sketching out the structure of your wooden tower. It has been a solid hour of working in silence, you two sitting side by side like how you always do in class. To your surprise, Jisung had concentrated really well on doing his part of the project while you started using sandpaper to get rid of the rough edges of the wood.

“Sure, play whatever song you want.”

“Mmmkay” He hits shuffle on his playlist, “And You?” by Dean starts playing at full blast, making the atmosphere less professional. You start zoning out while working again, but snap out of it when Jisung starts humming and singing along to the song. You feel his shoulder start grazing yours as he moves his upper body to the beat, making you smile to yourself.

As time goes by you and Jisung end up straight up vibing to the music, getting up to scream lyrics at the top of your lungs, or even shimmy-ing along to whatever was playing. But eventually you two stopped the music in order to focus, laughter and messing around getting out of hand.

Cutting up balsa wood in tiny increments was also very stressful and the amount of patience you two needed to muster was almost impossible. But the best thing about having a partner for this project is that you don’t have to deal with the stress alone. Hearing Jisung get frustrated, or randomly just throw his exacto knife on the table dramatically to get up and rub his temples made you ease up and get less tense. It was comforting not to be alone.

What did start to bother you was Jisung continuously touching his bangs to remove them from his line of vision. Every couple minutes he would place whatever was in his hand down just to brush them up.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back just wait.” You skip to your room to grab a flower hair-clip, hiding it behind your back to present it with a little “ta-da” to Jisung.

“This hair clip is for you~”

“Oh wow thank you!” He tries clipping it to his head, but can’t seem to get it to stick, his long fingers unable to snap it down.

“Let me do it” you offer your hand out for him to place the clip back into your palm. He watches every move you do, his fingers playing in his lap as you look down at him sitting. The feeling of his hair is soft, as you gently take his bangs in a clump, putting them up. His eyes meet yours and you have to look back at the clip before your heart thumps any louder.

You clear your throat to fight off the feeling, “wow Jisung your head is kinda big.” The snap of the clip following after your random statement.

“Hey it’s embarrassing--” he grabs a hold of your wrist to make you look at him pouting about his big head.

“But big heads are nice--”

It takes a second or two for you both to realize what you just said, Jisung hysterically laughing, releasing your wrist and leaving it feeling warm.

“I’d honestly rather have a small head!”

“OH WHATEVER JISUNG”

Around five o’clock pm Jisung cuts his finger. In fact, he’s cut and broken a lot of things today due to his clumsiness, causing you to have to buy more wood. But at this point you weren’t even thinking due to the amount of brain numbing that gluing thin pieces of wood has been. So out of concern you instinctively reach out and start blowing on Jisung’s index finger. He tries to retract it at first, a bit surprised by the skinship, but relaxes when you look back up at him.

“Let’s wash it follow me.”

“Do you still have those minion bandaids you bring to school?”

“Yes.”

“Can you put one of them on me?”

“Of course.”

After wrapping Jisung’s little boo-boo you two decide you needed a well deserved break. Jisung simply places himself along your living room couch, taking up the entire space, acting as if this was his own home.

“Ya! Move over, I wanna lay down too.”

“No! Just lay on the ground here” Jisung pats the ground with his dangling arm while his eyes remain closed, dream-land already a couple minutes away.

“I’m just going to lay on top of you then.”

Jisung immediately snaps his eyes open and lays so that his chest touches the couch’s interior and his back is turned to you in order to make space. You jump onto the couch, making the weight shift, but he doesn’t even budge. The space is tight, but you two are too tired to care.

You may have accidentally fallen asleep because the next thing you knew was Jisung shaking you awake. When your eyes flutter open your hazy vision rests on Jisung who can’t look at you straight in the eye because, as Jisung says

“we practically napped together y/n…..”

You just laugh at him as he tries to climb over your body so he can go back to the wood gluing, embarrassed because he maybe, just maybe may have hugged you in his sleep.

At eight o’ six pm you find out that Jisung’s parents aren’t able to pick him up right away after school.

“So you’re telling me you have to wait a whole hour just to go home?”

“Yea and it’s really boring to wait at the back of the school because I kind of-- I guess,,, just stand there until I see my car roll up??”

It was an impulsive decision to suggest that he walk with you to your house everyday and get picked up here instead of waiting at school for an hour. But words ended up leaving your mouth faster than your brain could stop you, emotions getting the best out of the situation. At first Jisung did not like the idea.

“I don’t want to bother you or your family though--”

“Jisung you don’t bother me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yea! Just meet me at my last class everyday so we can start walking together.”

“But like… are you SURE SURE?”

“Yes!! Honestly it’s better this way, I didn’t like walking home alone everyday either. It’s a win-win situation.”

“Mmmkayyyyyyyyy if you say-so….” he gives you that gummy smile again.

It was already nine o’ nine pm and Jisung’s parents still weren’t here to pick him up. You two ended up cleaning up after the “walking-home-together” discussion, sitting on the couch to relax and discuss whatever came to mind.

“What’s my name on your phone?” You ask him while he responds to the text message from his parents telling him they’re on their way.

“y/n”

“Wow Jisung”

“Well what do you want it to be?”

“Mmm… how bout ‘the angel who saved me from being extremely bored for a solid hour for five days a week’?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

“I’m getting a text hold up.”

“You got a lot of texts today, I didn’t know you were this popular.”

“Nah I got most of the texts this morning when I woke up.”

“Wait what? Why this morning?”

“Oh… well..it’s because it’s my birthday.”

“IT’S YOUR WHAT NOW???!!???”

“My… birthday??”

“JISUNG….what??? YOUR WHAT??? Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t “busy”??? The fuck Jisung?? WAIT WHAT??? Let me GIVE YOU SOMETHING OH MY GOD!!!! Happy birthday oh my--”

“It’s okay y/n…oH and now you’re running to the kitchen okay nevermind”

You ended up grabbing an oreo and a candle, then shoving them in front of Jisung in a haste to sing a very terrible rendition of the happy birthday song as Jisung simply looks at you and chuckles, placing his hands to cover his face because in this moment you were so endearing and unbelievably cute. He would never admit that though.

“Thank you, thank you,” he claps his hands in a way so that they don’t make a lot of noise.

“I’m sorry you had to spend your birthday with me doing a stupid physics project.”

“No no it’s okay I’m glad I spent my day like this,” he pauses to contemplate what he was going to say next, “with you.”

“Really?”

“Yea it was fun!”

You could’ve sworn you could hear your heart thumping loud enough for Jisung to hear, but maybe that was just his phone ringing.

“I gotta go now, see you soon--- and uh thank you for the cookie,,, and today.”

The moment your front door is shut, you dial up Chenle’s number and proceed to ask him why he didn’t bother to mention that it was in fact, Park Jisung’s birthday. In which he responds with a crisp, “aHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA.”

The results for the project were handed out the following week, you and Jisung scoring a solid 92 out of 100. Jisung had impulsively hugged you out of excitement, realizing only after he had you in his arms. You can smell his laundry detergent from his sweater, and feel his body warmth, all of it feeling so welcoming. He lets go of you fast, awkwardly putting both his hands up for a double-high five instead.

Walking home with Jisung became a routine. Him scaring you outside your sixth period everyday also became a routine. Him being in your life was simply what became both of your normals, and it would be difficult to go back to how it was before you two met up for that project.

Chenle had suggested watching another movie together since this time it wouldn’t be as awkward, in which all of you unanimously agreed to go.

You and Jisung show up together, as it was a Friday after school. Jisung excuses himself to the bathroom before you guys enter the theater while you wait for Chenle outside. Your phone buzzes with a message from Chenle himself.

↬ y/nnn i’m sorryyyyy ↬ why what happened?? ↬ something came up i cant make it i hope you two arent still waiting for me :((( ↬ awww it’s okay… ↬ but u should thank me ↬ why ↬ now u and jisung are able to go on a date MWAHAHAH ↬ shUT up

Jisung comes out of the bathroom and you explain the situation to him, fumbling to lock your phone before he could see any of the messages. You two make your way inside, getting your tickets and debating on different snacks.

You look over to see Jisung holding a large popcorn and your heart swells in your chest, remembering the very first time you had laid eyes on him. Remembering how far you two have come. He smiles at you before you grab the popcorn out of his hands.

During the movie, you can’t seem to focus; Chenle’s texts swarming your mind as you nervously glance over at Jisung from time to time. His eyes are fixated on the screen, a glow brushing over his cheeks. You admire how his face easily expresses how he feels on certain parts: eyebrows furrowing occasionally, his mouth agape in surprise, it all shows. He feels you staring and glances back at you before you look down at the popcorn in his hands and take a fistful to stuff in your mouth. He almost chokes at your reaction, covering his mouth before he starts laughing and people give him weird looks.

Jisung had failed his math exam on the following Monday as thoughts of you from the movies occupied his mind instead. It was bad. You were too cute for his own good.

Upon finding this out -- excluding what he thought about you -- you had suggested a spa day for the two of you in order to de-stress.

“For the hour at my house today can you actually stay for a bit longer so that we can have a skincare day?”

“Why???”

“I think you gotta pamper yourself more Jisung! Take care of yourself better!”

When you two arrived, the first thing you did was bring Jisung into your bathroom to wash your faces together. He fiddles with the cleanser before smearing it all over his face, making you laugh uncontrollably at how funny he looked.

“Okay after cleansing we gotta do toner!”

“What’s toner? Isn’t that the thing people use for printers?”

“Well it’s-- never-mind let me just put it on your face.”

You apply it onto a cotton pad before wiping it gently across Jisung’s skin. His skin was already so glowy, it made you somewhat envious. A strand of your hair keeps falling down while you lean over Jisung’s face as he sits on your closed toilet. Jisung continues to watch your hand move across his temples and the slope of his nose bridge before allowing his eyes to wander down to your wrist, then your arm, then your face. He naturally reaches out to your face with his pointer finger and gingerly tucks away the strand of hair. He allows his finger to linger there for a second, before placing it back down. The thumping of your heart makes you believe it could break out of your ribcage and onto his lap any second now. He clears his throat, not able to look at you in the eye again, before you finish applying the toner.

The previous incident is soon forgotten as the two of you ended up taking an excessive amount of selfies and embarrassing photos in face masks. Since Jisung had asked his parents to pick him up later you guys decided to take a nap while waiting for the masks to completely soak in. By now, Jisung and you have grown so comfortable with each other that napping together was an unspoken normality. This was okay between friends right?

When you open your eyes, Jisung is looking down at you fondly half-asleep. You think that you could fall asleep to the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat every time, an ASMR only you could hear. He starts playing with your fingers absent-mindedly while you adjust to the situation.

“You smell good today.” Your voice is still a bit harsh from waking up. “So I don’t smell good everyday?” “Whatever Jisung.”

He softly chuckles and continues to play with your pinkie for a bit.

“You smell good too.”

Time ticked quicker than you were able to grasp it. The school year was suddenly already over before you knew it. On the last day of school Jisung had asked if you wanted to go to the amusement park with him, which you obviously agreed to.

There was still some unexpressed feelings between you and Jisung. Although you mutually somehow knew there was something there.

You guys ended up running around the park like a bunch of chickens without heads, having the time of your lives now that summer was upon you. Jisung had bought you guys iced tea while you were in the restroom, but since he only had enough change for one you guys ended up drinking from the same bottle. As you two went along, excited exchanges between you two also flew by.

“Let’s win that huge mouse plushie!!!”

“I’ll win it for you Jisung just sit back and watch.”

And you did. You won him that mouse plushie.

“Actually--shoot-- we should’ve ridden all the rides first before playing the games so we don’t have to carry around the prizes until we go home.”

“That’s actually smart… too bad you didn’t think of it earlier.”

“Can we ride the moominator first though???”

“I can’t ride roller coasters, they’re so scary!!”

“Well sucks to suck Jisung seeya I’m going to ride it…. BUY ME A CHUrrO in the meantime!”

“I DON’T HAVE ANY MORE MONEY!”

The sun began to set, and so did the energy you two had left. Jisung had suggested you guys ride a sky glider to watch the amazing view, and although you reject the idea due to your fear of heights you end up in the cart anyways.

“So you’re telling me you’re scared of rollercoasters but not sky gliders?”

“So you’re telling me you’re scared of sky gliders and not rollercoasters?” Jisung retorts back cheekily.

“Ya! You could literally die if this cord snaps okay? One little shake and we’re DEAD JISUNG. D-E-A-D!”

“Oh really?” you should’ve never have given Jisung the idea to shake the cart that contained the two of you, because now he was vigorously swinging his body.

You don’t say anything because your body is frozen still--the pit of your stomach creating a nest of nerves; your body filling itself with chills as the only thing stopping you from plummeting to your doom is the one thin horizontal railing.

Jisung misplaces his hand on the railing, slipping it over to your side of the cart, his body weight tilting it ever-so-slightly, causing you both to simultaneously freak out. You tightly grip Jisung’s arm, turning your head to look at him in full panic-mode, only then do you realize how close you two are.

Jisung becomes aware of the small space between you two as well, his grip on the railing that’s enclosing you getting even tighter than your grip on his arm. You see the sweat that begins to form at the corner of his forehead and the way he gulps when looking at you directly in the eyes.

“Ar-ar-aree y-you- o-ka-kay..??” he manages to stutter out, body never leaving the proximity of yours.

You two are trapped in this position. In the sky. The end far down.

You look at his eyes, and his slightly scrunched nose, and the way his mouth starts to form a thin line by pressing his lips together-- then your eyes revert themselves to the entirety of his face.

You would hate to admit it, but in that moment you thought maybe Jisung was hiding stars in his eyes.

You’re watching him, and it almost seems like he’s sliding even closer to you-- as if physically possible. Then, with the blink of an eye, in the heat of the moment, Jisung practically headbutts you in the face with his lips on your lips; giving himself whiplash as he breaks away from you surprised as if he didn’t just do that.

You both gasp and cover your mouths like little school children who had just learned about a silly secret.

“Oh my gosh” you mumble into your hands, and Jisung simply covers his entire face with his big ass hands.

You reach over and take his hands into yours before you peck him again. This time when you observe his face, the blush had crept up all the way to the tips of his ears to the point they were burning red.

He’s so embarrassed he squeals and covers his face again. This time he’s the one who squeaks into his palms, “again!”

He grabs your hot cheeks into his equally sweaty palms and presses his lips against yours, this time not as harshly and without the whiplash.

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years

Text

Little Tinkerbell ~ Yin Zhi x Reader

Little maiden, what are you doing? Should you really waste your time in the library, studying, when outside is sunny and you could be playing with the princes and princesses?

Little maiden, what are you doing? Should you really be tinkering with weird widgets, when you could be learning how to apply make up?

Little maiden, what are you doing? Should you really be going riding through the forest, when you could be going shopping for fashionable clothes and accessories?

He heard all the rumours, all the gossips, all the bad words...He saw all the judging eyes of all the close-minded and inapt people...He saw everything...And yet, Yin Zhi couldn't understand how come this little mockingjay would rather study and be by herself, despite all the reprimanding she gets, when she could solve it all by obeying, like all women do?

Why was she so stubborn? Why did she insist on doing literally everything that he was also interested in, and yet, he wasn't reprimanded, just because he was a man, and more, the Emperor's son?

A man...Well, he's not a man yet, he's barely 12 years old, and yet, this girl keeps bugging his mind.

It all started when he went to the library one day, and his way was through the garden, and there she was, a little maiden, her beautiful hair flying messily into the air, as she was hunched over a stone tabled, doing something, clearly focused enough to draw out anything outside of her area of work. She didn't even hear him approach, not even sitting in front of her, until he strategically stepped into her light, and she got too confused at the sudden darkness, until she looked up and realised who was eclipsing her.

"You...You are the 3rd Prince, aren't you? Yin Zhi, was it? What are you doing here?" she asked, her hands hanging awkwardly, still holding the delicate screws and gears from the machinery. "Great, you know who I am. Should I be asking you the same now, for the sake of common courtesies? Or will you finally answer my question?" he asked impatiently, thinking he'd intimidate the girl...But she didn't sketch any of that. "A travelling merchant from the West came by recently, and I bought some musical boxes. They make beautiful music, and this rotating doll has interesting clothes. I wanted to take everything apart, learn how the engine works, how each and every little piece keeps the synergy going, and then attempt to recreate something similar, or maybe even better. Who knows." she shrugged, going back to her tinkering. "Don't tell me you actually understand what you're doing." he scoffed, and yet, leaned forward to pay attention to her dexterous fingers. "I do...But, do you?" she smirked, provoking him. "Are you mocking me?!" the prince scoffed, shocked at her impertinence. "It's mocking only if you get offended. If not, you can shut up, listen, and understand." there was no malice or harshness in her words, and the prince realised that there was an unexpected maturity and wisdom about her, that seemed to calm him...Or tame him. "Fine, then. If you're so sure of yourself, then show me how you'd repair this music box to its original state." he challenged her, which oddly enough, made he grin brightly at him. "No problem!" she started humming a melody, which he guesses might be the one from the music box, and with an outstanding ingenuity, she played around with those tiny tools and even tinier gear pieces, using a magnifying glass to see better, and there it was, in its dull glory, a dancing doll and a pretty song. "Not bad...For someone like you. I must confess, I never expected a girl to be interested in machinery or studying like you are. I am...Impressed." he was just a child back then, still reckless and easily wearing his emotions on his sleeve, as he blushed...She quickly became his childhood crush, clearly. "Thank you, Yin Zhi! Nobody ever said anything nice about my...Out of the ordinary interests, so...Thank you." she gave him a sweet smile, before taking the music box, ready to leave. "It's getting late, I must go home and continue my studying. I hope to see you again soon, Prince." she gave him an innocent kiss on his cheek, waving goodbye, before leaving the place, her beautiful, flowy, pink dress flying behind her.

Since then, this little maiden was the only one that he accepted to study with, to learn with and to learn from, or listen to...And also, she was the only one who could get him to sneak out of the Palace to go on the top of the hill to watch the stars, identify constellations, to watch the fireflies, and she was the only one he enjoyed riding with.

She wasn't like all those princesses and ladies who'd rather waste her time doing needlework and baking cakes... Although he couldn't deny that her osmanthus cakes were amazing, the tea she was brewing was incredibly aromatic, and the costumes she was creating were making even the Western tailors jealous.

However, he couldn't pin point whether she was she was really as great as she was making her out to be, or simply, that's how he was seeing her. That's weird, since he prides himself for being level-headed, rational and also, for seeing things exactly as they are, not veiled by the charms of emotions and...And that other forbidden word he canNOT allow himself to say, not out loud, nor to himself.

But years passed, and not even him, Yin Zhi, the 3rd Prince, was safe from the feminine charms, and Y/N was becoming more beautiful with each day passing.

As time went by, he always felt the need to invite her, under different pretexts, to hang out with him, mostly for the sole reason that he truly enjoys her company. She never speaks more than she has to, and when she does, her words are meaningful and leave a lingering feeling that tugs at his heartstrings, making him want to hear more of her voice.

Even his mother, Consort Qin, was feeling infinitely better whenever she would visit her, and it almost felt like a healing, bright aura, something incredibly refreshing, like the cold mint freeze, that was making her feel so great. She was a mother, clearly, she was well aware of her son’s feelings for this little maiden, and she was happy that her only child, that she loved so much, and in turn, cared so much for her, was able to find such a kind and brilliant woman to be by his side and match his wits and intellect just as he always dreamt of.

So one night, on one of the many occasions that they spent together, they found themselves riding through the forest, and arrived at a gorgeous waterfall, continued by a blue lagoon, surrounded by numerous flowers of variate, vibrant colours, tons of butterflies and choruses of birds singing like angels.

“I don’t know how we got here, but this looks like a true paradise. Wouldn’t it be so much more peaceful if we were to live closer to nature, and farther away from noisy people?” Y/N asked, yet her question wasn’t exactly addressed, as she took of her shoes and lifting up the hem of her long dress, she went to the shallow part of the lagoon, jumping on the stones to get closer to the waterfall. “I can’t deny that would be the ideal scenario...Although, I wouldn’t advise you to stay too long in the freezing water, or too close to the waterfall. You will get soaked and sick.” he shook his head, sitting on one of the big rocks guarding the lagoon. “Don’t tell me...Yin Zhi, have you never bathed into a lake? Or a spring? Or under a waterfall?” she giggled, teasing him, as she gracefully skipped next to him, taking off his hat, putting it on his horse, and then going behind him to braid his hair. “Did I give you permission to touch my hair? Do you want me to kill you that badly?” he let his head down so he could look at her, and despite his words, he bore no ill will. “If you kill me, who’s going to read with you, or help you with machinery?” she chuckled, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. “Besides, you know I can’t resist your hair. It’s the most beautiful and soft in the whole kingdom.” her smile was so playful and gentle that it seemed to relax him immediately. “I don’t need your help in repairing machinery, nor do I need the distraction you offer while reading. And, to reply to the other affirmation, I’m a Prince, after all. We get lucky since birth.” he smirked gracefully, making the girl hum, as she was pondering. “Well...Should I tell you a secret? Yeah, sure, I always tell you all the secret I know anyway. The only other princes with nice hair are Yin Zhen and the 14th prince, and not even they can compare with yours. I mean...Have you seen the Crown Prince? Or the 5th prince? It’s like they don’t care at all! It looks so...Course and greasy! I wouldn’t dare get my finger anywhere close to that!” she started laughing, faking a shudder, as she finished the braid. “Good, because if you did, I’d have cut your fingers off. Good luck touching my hair without fingers.” he grumbled, almost as if jealous. “Awww, but then, who’d braid your hair? You know you like it when I play with your hair, so don’t play the tough facade with me. Besides...I’m pretty sure you’re going to kill me regardless of what I do, so...” with a low giggle, she pushed herself into his back, sending both of them into the lagoon, shocking the poor prince who wasn’t expecting that. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” he yelled at her, glaring, as soon as he resurfaced to get some air. “YES!” she laughed so carefree, all that hair playing as a curtain draped all over her face. “Oh, spare me.” he scoffed, putting his hand on her head and pushing her underwater, long enough to get his revenge, but not long enough that she might have discomfort. “Okay, but you have to admit, it was pretty fun! It’s always nice trying out new things, isn’t it?” she laughed, struggling to throw away all that hair from her face. “You, dummy...Get here, I’ll help.” he couldn’t help but show a half smile at the girl since, despite all the silliness and complete lack of mannerism, she always managed to warm his heart more and more. “Thank you. Perhaps I should have braided my hair too before, but, oh well, guess now I can look like one of those vengeful ghosts from the stories our mums would tell us to keep us behaving.” she grinned, letting her hair down to allow the man behind her to braid her hair properly. “Speaking of stories...I once heard one from my mother, and I almost think she was talking about you, especially as I met you when we were young...And you were so small compared to me, even then.” he teased her, making her widen her eyes in intrigue. “Ohh, tell me, tell me!” she turned around, hugging her legs and resting her chin on her knees, waiting for the story patiently...Or not so, rather. “It’s not much to say...It’s about a little fairy who was struggling to find out what her defining talent. Some had the power to make flowers bloom in a matter of seconds, others could speak to animals, other could bend water, storms or light to their will...And yet, this little fairy that everyone found so odd, couldn’t find her defining talent among all the other girls she knew. Do you want to know why?” he never admitted that, no matter how many times the girl told him, but he had the gift of story-telling and keeping the listener gripped completely. “Yes, tell me!” his heart was melting seeing her almost childlike enthusiasm and fascination on her face that simply his words could create. “She was special, that’s why. Special, even among her peers. Because she was incredibly inventive and handy, so she was sent to the tinkers to create intricate machinery that would aid all the other fairies on their jobs of keeping nature balanced and properly taken care of. And because her dress resembled a bell flower, she was given the name of...Tinkerbell.” he explained the story, which made her jolt to her feet in a second, running to the bed of flowers. “So, you’re saying I’m Tinkerbell, aren’t you? Then, I have to create a proper outfit for my talent! What do you say which flower should I take inspiration from?” she crouched down in front of the flowers, only to hear a scoff from the man. “You won’t find the one there, silly woman...But here.” he leaned to snatch a pink lotus flower from the lagoon, making his way in front of her, and carefully putting in her hair. “Because a lotus is unique. It’s the true symbol of a woman’s noble and pure personality. It represents the ability to remain pure and become enlightened, even through hardships...And I believe that suits you best.” he muttered the end, feeling shy, yet not turning his head away. “You always know what to say, don’t you? You’re so smart and cool...I bet if you were a fairy, you’d have been the king of them all, for you’d have all the talents the others have.” she chuckled softly, leaning her head down just slightly, feeling bashful, her cheeks resembling just a tiny bit the shade of the flower she now so proudly represented. “And you’d be the queen of the empire.” the ghost of a smirk appeared on his face as he leaned down to kiss her forehead.

But things can’t always remain as ethereal as they are all the time, and he wasn't blind to the Crown Prince trying woo her, or at least gain her as an ally, as he realised her worth, intellect and shrewdness, and nor was he ignorant to how those obnoxious 5th, 7th and 11th princes were constantly on her tail. They don't deserve to be in her presence! They never appreciated her when she was a child, why should they now? But he was ar least relieved with the fact that he knew she has always been a smart girl and wouldn't fall in their web of lies.

That is...Until he started seeing less and less of her around he library, and more of her around the Princes and the Empress...Mainly the Crown Prince. But he could see she was beginning to lose her light, her glamour, her spark...There was something wrong, and he was worrying about her.

How pathetic of him.

Why does he even feel like that? Is that normal?

Sure, it can be normal for those mundane plebs, but not to him! He had to find a way to talk to her, since clearly, she was afraid of something.

Could she be...Blackmailed...?

One day, he found her in the tea house, so he stole the key and bribing the matron there, he prowled in and locked them inside, staring at her with his piercing eyes, watching her prepare a chrysanthemum tea.

"I've never seen you so happy to make tea for everyone who asked you." he pointed out in his usual, cold manner. "...! 3rd Prince, I didn't see you walking in!" she gasped, almost letting the teapot fall from her hands. "Of course you didn't see me. You were much too absorbed in your own mind to see me. I wonder what is troubling you so these days, Y/N." he crossed his arms, analysing her unusual spazzic behaviour. "Oh, u-uhm...Nothing too out of the ordinary. Now, please, if you'd excuse me, I must serve Her Majesty, the Empress, and the Crown Prince with tea." she sighed, hanging her head, hoping he wouldn't see her dejected expression. "You've never been the best at lying or concealing your emotions. Now, tell me the truth. I've known you for years, you can't deceive me." his voice was sharper now, hoping the extra pressure would crack her.

And it did. "I hate them...I hate them so much...I want to run away, but they are threatening me, and I can't find a way out. The Empress and that...That...That brat of hers are trying to marry me off to one of those horrible and uneducated rats that call themselves Princes...And I don't know what to do!" she slammed the tea tray on the table, and it was clear that she didn't crack - She outright shattered, just like those cups and teapots she placed so gingerly, just a few seconds prior. "So, that's it? They are threatening to marry you if you don't obey, and instead of coming to me for help, you dig a hole and hide in it. I thought you were smarter than that." he sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I couldn't possibly get you involved in this mess. You're already on hot waters for being the next best contestant to being an Emperor, along with Yin Zhen, and the Crown Prince hates you. The Emperor wants you to compete as well. If you get involved, it may throw your peaceful life into a complete chaos." she looked away, hanging her head in disappointment. "So you were trying to be considerate with me, I understand. Next time, I'd suggest the smarter approach, which would be communication. I can easily solve all your problems with just a two words." his voice softened, as he chuckled at her reaction. "Two words...? What do you mean...?" she looked up at him, confusion obviously plastered on her face. "Marry me." those words were so simple, so easy to say out loud, and yet, it brought complete turmoil and shock in both of them. "Wh-What ?! I-I- ...Y-You-...?! Wha-...?! B-But...?! Y-You have t-to l-love the person you're marrying, w-we can't just....S-So sudden..." she kept stuttering and rambling, her cheeks as red as his were long ago, when she kissed his cheek. "I see no problem, then." with a mischievous smirk on his face, he stepped forward, kissing her cheek, making her freeze on the spot. "...?! Y-You...You really...?! Since when? Why didn't you say anything sooner?!" her bottom lip quivered softly, frowning at him accusatory. "A long time ago. We were doing fine the way we were before, I didn't see why we should mess with perfection. But others stomped on it, and made you upset, so I have to solve this. And what better way to have you happy, by my side, then to be my bride? Nobody would dare come between us, that much, I can assure you." he explained with clear confidence, knowing very well that she melted, realising her feelings were reciprocated. "...I love you." she threw her arms around him without any warning, which he wasn't surprised by in the least, as she'd always surprise him with kisses, hugs, pinches and little gifts. "...And I love you, Tinkerbell." he muttered, stroking her hair and kissing the top of her head.

As soon as the 3rd Prince went to his father, while he was alone, for his blessings, he received what he wished for. The look of absolute dread and hatred on the faces of the Empress, the Crown prince, and the 5th, 7th and 11th princes, who realised they lost their potential bride and spy to the one everyone least expected to get married.

The 3rd Prince was, by far, the one with the most tricks up his sleeves, and that will never change.

#legend of the phoenix x reader #legend of the phoenix headcanons #legend of the phoenix #legend of the phoenix imagine #yin zhi #yin zhen #3rd prince #4th prince #crown prince #emperor #empress #5th prince #7th prince #14th prince #11th prince

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cozycryptidcorner · 4 years

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Chapter One

Sweat glues your hair against your forehead, droplets running down your temples and down onto your shirt. Your arms protest against the pressure as you lift a rather heavy vase, one painted in tiny, intricate blue details, and stand on the very tips of your toes to push it on top of an old oak cabinet without running the risk of chipping the base. You let out a little wheeze once you manage to wiggle it right into place, taking a moment to crack your knuckles to release some tension, then step back to take one last look to make sure it appears fine. Satisfied, you turn around as your phone begins to chirp, the screen announcing the caller as one of your few employees.

You pick it up, hitting the accept call button and lifting the phone to your ear. “What’s up, Jill?”

“Just giving you an update, boss,” the child-like voice offers, though the owner is well into her late twenties, “the equipment arrived at the next location, Boomer and the others are about to start gutting the kitchen.”

“Sounds good,” you say, clicking the pen lying on a nearby table to help you focus. You try to bring up your memory of the room, having visited for a full day before heading back to the current job at hand, trying to picture just what you plan on doing with it once you get there. “Don’t forget that I want the exposed brick to stay put. The owner said she liked ‘rustic,’ so that’s what we’re going to give her.”

“Yes, ma’am,” there’s not too much respect in the voice, more like Jillian is poking fun at your authoritative stance. “Anything else? Getting lonely?”

You let out a loud snort. “Not yet, can’t say I miss Boomer’s constant arguments with Steph and Jack.”

“Okay, Lemme know if you need any help, I could use a break from the bickering too.”

“Will do, talk to you later.”

The castle isn’t the worst place you’ve had to turn into a liveable space, but it’s not without its challenges, that’s for sure. A crew of people from the local electric plant has had to wire up the entire place, a septic system had to be installed, oh, and also pipes for running water had to be dug. Working around people all trying to do their own jobs without any attempts to stay out of each other’s way has tested your patience to the very most thinnest line you didn’t even know you could take, but at least it’s over.

Your speakers blare music loud enough to be heard on the other end of the castle as you hold out strips of sample colors from the nearest hardware store, comparing and contrasting the two until you come up with a couple of possibilities for the room. The sun shines in through the freshly bought glass panes, warming the room to a comfortable temperature without the need to turn on the newly installed heating system. Carefully and thoroughly, you write down the exact serial numbers of the colors you’re deciding on, and tuck the notebook in your back pocket. You’ll head over to the hardware store tomorrow, but for now, you’re probably good to prime the walls.

The castle isn’t gigantic, it’s not like the kind you’d see in Disney movies that can seemingly house an entire city within its walls, but it’s definitely mansion-sized. A couple dozen rooms, enough to make a decently sized inn, which is exactly the plan you’re running with under the instruction of the castle’s new owner. Oh, speaking of which, they’re visiting the day after tomorrow, so you better have a good report to give to them. You open up one of the cans of primer, the scent of artificial wrongness causing your eyes to water, but you continue working like you aren’t in danger of choking on some wack fumes.

The first layer doesn’t take too much work, the roller sponge reaching all those tough places on the ceiling you wouldn’t manage to get to without the tall ass handle. Your people did a decent job making sure the plaster on the walls is smooth as silk when they painted the stuff on, so you don’t have to sand anything down before the second layer. Since this is supposed to be the ‘renaissance room,’ you’re stuck painting frescos on the walls like the many geniuses did a few millennia ago, and hoo boy do you have your work cut out. The owner seems fine with the outrageous price you named when you heard what they wanted, but a part of you regrets making such a time-consuming decision.

You have a couple of sketches on hand, pre-approved by the person in question, but still, you tap a bit of willow charcoal against the side of the paper as you try to come up with some different options that might be a little more fun for you to paint. But you need to stretch- and get some fresh air before you start feeling lightheaded from the primer fumes. Still trying to filter some sort of decent idea through your head, you wander through the halls, marveling at how your people managed to string up some modern chandeliers in the short amount of time they had. There’s a rather large and curving staircase that connects the first and second floors, one that you just had to keep in all its glory, though now it’s polished within an inch of its life.

There are several exits you can use, but you decide on the one that spits you right out into the garden, which is pretty darn dead for the most part. You know that an army of landscapers is coming to start planting things sometime in the near future. Still, you neither know what company it is or when they will be here, so you untangle the sweater from around your waist and somehow get it on without having to put your sketchbook and charcoal down. There’s a large fountain that hasn’t seen water in probably a hundred or so years, dead leaves collecting in its nooks and crannies, but at the center of the empty pool is a rather incredible statue.

It’s up on a pedestal, body in a suave contrapposto pose. The hair is carved in a mop of unbelievably gorgeous curls, you can almost imagine yourself running your fingers through it despite knowing very well that all you’ll feel is solid rock. Its face is a perfect example of what’ bedroom eyes’ means, its gaze staring directly towards an invisible partner, mouth in a sultry, inviting smile. Whoever carved it, though, definitely outdid themselves with the butt because good god the careful balance between curve and firmness is extraordinarily executed. The thighs, too, look like they could crush a melon between them, but there’s just something about the butt that always makes you stop for a minute to admire it in all its glory, no matter what you’re doing at the moment. Jillian’s mocked you a few times for ogling it perhaps a little too intently, but you know what?

You get your phone out, already formulating a dumb little stunt to put on your Instagram page. Oh, Jillian is the only one on your crew who is going to think it’s hilarious, but maybe your followers will also find it funny. Cautiously, you step over the wall of the fountain, avoiding the pipes that at one time pumped water into the knee-deep pool, and then take a moment to look over the inscription at the statue’s base. It strikes you as rather odd, mainly because you would think that a plaque would instead belong on the outside wall of the fountain, rather than right at the feet of the statue. It’s in ancient greek, or at least, that’s what the owner of the property told you when you asked some time before.

Trying your best not to use the statue’s available limbs for balance, you step up onto the pedestal, getting rather cozy with those lovingly carved abs. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to get your mouth anywhere near his, and yes, up close, those lips look even more inviting than usual. After a moment of fiddling with your phone’s camera filters and trying to find a good angle to show off your jawline and chin, you press your mouth up against the statues, glancing up only briefly to make sure the camera’s got everything. Then you close your eyes and pretend like this is the most magical moment you’ve ever experienced, finger clicking the shutter button. You take a moment to look over what you’ve got, your arm still around the statue’s neck, biting your lip as you pick which one is going to go online.

It doesn’t take you long to pick out two or three. The angle and lighting in those are a bit off from the others, not in a bad way, though, but it kind of almost looks like the statue isn’t just the recipient of the kiss. Actually, now that you really look at it… the shadows make it look almost like it’s leaning into your mouth, which you suppose is going to sell the picture even more. Neat. You hop off the pedestal and step over the wall of the fountain. Enough break time, you decide, picking up your sketchbook where you mindlessly tossed it, and head back into the castle.

You didn’t have any wild inspirations while you were making out with the stone, so you decide instead to start working on something that doesn’t take as much brain juice as, say, designing an original fresco that’s supposed to rival Raphael’s Philosophy. At the moment, you’re probably better off painting the freshly stripped and primed walls of the library, something that doesn’t require intricate thought. The paints for the library have already been purchased and delivered, courtesy of Steph, so buckets of baby blue wait for you on the protective layer of plastic taped to the floor. Turning on some loud music, you begin, stirring up one of the paint buckets and pouring some into a container long enough for the roller brushes.

Throwing yourself into the work is easy, so long as you try to keep yourself entertained. After the music loses your interest, you take a quick break, flipping through podcasts while sipping water. Wiping some sweat from your face, you happen to look through the window and into the garden to see that... Wait- the statue- the statue is missing? You frantically walk over to the glass and look out, your heated breath fogging your view. Your first impression is correct; the statue isn’t on the pedestal, which is fucking impossible? That thing has to weigh almost a ton, it’s a slab of rock, no one can just walk away with it.

You’re outside before you can even register the shock of your feet hitting the cobblestone of the path, your lungs wheezing from the sudden strain of exercise and nerves. There’s no fucking way you lost a whole ass statue after being alone for just three days, but, oh, that’s precisely the kind of stuff you would expect to happen to you. Of course your dumb ass would somehow lose the most valuable thing on this property, oh, god, you’re going to be so fired. This is going to destroy your company’s reputation, you’re never going to be able to get another job again and then you’ll have to dissolve it all once the owner decides to sue and you’ll never be able to so much as breathe in the direction of interior design again-

“Fuck!” You shout, kicking uselessly at the pavement. It’s gone. The whole thing’s fucking up and gone, and you’re doomed.

“What’s wrong?” A new voice says, too close to your body for your liking, so you do what anyone else in your position might and punch the source of the sound on reflex, letting out a loud shriek.

Instead of some rando’s face, you end up striking something stone-like as hard as you can muster, your knuckles exploding with a rush of pain. Your muscles twitch, and then you can’t feel anything but a heated throb pulsing through your fingers, but you don’t pay any attention to your ruined hand. Rather, you’re eyes are glued to the quite literal stony features of a man’s face, a face that would be on kissing level if you stood on the very tips of your toes.

“No,” you say, because, between the pain and the shock, you can’t think of anything else that would entirely summarize what you’re feeling at the moment.

Its smile is radiant despite the fact you had just struck it with the intent to knock a couple of teeth out, eyes somehow wild with an emotion you can’t place, and then it sets a well-sculpted hand on the side of your face. A split second later, you realize that it is leaning forward with the intent to kiss you again, so you do what anyone else might do in the moment.

“No,” you yelp, placing a hand on his mouth, and then repeat, “no.”

Confusion settles on his features, his brows furrowing, his mouth still in an inviting curve. “What’s wrong?”

Oh, dear god. Its voice... is like it was made for sex, melodic, soft, yet also firm. There’s a singer that you love to turn on and kick back in relaxation, the lyrics smooth and accented, running over you like a gentle stream of water, and that’s the only way you can think to describe the way that- that statue speaks, without sounding like an insane person. In fact, you’re so focused on trying to place which foreign singer that he sounds like that you forget that your hand is still firmly on his mouth, pushing his face away.

“I’m going to get fired.” That’s all you can think about. The owner of the property is going to take one look at the living, breathing statue and have a goddamn conniption.

“There is no need to fret, darling-”

“No need to fret?” You’re about to start screaming. “This is supposed to make my fucking career, and now the most priceless part of the fucking property somehow gained sentience is, um, walking around? I’m going to get scalped, no one else is going to hire me-”

“I have naught an idea of what you speak of,” it brushes some baby hairs away from your sweaty forehead, “but all shall be well, so long as you stay with me.”

You’re choking on the air because your body doesn’t know what else to do with itself. Still, somehow, you manage to pull yourself from its arms, needing a moment to breathe in an environment that didn’t involve something trying insistently to make out with you. Deep, deep breath, you coach yourself, dusting your sweaty hands on the front of your shirt, remembering suddenly that you might have accidentally fractured a couple of fingers when a sharp pain runs up the length of your forearm. “Shit.”

“Would-”

“Stop talking!” You need to think, and you need to tend to the already swelling knuckles on your hand. Hopefully, you won’t need a trip to the hospital. Angrily, you pace, two steps to the side, then three steps back, looking at the pedestal, then at the statue, and finally on the castle. “Fuck, just- just follow me, I guess.”

You storm back into the common room, frantically looking for wherever the hell the first aid kit ended up getting stashed. It’s not with the paperwork or folders keeping track of the tabs you’re racking up at the local hardware store, so you run over into the kitchen where the brand new industrial stoves and ovens are and start rifling through the cabinets until you finally find the white tin box. The statue follows you, thankfully, because you aren’t about to allow a potentially million-dollar statue to start wandering the cliffside without adult supervision.

After a minute of fiddling the sides of the locks with one hand, the statue makes a reach for the box just as you manage to open it. Quickly, you shoot it a chilling glare and pull the medical supplies closer, rifling through the contents until you find something for the spots on your fingers where the skin broke open. Okay, yes, it’s a little awkward to be doing this all with one hand, but you’re not going to let that… thing anywhere near you, much less your bloodied hand. Speaking of which, despite the substantial damage done to you, the statue doesn’t seem at all bothered by the strike which would have at least knocked an average person off their rhythm, but…

You reach over and take his jaw into your good hand, moving his head to the side to check for any damage. The stone is still in place, not a single chip flew off, which might be expected because this thing is a fucking rock. Though even now, a part of you wants to believe that this is some kind of ridiculously elaborate prank the owner is pulling for a publicity stunt, and this is a man in really convincing makeup. To call attention to the inn, you know, get some national headlines. Pull in more customers. Haha, look, it’s the stupidly handsome statue that scared the everloving shit out of the poor contractor. But if this were a man, there would be swelling puffing out that ridiculously beautiful jawline because you hit hard.

Angry that you aren’t able to come to the conclusion you want, you let go, returning back to sloppily wrap your wounded hand in some gauze and tape. Tea, you need some goddamn tea, you think, rummaging through the sparse pantry full of some random items you bought while in town, after all, you can’t get takeout for every meal three months straight. Not unless you want to take your bank account to a back alley and shoot it like a diseased dog. Urgh, finally, something relatively strong that might help cool your nerves down a notch or two.

“Do you… like, drink or anything?” You ask as an afterthought, filling a kettle with water from the sink.

“I don’t know.” He regards the kettle with curiosity, eyes following your movement with close precision.

“You don’t know,” you say in your best imitation of someone who is just positively stoked. “Awesome.”

“I have a rather interesting feeling that this is an unexpected happening,” the statue posits, placing its arms on the counter, an action that sends a shot of panic through your chest.

“Get off the granite, get off-” you half push, half lift him away, bending over and running your fingers over the countertop to look for scratches. A bit of relief breaks off into your chest, and then another, once you find no damage to speak of. Angrily, you wave your hands in the direction of a small, nondescript wooden table that’s already stained and pummeled within an inch of its life. “Just…. Take a seat over there, m’kay?”

The statue, thankfully, seems fine with listening to you, moving over to the bench and sitting while you find two mugs to use. There are dishes, at least, which wasn’t the case when your crew first started working on this project, but it’s nice to not have to eat out of styrofoam to-go boxes and drink out of travel tumblers anymore. The statue watches you intently while you work, eyes following every movement like you might offer up the secret to the universe in passing, and as the kettle shrieks, you decide that you’re just about over <em<that. You don’t care to give him any tea options, so you toss halfheartedly bag into both mugs after filling them with near-boiling water.

You set the cup in front of him, your teeth gritted, as you try to wrack your brain for where to start with your questioning because you have thousands of them rattling around in your head. After a moment, though, you decide to start with something easy. “Do you have a name?”

“I don’t know,” he says, too cheerfully for you to deal with.

“Where do you come from?” You try again.

His eyes grow distant for a moment, then suddenly snap back to reality. “I don’t know.”

You let out a frustrated breath. “Is there anything you do know?”

“I do know that you’re the one who brought me here,” he says, looking at you once more like you’re… like you’re a god or something.

“No I didn’t,” you say, as bluntly as you can muster, letting out a dry laugh.

He doesn’t say anything in response, only offers you a sly smile, tapping on his lips with two fingers.

You catch on immediately, a thrill of panic running down your spine. “No.”

His smile widens, and he nods. “Yes.”

“I did not-”

“You did.” He reaches over and gently takes your injured hand, looking over the hasty bindings with interest. “A kiss of someone with love in their heart. That’s what I know.”

You want to throw up. “I don’t- like I’m sure you’re a decent statue person, but I don’t-”

“Love me?” He finishes innocently. “Perhaps not now, but I’m sure you will be… convinced.”

You gently take back your hand, all the nerves in your body running on overdrive, and oh boy, if you weren’t sweating before, you’re sweating now. “The only thing I want to be convinced of right now is that you aren’t going to get in the way of me and my job.”

“What would that be?”

“Making this into an acceptable place to live or whatever,” you take a shaky sip of tea, “and the thing about that is that you’re supposed to be the main attraction.”

To your dismay, he seems absolutely thrilled by that statement. “Am I that handsome that people flock from neighboring villages to see me?”

”No, you fucking-” you take a deep, shaking breath to try calming yourself down before you finish that sentence, and start again. “No. You’re a prized relic. The guy who owned the property before the current one was an art collector, and you are kind of a big deal. Um,” you tap your fingers against the table as you try to recall what the new owner said, “you’re one of the oldest statues that have been pulled from Greek ruins,intact, so that’s kind of a big deal.”

That seems to catch his attention. “Greek… ruins?”

“A temple or something, I don’t really remember, she mentioned in it passing.” You cover your face with your hands, trying to get your fucking shit together before a full-blown meltdown happens. “There was an art historian who estimated your value to be in the millions. If the owner stops by and sees that her block of gold is no longer where it’s supposed to be, she’s going to assume theft. And do you know who the only person with unmonitored access to the entire property is? Do you know who is going to get blamed?”

“So tell her of this miracle.” He reaches over and covers your hands, gently peeling them back from your face. God, that smile is awful, mostly because it’s flawless and makes your insides want to melt. “Surely, she will understand that this love is a gift from the gods themselves.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“It will,” he promises, “surely anyone, even those with the heads of asses, will see that a miracle is present.” He’s about to say even more, you can tell by the way he tilts his head and takes a breath, but then your phone rings.

You wriggle out of his grasp and pull it out of your pocket. Oh, good god, speak of the devil. How the hell are you supposed to explain this? Can you even try? Should you? You swallow thickly, your good hand shaking as you hit the button to receive the call. Holding up your hand in the universal gesture for shut the fuck up, you answer, praying your voice doesn’t sound like sandpaper. “Hello, Marge! How’re things going?”

#exophilia #statue #living statue #statue boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster/reader #statue/reader #living statue/reader

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xaphrin · 4 years

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@demaparbat - I hope this is okay! Like I said, I have a HUGE soft spot for dragon/dragon-shifters.

Damian glared at his reflection in the mirror, hooking a finger in his lower lip and pulling it down to inspect the inside of his mouth. All the magic charms in the world weren’t enough to hide the fangs. His eyes flicked to his head and he groaned. Or the horns. The scales and wings were easy to camouflage, but these damnable horns… Damian ran his fingers through his hair, nails bumping up against the base of bone. Dick had suggested growing his hair out to try and hide them a little better, and while Damian had originally scoffed at the idea, now he was thinking it might be a better choice than just walking around in public with his horns out.

He was mostly accepted into the human world… as long as he could hide his more magical or unusual parts, including the horns and fangs. Of course, being the son of a Wayne definitely helped him garner more acceptance from his peers than he had ever thought. No one would dare judge Damian or his appearance when his name was on half the buildings in Gotham. But, it didn’t make him feel any less self-conscious, and he always wondered who was being kind to him because of who he was.

“You look lost in thought.”

Damian’s face fell and he glared at the sudden reflection of Raven in his bathroom mirror. Normally, he would be embarrassed that she barged her way into his space while he was in nothing more than his underwear, but she didn't seem to notice, or she just didn't care. And, this wasn’t the first time she had done this. It wasn’t even the tenth. Raven had a habit of just showing up in his life whenever she felt like it - which was happening more often than not.

“Do you just wander into people’s rooms because you can?”

“Sometimes.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug and took a step into his bathroom, her feet silent on the tile floor. “I should be better about it though, I’ve seen some things I’d rather not see. Do you know the kind of kinky sex Dick and Star are into? I’m from the depths of Hell and I didn’t even know about half that stuff.” She paused and glanced up at the ceiling, thinking. “Not that it doesn’t look fun.”

Damian paled, feeling his stomach turn, and then be immediately placed by a genuine curiosity. Thinking about his eldest adoptive brother having any kind of sex - gross. Thinking about Raven having kinky sex - that was something different all together. Something sizzled in the pit of his stomach, like a pot left to simmer for too long, but Damian ignored it. He kept his face blank and took in the sight of her reflection again, sighing. “What are you doing here anyway?”

“Dick called me in.” Raven crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door frame, watching him. “Something about a demon foe and cultists that needed my expertise. Also, Dick got into a bit of a spat with Constantine, so I was the second choice.” Her stare flicked to his horns, and then slid down the rest of them, her lip pulled up in disgust. “Where are you getting your charms?”

Damian finally turned to face her, leaning against the vanity behind him. “None of your business. And I don’t see why you even care, you don’t even try to hide what you are.”

“Why bother hiding myself from the world? They already know the truth about me.” Raven shrugged but didn’t look away, her expression hard to decipher. Damian wasn’t sure if it was nonchalance, or if she was trying to hide a pain that boiled inside her. “This is who I am - a demon spat out from Hell itself. Trying to hide that only makes me seem weak.”

That felt like a punch to the gut, and Damian leveled another annoyed stare at her. “I am not weak.”

“I never said you were. If you took my words that way, I didn’t mean it like that.” She took a few steps forward and curled her fingers under the thin leather bracelet wrapped along his wrist. With a delicate snap the leather broke, and the inlaid gems fell to the ground with a delicate sound. Raven’s eyes flicked to his own, a soft hum in the back of her throat. “Mm… it’s cheap. That’s why I was asking where you got this.”

Damian glared at her, snarling as he felt his wings pull out of his back as his scales spilled over his skin again. He fought against the urge to look at his reflection, pushing past Raven as he walked into his bedroom. “You’re a jerk.”

Raven followed him, sighing. “I don’t like you hiding yourself, Damian. You know that, and I’ve made my opinion perfectly clear before. But if you’re going to do it, at least come to me. I can do better than this cheap excuse for charm. It looks like something you’d get at a discount booth at a ren faire.” She sat down on the edge of his bed, her eyes tracing the long lines of his form. “If you’re looking to try and hide who you are, you should at least come to the people who know what they’re doing.”

In his defense, the person he had gone to had been reputable. His grandfather had recommended him, although that didn’t mean all that much. Damian snorted, giving her a flat stare. “Knowing you, you’ll cast a glamour charm and make me look like a walking pigeon or something.”

He flicked out his wings and finally looked in the mirror on the other side of the room. Right now, without the magic from the charm he usually wore, he felt a bit like he should be perched along the roof of a gothic church. His scales had returned in patches over his skin, shimmering a deep olive-gold color, and he looked down at his hands, his fingernails now sharp claws.

“Ooh. I hadn’t thought of that.” She pulled her feet up under herself and leaned forward, continuing to watch him with a glint in her eyes. “Or, I could make you look like your true form.”

Damian turned and glared at her, his wings rustling with the movement. He stepped forward and growled. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Mm. I know when not to try your patience, Dami.”

Her little nickname for him burned against his skin in the most uncomfortable way, and Damian tried not to purr at the sound. He didn’t want her to get the wrong impression of him. Raven was not a woman he entirely knew how to handle, and he wasn’t sure if he liked that about her, or if it infuriated him to no end. Probably a little of both.

She cocked her head to the side and let a heavy silence settle over them. A moment passed as she continued to drink in the side of him, her eyes dark in the muted light of his bedroom. Finally, she spoke. “I like you like this.”

Damian looked down at himself, and his wings flicked again. “Like what?”

“LIke yourself.” Raven leaned back against her hands and sighed, obviously frustrated with him. “Like you’re not trying to hide who and what you are under some cheap spells and cheaper leather.” She paused and untucked her legs. “Besides, I like the horns and the wings. They’re kind of hot.”

Damian gritted his teeth together and somehow managed not to react. Hearing Raven call this form of his hot was not something he needed to hear, because now all he could think about was… he felt the tips of his ears turn hot as his mind was filled with images of her pressed hard against a wall as he-

Stop.

He needed to stop.

“Here.” Raven reached into her pocket and pulled out a new charm, offering it to him.

Even from across the room Damian could feel the difference in the magic between his old charm and this new one she had created for him. Damnit, he hated admitting she was right. He grabbed the charm from her outstretched hand and wrapped it around his wrist. The magic flooded his chest, and he took a deep breath, steeling his nerves before looking at himself in the mirror. Oh, she was good at this. Raven had even managed to hide his horns. Damian reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, feeling his normal scalp underneath.

“I can’t do anything for the fangs. Trust me, I tried. But I was able to get your horns to disappear, so that has to count for something, right?” She stood up and gave him a half-smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She shrugged and took another step closer to him. “Which shows you exactly why you come to me for your charms and spells, and don’t trust anyone your grandfather recommends.”

He ran his fingers through his hair again, liking the feeling of his bare scalp against his palms. Finally, Damian turned and looked at her cautiously. “What do I owe you?”

“I want that sketch you did of me last week.”

Her request was so sure and certain, that it felt like she had slapped him, and Damian stumbled back a few steps. He flushed. “That’s-”

“You made me look so soft.” She cut him off, and for a moment she looked sheepish and vulnerable. She looked like something completely different from how he usually saw her. Raven chewed on her lower lip and met his stare again. “I’m a demon, Dami. I’ve never had anyone view me as soft or… or touchable.”

Damian suddenly wondered if Raven had ever been touched before. If someone had wrapped their arms around her and pulled her close. Whispered in her hair. Muttered soft things to her. Doubtful. Raven was from Hell, and he could only think of a few people who would be able to accept her as she was now. Damian tightened his hands next to his sides, and he tried not to look like he wanted to run his hands along her skin. No. He definitely shouldn’t let his mind travel down that path.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, glancing away again. “No one has ever made me feel like anything other than a terrifying creature of the night, meant to be feared and destroyed.”

His lips twitched.

“I like knowing that you made me feel… different. Soft and not frightening. It makes me feel like there are people who see me for more than what I am, more than just a curse of a being.” She fidgeted with the braid lying over her left shoulder, and it felt like she was throwing up her walls to try and protect herself again. “Besides… letting me see you in your normal form, wearing nothing more than a measly pair of boxer briefs is payment enough.” She gave him a coy smile. “Like I said… the wings are kind of hot. As are… other attributes.”

Damian flushed again, narrowing his eyes at her. “Shut up.”

#damirae #demonbirds #dragon-shifter au #is that what we're calling this?#We are now?

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kryptsune · 5 years

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🌼Alright, heeeere we go. After much deliberation and tons of design doodles, I have scrapped this is a good representation of what my multiverse version of HorrorFell is all about. As I said before this is going to be more Eldritch and supernatural horror. I did say before that the other one focused more on the psychology of it but I have to argue now that this is really that AU and I will explain that briefly like I have in the past. This is a lot to unpack to stick with me!

What you see above is Red’s occult/ ceremonial outfit he does not wear this huge imposing headdress all the time. First, it is probably super heavy and second, it’s only worn by the cult members, which no one knows what monsters are actually initiated. I don’t know if you can tell or not (sorry for the quick sketches) but that headdress is a Gaster Blaster skull. I had a lot of fun drawing this idea since I love all that kind of occult and secret society stuff. I will not be ashamed to admit that I have been super inspired by four main materials for Horrorfell. They are Bloodbourne, Fran Bow, The Order, and The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. All great shows and games that are definitely worth a play/watch if you love this kind of stuff. Onto the story (buckle up cause the angst train is pulling into the station).

Horrorfell takes place after a pacifist run by Frisk. The story briefly goes as follows. Frisk ends up in the Underworld (Underground) and befriends the monsters and wants to help them. She never dies once either. It is basically a way watered down version of WTU in essence. I will point out that Red is still a killer and that becomes worse after Frisk’s absence ( I will explain this in a bit). Once reaching the end of her journey the monsters refuse to let her be that final soul. They would rather wait and figure out something else. Frisk promises to return to them and set them free. She is like 18-19 by the way. Asriel sacrifices himself to that end to see her leave through the barrier only the humans capture the poor girl after she leaves. They conclude that she is not mentally stable due to her insistence that monsters are real and throw her into an asylum to be “treated”. We all know what that means.

Nearly 5+ years later and she manages to escape finding herself once again in the Underworld only it is far different from what she remembers. At this point, she is questioning whether anything is real or not. After being “treated” for so long she doesn’t quite know which reality is real. As Red (aka Saw) points out: “Ya really don’t know believe what happened do ya?”

Frisk is the one person that gets him to turn a new leaf when it comes to his numb feelings in the beginning. It’s harder to go against what was originally natural and he struggles with overcoming his base instinct. That guilt hits him heavy now that he feels even guiltier because he didn’t care that he’s even forgotten the victims. That’s always going to haunt him. He only cares about two people in their world and that is his brother Eldritch and Frisk so everyone else is on his kill list so to speak. I would think that he would use others as a means to an end. If I keep him yandere like Blade, though not as insane, then he would do anything to see her again including becoming a ruthless killer again to do it. Get the souls, break the barrier, find the girl. Essentially he’s more of a calculating yandere in this case. So rather than being socially acceptable to kill humans, his dilemma in beating his nature with his yandere extremes and how he’s got to hold himself back. Frisk is just the person to help him recognize that he’s gotta broaden his view and that comes with accepting his flawed nature. It’s that whole killing makes me feel good/ numb idea. When accepting your flaws you end up going through lots of denial initially, being yandere, he’s going to see his view as right, even justified.

Frisk’s Mental Demons:

The psychological toll on Frisk is great as she has been told constantly that she made up her time in the Underworld in order to shut herself away into a fantasy world. A world where she had a family... where she is loved and wanted. This happens a lot like the “Doctors” continuously try to refute her experiences or sensations medically. Every time she goes to sleep in the Underworld she ends up back at the Asylum tied down kicking and screaming and she only wakes up again when she is sedated. Rinse and repeat. The question is... is it real? Or rather which is real. The doctors go on to state that her dark state of mind twisted her original concept behind her “family” making them this eldritch styled horror. He also goes onto explain that the reason she is so drawn and close to Red is that it is her “flirting with death”. That she is accepting that outcome because if she continues to resist treatment she will die and the moment she trusts him in her “fantasy” that will be the end. (on a side note what a jerk). Anyway, these kinds of situations happen a lot and even sometimes cross over through auditory and visual hallucinations, at least that is what the doctor says they are. I will give an example of this.

Red zaps her with his old joy buzzer for old time sake. Not to freak her out or anything but after that encounter and she is safe with the Bros. She falls asleep and she ends up back at the asylum, whether it is a nightmare or not. She ends up crying over how real her "hallucination" feels and she talks about the buzzer. The doctors explain to her that it was an external stimulus from her shock therapy. In other words, it’s all in her head. Red tries to comfort her when this happens trying to get her to believe that he is real but he doesn’t push that on her considering how broken he sees she is. A lot of times she ends up in tears wrapped in his arms and he just holds her in a comforting way. My heart.

The Occult/World:

The cult as I keep referring to it as is a group of powerful monsters. I am not going to say too much about them as I don’t want to ruin certain things. However, they believe humans to be their salvation while the rest of the monsters believe that they are the angels of death. They will kill humans on sight, of course, they want to live in denial of their horrible deeds. This is where the idea of hear no evil, see no evil and speak no evil comes in. Each monster falls into one of these camps even going so far as to mutilate themselves to do it. EVERYONE HAS GONE NUTS. Unlike the cult that wishes to break the barrier, the rest want to stay hidden from the beasts above. Red and Eldritch are under see no evil hence the blindfolds. Even though Red is a part of the cult however he has to play the part, the rest of them do as well. The question is which 7 monsters are a part of it?

There is no monarchy in this since it was dissolved. It is rumored that the cult have extraordinary abilities that far surpass that of regular Boss monsters. They are considered “consorting with evils beyond their control”. I will say that Reds faith in the order is quite strong... only time will tell if their intentions are what has been advertised. The cult believes that humans are the key to their salvation and that they will summon a god to rule both the surface and the underworld. Basically bringing hell to earth. In keeping with the eldritch horror vibe. I have that “god” being an unholy amalgamation of Asriel, God of Hyper death, Chara, and Gaster not to mention that the rest of the cult can become unholy eldritch abominations as well. Reds got the Gaster blaster beast vibe with him but he also has a million eyes when his sockets go dark. A whole bunch of disturbing eyes fill his skull. (If you have ever watched Soul Eater it’s very Asura like)

Each member is associated with a major arcana as well. In Reds case, it is being a seer which in essence is seeing the truth or judgment. That is all I am going to say about them for now. Even Eldritch and Frisk don’t know that Red is in the cult by the way. I am still working on his full body design as everything I have done I am not all that satisfied with. His headshot though will stay the same I am really happy with those. I am thinking of leaning more Bloodbourne. If you have any suggestions feel free to drop them in the comments! Sorry for the massive lore dump! <3

DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION IT IS NOT FOR YOUR USE. IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE REBLOG INSTEAD! It helps me so much! It makes such a difference.💙

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shock777archive · 5 years

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Shock777′s Teen Titan universe (fan-prediction), had the animated show from 2003 had more seasons after season 5.

Honestly I wish I had time to draw/write out the Teen titans / bbrae ideas I have. I have the cutest ideas and no time to sit down and devote myself to a comic or even a fan fic anymore. :’( I love the Teen titans/bbrae fandom so so much! There’s so much good content out there and i love sharing that content and absorbing what others have made! But again, everyone does Teen Titans/BBRAE DIFFERENT. everyone has their own headcanons on how things should go, fan characters, next gen ocs, and their own thoughts on the titans as a whole.

I love seeing the personal ways others develop the two and their relationship. But at the end of the day, I have my own headcanons and ideas and I so badly want to share them with the world. But...no time, energy, and lack of motivation plagues me.

But Anyway... Because I cannot devote my time to a comic or fanfic at this time, I’m going to just blabber about what I imagine in my own canon universe for the titans.

*Note that not all of these ideas have been fleshed out. i constantly go back and re-imagine different scenarios. I have a general blueprint of how things would go, a skeleton with main events and a short timeline of sorts. but subplots, fillers, and some major details are lacking. I’ve had to invent characters/villains, but I haven’t given them much thought as of now.

I have spent a LOT of time on this, and would love input and comments, reblogs and shares. :) I’ve been keeping this in my drafts as I progress my ideas further...so this is almost like a masterpost or something lol XD;

Anyway, keep reading if you wanna know how i imagine the fate of the titans and bbrae’s canonization had the original 2000′s cartoon show had more seasons to work with.

After Season 5/ Trouble in Tokyo ends.

There are some key things and headcanons that I have to mention before rolling any further.

Raven is free from Trigon after the events of Season 4. She no longer has him inside of her, persuading her and influencing her.

Star/Rob is canon. After the events of Trouble in Tokyo, the couple begin a healthy dating relationship that is full of sweetness and life.

Kid Flash and Jinx are a thing, but their relationship is somewhat superficial at first.

Terra is alive, but either chooses to forget her past life, or literally cannot remember her sacrifice or the titans. She has cut ties to the titans permanently.

There are remnants of Trigon remaining around the world, deep underground, and many cults that worship him exist. There is possibility of him being reformed/regenerated, however he needs a new host as Raven is no longer his host.

The Titans have a huge following around the globe majorly in part due to Titans East and the ending of Season 5 episode “Titans Together”.

Slade is alive once more, waiting to rise up against the titans again. He has to rebuild his empire again from scratch and this will take him quite some time to do. He still may be looking for an apprentice.

I know there are other questions/plots/things I haven’t thought about such as titans east, certain villains, and other things you all may be curious about.

Literally just ask me what i think happened to someone/some event and re-jog my memory so I can spend time to think about said things. :) It’s been a loooooong time since 2006. XD

The Time Skip.

In my own headcanon/universe that takes place after the original animated 2000′s cartoon show,

there is a time skip of sorts

. a time skip of 2-3 years later where the Titans are slightly older, all over the age of 18.

Robin- 19 Starfire-18 Cyborg-19 (the oldest of the group) Raven-18 and a half, nearly 19 Beastboy-18 (just barely turned 18).

They all still live in the Titans Tower in Jump city, and evil still very much exists. After this timeskip, the titans would have different outfits and appearances. I’ll do my best to show them how i imagine them now:

Starfire:

About the same height as she was before the time skip. slightly bigger breasts but still on the smaller side. She wears shorts and her hair is longer and thicker. her bangs are parted to one side instead of down the middle.

Robin:

Transitioning into Nightwing. His hair is based off of his disguise in “trouble in tokyo.” He is growing out his hair and becoming more fulfilled with his life now that Starfire is with him romantically. He is about as tall as Starfire now, and will probably grow taller than her soon.

Cyborg:

(lol he basically looks the same because he is made of mechanical parts...oops! ) He is more cool-headed and loves to tease the other titans especially rob and star, about romantic things and about growing of age.

Raven:

Her hair has started to grow out...she no longer trims it. It is a little past shoulder length now. Her breasts have grown bigger, she is about a C cup. she wears long gloves now, and matching boots. she mostly keeps her hood off unless she is going into battle. she is now officially the shortest teen titan.

Beastboy:

He has the most radical change out of all the others. He matures nicely, losing the fat on his face and growing lean muscle. He grows taller, not quite as tall as robin, but taller than Raven at this point. He still has plenty of growing to do, however. His hair is now fashioned forward into a fohawk, and he is more emotionally stable.

All of these drawings are just prototypes and can be subject to change, however I am pretty set on beastboy and Raven’s designs. ^^; they also were sketched relatively quickly so forgive the crappiness lol

Starfire and Robin’s relationship

Starfire and Robin have been dating ever since their time in Tokyo. Starfire affirms Robin and helps him overcome his past demons. She calms him, and soothes him, and now he is less likely to freak out or obsess over villain happenings. The two are close to getting engaged at this point. They sometimes spend the night in each other’s rooms, though nothing too sexual happens.

Cyborg likes to tease them whenever they go for dates, and he especially loves to poke fun of Robin. It is all in good fun, and mostly gives the others a good laugh.

Sometimes their relationship can be obnoxious as starfire sometimes cannot control her urges to kiss robin at random or perform pda though robin has talked to her about it before. She is getting better though, having been dating him for about 2 years now.

Beastboy sometimes is jealous/envious of Robin. Even though he is happy for his teammates, he wishes he could fall in love and start his own romantic ventures. Raven couldn’t care less about romance for the time being, and is rather on the outside when it comes to seeing others in relationships.

Beastboy and his thoughts on Terra

After the ending of Season 5, episode “Things Change”, he comes to accept that he has work to do with the Titans and he stops pursuing Terra altogether. It takes him a long time to get over her, and even after the timeskip sometimes he thinks of her and gets depressed. He really feels like he lost something...He feels like no one will ever come to accept him or like him the way Terra did. He is at war with his hormones, always trying to flirt with civilian girls and seek approval in places he shouldn’t. In the end though, he is painfully single and is bogged down with feelings of loneliness. Beastboy acts tough, confident in himself and silly around the team, but sometimes, he just needs to brood in his room.

I always believed that had a season 6 ever was produced, beastboy and raven would have gotten together. Why did season 5 end on beastboy cutting ties with Terra, unless he was going to be set up with someone else? I always believed that last episode foreshadowed him moving on. Now that he has cut himself off from Terra and accepted her choice, i felt that it would have been an easy transition into bbrae becoming canon.

BBRAE. a general timeline...lots of parts are missing.

Firstly, Raven has always had a soft spot for Beastboy. It’s been shown time and time again in the 5 seasons of the original show. I want to state that i believe since Trigon is away from Raven now, she has become free in some sense, with her emotions. She still has to control herself from emoting too too much, but she is less vulnerable to exploding things with her powers come any sort of emotional distress.

My bbrae fan-theory has a general format i usually stick to but the details of it are somewhat blurry.

Things I MUST have in my bbrae timeline:

There must be an obligatory moment where Raven figures out she is in love with beastboy. There is a pivotal moment after the time skip, in which it clicks for her that her friendship with him is more than just friendship. It starts off slowly..them growing together. Raven is definitely the one who falls for beastboy FIRST. I like to think of a few of these scenarios to happen in a 6th season that brings raven and beastboy closer (kind of in chronological order) :

An episode dedicated to Raven figuring out Beastboy’s dark past with his parents and his fight with Sakutia disease. Whether it’s because he fights a bad guy from his past, becomes ill, or Raven steps into his mind. There are many ways for this kind of an episode to happen. I feel like once Raven learns that beastboy has his own skeletons in his closet, she becomes more sympathetic and nice towards him. It’s after an episode like this where she starts to call him Gar for the first time on special occasions.

An episode surrounding beastboy and Raven on a mission together, similar to when Raven had to go on her own to take care of Melvin, Timmy and Teether (episode “Hide and Seek”). A mission in which they are placed together and alone while the others are on other missions. I haven’t thought of what kind of mission it could be and how long it would last. I play around with the idea that raven and beastboy are chosen to be together based on their abilities so the mission would incorporate that. During this mission they are together alone and things could happen to bring Raven closer to him. Things like :

-Raven and Beastboy getting caught in a storm together and are forced to take shelter -Raven witnessing Beastboy being good with people/children/the elderly and it makes her smile -Raven and Beastboy forced to share a room/bed for the night (I realllyyyyy like this trope tbh ;A;) Beastboy could be accidentally cuddling Raven in his sleep and Raven could wake up to it. That, or Raven wakes up earlier than beastboy and notices him sleeping and she stares at his handsome, serene face and remarks, “...you know...I’ve never seen him look this...peaceful.” THERE ARE MANY THINGS THAT COULD HAPPEN WITH THIS KIND OF TROPE AND I CAN’T SETTLE ON JUST ONE IDEA asdjkfhalkjsdfhaf -Good teamwork and sense of flow with each other when fighting bad guys. I need at least one good fight sequence of the two of them kicking ass and beastboy asking for a high-five afterwards from Raven xD -Raven and Beastboy getting ready to leave their mission having completed it, and Beastboy says something along the lines of, “I’m actually glad I was paired with you of all people Raven. Had it been anyone else, I might have ended up failing my mission.”

An episode where Raven is in danger, and Beastboy Transforms into the Beast to save her, getting nearly mortally wounded in the process. This would be the definitive episode, where Raven comes to realize her feelings for beastboy. I imagine that Beastboy and Raven have an argument earlier in the episode, where Raven walks away from it feeling like he doesn’t like her and still thinks she’s creepy. But the argument ends up being a misunderstanding on Raven’s part, and Beastboy was actually meaning something as a nice gesture. After she realizes Beastboy’s sacrifice, she visits him in the infirmary as he recovers. He is out of it for several hours and she feels awful about their argument, having nearly lost him. When he comes to, Raven asks him “why?...why did u go so far..for me? I thought you didn’t like me...” Beastboy would then reply with a heartfelt compliment to raven, and it would be revealed that the argument was a misunderstanding. Beastboy would smile and shrug off his wounds. He would say a heartfelt/emotional one liner, (don’t know what it is yet) but the moment he says it raven’s heart lights up and she feels love for the first time. she would inner monologue, “what...what is this? what’s...happening to me?” it would zoom in on beastboy’s smile and she would have a surge of all the memories of them up to that point, overflowing her until she nearly falls backward. Beastboy would ask her if she was ok, as she stumbles a little... and raven would say that she was fine and glad hes doing better...she would leave the room calm and cool , leaving beastboy none the wiser. The episode would end on that, but it would be the start to their relationship.

There would be other episodes and sillier lighthearted stuff surrounding the other characters. but in every other episode there would be cute bbrae moments every now and then sprinkled in. moments like:

-Beastboy shirtless in the training room, Raven oogling him on accident when trying to locate another team member. -An ending scene on an episode where the titans all look at the sunset, and raven looks over at beastboy, shining in the light. his handsome features would shine through, and she would blush and avert her eyes. he wouldn’t notice her gaze, of course. -A moment where beastboy flirts with raven jokingly, but Raven just stays silent, confusing beastboy who was accepting a snide remark in return -Raven having a nightmare about beastboy dying or getting hurt, and she goes to check on him in the middle of the night. He would be sleeping in his new queen size bed (i have a headcanon that he gets rid of his bunk beds sometime during the timeskip) and Raven would smile at his peaceful face. -Beastboy catching raven as she falls during a fight, Raven blushing and pushing away from him immediately -A moment in which Beastboy flirts with some civilian girls who laugh at him and reject him, and he moves on, without noticing raven was watching the whole time. She then explodes the girls’ drinks they were carrying in a form of rage and jealousy XD

I have many other ideas too for random moments. But now back to the main skeleton:

An episode in which Beastboy is upset because he sees Terra passing by on the street. He is reminded of his status as a single man, and sees love and romance everywhere he goes. he cannot escape it, coming home to star and rob shenanigans and cyborg is too busy teasing them that beastboy seeks solace with Raven. He admits how he felt about terra and how he feels lonely. Raven tries to keep her sadness and jealousy under wraps, and confides in beastboy that she feels alone too. beastboy assumed she was like not into romance or anything like that, to which raven replies with a blush and a comment like, “I’m a human too you know.” Beastboy would feel better after talking with her, and would end the episode by telling Raven that if she ever felt lonely, they could hang out sometime. raven would smile and say, “i said i was lonely, not desperate.” BB would roll his eyes and leave her room, smiling and saying that the offer was on the table still.

This episode would be the one that makes beastboy fall for Raven. I have no idea how it would start, but beastboy would invite Raven to go hang out with him. Raven would begrudgingly agree, and would be dragged into a friendly outing with her crush. Beastboy would ask raven to hold onto him as they rode his moped (sometime acquired between the timeskip), and raven would blush. they would wear civilian clothes during this outing. They would see a movie, and go to the bookstore. As Raven became comfortable being around beastboy, they even go to an arcade and raven starts getting into the videogames and kicking beastboys butt at his favorite games. Raven becomes so relaxed that she lets her guard down, and at one moment beastboy would make a joke about something silly, and raven would giggle and laugh out loud. Immediately, raven would realize what she had done and cover her mouth with her hands and blush. Beastboy meanwhile, just gasps and stares at her with big eyes. “did...did you just....laugh at one of my jokes?!” Raven would turn around and blush madly, saying nothing. Beastboy would then cock an eyebrow and smile the biggest smile he ever had. “After all tHESE YEARS! you think I’m funny!” Raven would blush and reply, “....one funny joke out of millions doesn’t make you funny beastboy.” Beastboy then steps back and notices something..he notices how she isn’t meeting his eyes with the regular cold, jeering glare but how she is really flustered and her eyes look soft..he sees the pink blush on her cheeks and realizes that he is correct... that she really DID think he was funny all those years...He also begins to suspect that in that moment, raven was actually...into him. Beastboy blushes deeply and starts stuttering, but then a few teenage civilians would walk by and interrupt the moment. “Hey it’s beastboy and Raven! cool! C-can we have a picture with you guys?! wow i can’t believe the teen titans are here!” The teens would snap a photo with the two blushing titans, and then start walking away. As they walk away, raven and beastboy overhear one of the girls state, “Wow they’re so cute! I never knew those two were a thing!” Raven and beastboy would blush furiously and beastboy would yell, “W-We’re JUST FRIENDS!” back at the civilians who are out of earshot. When he turns to raven, she looks beyond mortified. Beastboy’s ears droop as he feels like she is embarrassed to be with him. meanwhile raven is feeling the same, thinking that beastboy would never date a creep like her. They ride home on the moped in silence. As they return, raven thanks beastboy for the outing. he stutters and thanks her too. there is an awkward silence. “So, uh....” Beastboy would start, but raven would turn, say “goodnight.” and then leave the room.

An episode in which Beastboy fights Adonis again. Adonis threatens to hurt Raven and the other titans, but Raven doesn’t know that when beastboy and Adonis stand off, its about her. the team is separated from the fight. Beastboy ends up kicking adonis’s ass, but is beaten up pretty badly. by the time raven and the other titans get to beastboy, he collapses into starfire’s arms who catches him from falling. before he loses consciousness, he sees raven and smiles at her with a swollen black eye and beat up face. “Raven...good...y-you’re safe...now...” he passes out at that point, leaving the team to stare at raven and raven just as confused as everyone else.

An episode in which Raven finally admits her feelings for beastboy to herself. this episode would delve into her psyche again and feature her emotions again. she would be losing control of her powers, similar to the episode “Fear itself.” because she is denying her love for beastboy. she doesn’t want to pursue it in fear that he wont like her and fear of hurting him. When danger raises its head, beastboy is in trouble and is unable to be rescued by the rest of the team. They try, but no one is strong enough to overcome the villain without raven’s help. But raven is not able to use her powers because she is denying passion within her. Seeing Beastboy being held by a shocking device, each time the titans get close, the villain shocks beastboy and makes him scream in pain and agony. Raven finally cannot stand it, and her powers activate again. However, she isnt channeling all of her emotions together like in the episode “nevermore.” She is leaving passion out. Raven finds that she isn’t strong enough to defeat the foe, and finally gives in and accepts her passion for beastboy. As soon as passion enters the equation, raven becomes at least 10% more powerful than before. her love for beastboy fuels her, and gives her the extra edge to defeat the villain. beastboy is rescued by Raven who frantically takes the shocks off of his ankles and wrists. He starts to thank her, but is interrupted by her hugging him tightly, still fueled by her love for him. beastboy blushes and is shocked. raven holds him for a second, tenderly and closely. the episode ends there.

And I still have many more episode ideas that I’m currently working on. The skeleton would continue with one more final episode where beastboy and raven would finally confess to one another. I dont know what would force the confession, and i have no clue if either beastboy would confess first or raven would. Maybe people can give me ideas? :) I just have so many ideas of how it would all go. i lean more towards raven confessing first. because beastboy is so patient with her.

So the very very basic outline for bbrae canonization would be:

- Raven falls for beastboy first, Raven gets closer to beastboy, beastboy falls for raven, raven admits to herself that she loves him, either beastboy or raven confess their love to the other, they begin dating.

Once Beastboy and Raven are a couple

I have a headcanon that Raven would want their relationship to be a secret for a while. although they have confessed their attraction to one another, their romance is slow at first and is kept secret from the rest of the team. Beastboy is patient with raven, and accepts the fact that she isnt ready to go public with their love. The couple would give knowing glances to one another throughout the day, sometimes spend the night in each others rooms, send late night text messages, and secretly pine for one another while the other teammates are none the wiser.

I also have a headcanon that they dont share a first kiss for a while yet. beastboy is very hormonal and wants raven badly, but he is very patient and wants her to initiate it because he doesnt want to make her uncomfortable. Eventually it would happen, raven initiating it of course. she would probably kiss him quickly on the cheek, but beastboy would be so shocked and overcome by love that he would turn her face back to him, look her in the eyes, and they gently would both come closer and lock lips for the first time.

Starfire would eventually become the first one to know of the pair’s relationship shortly after robin proposed to her. i havent settled on how she would find out, but it would happen and their secret relationship would finally be announced to the rest of the team. at star and robs wedding, raven accidentally catches the bouquet, to star’s delight.

After beastboy and raven become a thing, raven almost exclusively calls beastboy “gar” or “garfield.”

As beastboy and raven grow older, beastboy changes his name to Changeling around the same time Robin becomes nightwing.

Another Time Skip

There would be another time skip near the end of the Teen Titans series, foreshadowing a spin off series about the teen titans next gen (lol i steal too many ideas from kishimoto-sensei lolololol) There are a few things that would happen.

Starfire and Robin become parents in their early 20′s. It’s after Starfire announces her pregnancy that bb and rae get married.

(*the rest of the series is based off of my original comic about beastboy and raven’s married life and the birth of their first child. If you want to read that comic, please go here. )

Beastboy and Raven would have a child two years after starfire and robin have their daughter.

Kid flash and Jinx would have a child too around the same time. Cyborg would adopt a child.

About a year and a half after their first child is born, beastboy and raven would have a second child.

The series would end, showing yet another time skip where their kids are now living in the tower, grown up into their teens themselves. the next generation would begin.

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

So...yeah. lol obviously i have to work out this narrative, but that’s generally how I see bbrae becoming a thing. I know there are other things i glossed over. such as slade and other characters. but i mainly only hypothesize about my ship becoming canon tbh lolololol.

I have designs for the next gen kids,

And i’m currently working on more designs and a plot for the next gen series. lol

but you get NO SPOILERS for the next gen ! >:C

Let’s just say that old enemies return, family bonds are tested, and the old titans and the next gen titans have to work together to defeat the ultimate evil.

Anyway, thanks sooooooo much for reading all of this! ;A;

If you read all of this, congratulations you are now one of my favorite people ;W;

Please send me questions, suggestions, critiques, and please like and reblog...I would love your input! :3 This is just my version of how bbrae should be done. i love reading fanfics and other’s stories. let’s all share in the glory of bbrae shipping and hope for a season six one day xDDDDD

But yeah. Thank you. :) And I am out! xoxoxo

-Alex, Dec 2018-

(may edit later with updated thoughts, ideas and timelines.)

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

Text

Morbid & Decadent

Author: Crowson75

Year: 2009

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Moss/Richmond

It was Monday morning and Moss' birthday. He'd bought cake. Chocolate cake; something guaranteed that everyone would like. He quite liked a coconut sponge with raspberry jam in the middle, but they were a lot harder to find in Tesco. The only problem was that Roy hadn't turned up for work, having called in sick. He had Venezuelan Bat Flu. Roy never normally took days off, no matter how sick he was. Moss wanted to kick something good and proper. Whilst he was waiting for Jen, he had cut the cake, folded napkins, reconsidered and raided from plates from the canteen, then put napkins on plates and cake on each, then wondered why you did that? It made a perfectly good napkin filthy and you needed to use another to save your tie from icing. It was a waste. By the time Moss had sketched out a solution for a non-stick plate napkin, which could then be reversed to reveal a handy, absorbent side, he realised that Jen was late. Very late. That was when HR rang. It was Sophie, the girl with a curvy bum that made Moss blush and Roy talk about keeping your rubbish in the boot of your car. Or drug-snorting elephants. Moss wasn't sure which. The one time he'd asked, he'd passed out as soon as Roy started talking about Lady Parts. Sophie said that Jen was ill too. It was allegedly a bad curry, but Sophie suggested that Roy had been showing off his Venezuelan Bats. Moss did try to explain that whilst Roy had an illness that suggested he came into contact with Venezuelan Bats, it was a complete misnomer. It was just where the illness originated and did not, in fact, require actual physical contact with mammals of the Chiroptera order. Sophie didn't sound convinced. So, as extra reassurance, Moss pointed out that whilst it might seem that contracting an illness on the same day suggested weekend contact between Jen and Roy, the flu virus typically had a 2-5 day incubation period. As a result, it was likely they had both contracted the illness from a Venezuelan business man who had visited the IT department the week before. He'd got lost on the way to the Mr Renham's office. He did appear to have flu-like systems, from what Moss had observed when he passed him in reception on the morning of his visit. That was why Moss had taken the precaution of wearing a face mask all day. "Moss," Sophie said slowly after he'd stopped talking. "What about if Roy and Jen just went out last night and, well, they have... Monday morning sickness?" "How do you get that?" Moss asked, already Googling that particular illness. "There's no entry on Wikipedia. Hang on..." he paused as he read Suite 101. "Neither of them are horses." "You're a very strange man," Sophie declared just before she hung up on him. Moss sat back in his chair. He was in a funk. ** Monday morning was a rather gloomy time. In fact, it was rather more gloomy than other days, even behind the Red Door. Richmond watched the lights on the machines flash on and off and on again. He hummed a Cradle of Filth in time and then had a bit of a strop when one of them blinked out of time and ruined his soulful version of 'The Foetus of a New Day Kicking'. In actual fact, he completely trashed his chair. Which left him feeling even gloomier with nowhere to sit. It was no good, he'd have to venture out into the office. He popped his head around the door and found... Moss on his own looking at three plates of cake. "Morning," Richmond said as cheerily as possible. "Alright?" "Hello Richmond," Moss said sulkily. "Do you want some cake?" "What flavour is it?" Richmond asked, resisting the urge to pounce on it. "I only eat Black Forest Gateau." "Chocolate." "That'll do nicely, can I have a seat?" Richmond motioned to Roy's chair. "Yeah, why not. No one else going to use it," Moss sighed. He handed Richmond a piece of cake. "Cheers," Richmond said taking the plate and picking at the cake. "It's not like Roy to be off work." "He's ill." "Oh." "So's Jen." "Really?" "S'not Monday Morning Sickness!" Moss's frown grew. "I thought only horses got that?" Richmond got up and wandered into the kitchen. It was time to break out the tea, clearly. "They've probably got that flu think that South American blokey had anyway," he called back into the office. "Thank you Richmond," Moss said, walking to the kitchen door. He leaned against the door jam and began to shovel chocolate cake into his mouth. Richmond gave him a little smile and made tea. When he looked up again, he noticed Moss had blob of chocolate butter cream on his tie. "You've got stuff..." Richmond pointed at the tie. "Sorry, I'm allergic to... them, now." Moss looked down and, lifting his tie to his mouth, licked the chocolate off. Richmond watched the action intently. "Your tongue's very pink," Richmond said before he stopped himself. He blushed, thanked the Gods of Goth for white make-up and passed Moss a cup of tea. "What's the occasion anyway?" "S'my birthday," Moss said. "Have more cake." Richmond paused. "Got to watch my figure. You know... don't want to be a blob of darkness." "What's it all about anyway?" Moss asked, shaking his head and waving his hand at Richmond's outfit. "Life and... stuff. Do you live in a coffin?" "Not really," Richmond replied. "I've got a flat." "Has it got dead people in it?" Moss looked concerned. "S'a bit morbid isn't it?" "But you're a goth." "I've got a black fish called Agatha," Richmond replied. "She's meant to be a goldfish really, but she's all inky instead." "Is Agatha dead?" "No, she lives in a tank with a bit of plastic wood." "Right." Moss looked a little disappointed. "Do I amaze you?" Richmond asked. "No Richmond, I wouldn't say it was amazement. Let me think," Moss said seriously. He thought. "No, definitely not amazement. You confuse me. Every time I think I've got you licked, you come at me with something new." "I'm a complicated man," Richmond said. He turned and swirled his hands, beckoning a handy flashback. He swallowed. Moss was so... innocent. What he was saying shouldn't be filthy. And yet, it was. Little Richmond had tuned in straight away. The flashback was a good time to recover... Ever since the night with Denholm, Richmond was having to accept a whole new element of his sexuality which had been previously hidden. He'd recently attended the Gay, Bi and Lesbian Goth Support Group and discovered that he was hidden in more than one closet. To celebrate, he'd been sucked off by Tarquin, the group president. It was quite nice. He might have considered dating him, had it not been for the fact that Tarquin didn't like Cradle of Filth. Since then, he'd realised that what he wanted most, was love... Moss coughed as the flashback ended. "My my," he murmured. He shuffled behind his desk and sat down. "Being a gay goth must be quite difficult really. I mean, you can't really go all Graham Norton and still stick with a dark gothic aesthetic, can you?" "Depends how much leather you wear," Richmond said nodding his head. He unzipped his trousers to reveal leather y-fronts. "It chafes a bit though." When Richmond looked back at Moss, he could tell he was blushing. "That was a bit too much information," Moss said. He seemed to be very nearly swooning. "I need to rearrange my paper clips for a while." Richmond nodded, as if he understood. He sort of did. He walked to the sofa, sat down and read Heat for a bit and drank his tea. After not so very long, Moss joined him. "It's a strange thing," Moss said, looking at his knees. "But I feel a bit reckless today. It's just one of those things that happens when you reach my age. Roy has his women, Jen her men, and I, I am an island, Richmond. But no more. It's time for me to open my eyes and look at the world outside of this office. You're a man of the world, and, well, I think you can help me." Richmond realised that he was adopting an expression somewhat similar to Agatha's. He open his mouth to speak, and neither his voice box or brain engaged in the operation. Moss slapped him on the back. He squeezed Richmond's shoulder. It was the first time Richmond had been touched since Tarquin. "Don't get stiff on me now Richmond!" Moss said. "Oh!" Richmond exclaimed. That was a bit below the belt. "You're getting all shifty," Moss said, pouting a little. "Would you like some hot Ribena?" Moss's hand had lifted to Richmond's shoulder and was squeezing it. It felt quite nice, actually. "Um..." "More cake?" "Well, um..." "I've got a rhubarb fool in the fridge?" "...Thing... well, can I ask you something?" Richmond stammered. He gave Moss a piercing glare. The bespectacled man met it, blushed a little but returned it, just as strong. "Shall I take you out for a drink at lunchtime? To celebrate. Would that cheer you up? I'd like to." Moss grinned. The smile had faltered at cheer, but rallied at like to. Richmond smiled back in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. Life was simpler when he was alone in his cupboard. Not to mention not quite so bright. Lonelier though. "Flip it!" Moss said with forcefulness that Richmond was shocked he possessed. "Let's go now. Neither Jen or Roy can be bothered to come to work today. Why should we?" "Because we're already here?" Richmond suggested, a little tentatively. Then Moss was closer beside him, his beautiful brown eyes making demands that Richmond was fairly sure Moss' body could not only not keep, but also probably not know the names of. "We can't throw a sicky when we're already here." Richmond's voice sounded thin, even to him. "We mother-flipping can!" Moss said with a smile. He stood and crossed his arms. He was a man with a plan. *** To say things hadn't gone well, was a bit of an understatement. It was true that Moss and Richmond had been sent home "sick", they had also made the cleaner faint, a girl from the fourth floor vomit and used up all the chocolate cake. Moss had apparently had the idea from a date Roy had. That thought made Richmond feel a bit queasy. And he was the weird one. "Which pub shall we go to?" Moss said. He wiped the remnants of the 'plan' off his glasses. "Can we go to the Moon Under Water?" Richmond asked, expecting Moss to decline. "Why not?" Moss said, before dragging Richmond down the street. He paused after a few steps. "Will I have to pretend I know about football?" "Who to?" "Er..." "I don't want to talk about football." Richmond was starting to panic. "Me either." "Let's not then." "Okay." The pub was quiet and a bit murky. The girl at the bar had greeted Richmond like an old friend and served up his pint of Lager and Black. When Moss found out it had Ribena in it, he decided to have one too. They shuffled off to a corner and, because they were virtually the only customers, the barmaid kept an eye on their drinks and wandered over with refills at regular intervals. The conversation began in a stilted manner. Once the men were out of the office, they realised they didn't have a lot in common. However, as the drinks flowed, so too did the conversation. "Are you still with that girl?" Moss asked. He'd caught the barmaid giving Richmond a bit of a wink and was clearly suspicious. "The one from Jen's party?" "Er, no, not any more," Richmond said with a bit of a blush. In truth, Richmond's sex life, such as it was, had been a magical mystery tour since. She'd been a welcome distraction from his bi-curiosity, until she joined in. "She's settled down with a girl from the Bi, Gay and Lesbian Goth group I go to. Did I say that out loud?" "Yes," Moss replied. "And y'know what, I'm pleased you've finally decided to come out of the closet." "But Jen came in.." "Not that closet, Richmond." "Oh, okay." "You're a fine piece of gothic ass, Richmond, if you don't mind me saying," Moss was grinning wildly as he said it. His glasses fell into his drink. He looked at it for a bit, then drained the glass, and, finally, fished them out of the bottom. He lay them on the table to dry. "What brand of Ribena do you think this is?" Moss asked, looking through his empty pint glass, one eye closed. "I don't know," Richmond admitted. "Did you just say you liked my arse?" Moss belched. " I need a wee," he announced loudly and stood up. Richmond watched his retreating form. Becky, the barmaid walked over. "I reckon he might have had a few too many love," she said softly. She picked up Moss' glasses, abandoned on the table, and wiped them with a towelling bar mat. Then she put two more full pint glasses onto the table and put her hand out for the money. "You've only been in 'ere an hour. An' you know what? If you think he's going to be any good in the sack after all that he's had to drink you'll..." . "Who are you talking about?" Moss said. He had walked up behind Becky without anyone noticing. "You're not going to pull and leave me here are you?" He looked at Richmond with blind, big eyes and felt around in front of him for Richmond's face. Richmond picked up Moss' glasses and hooked them gently back over his ears. "Hello gorgeous," Moss said with a smile. "There was someone in the loo talking about people being rubbish in the sack and then I asked if you were going to... Was I in the loo? Are we in the toilet Richmond?" "No, we're still in the bar," Richmond was feeling slightly light-headed himself. "I won't leave you here on your own." "Why, do you need to go to the toilet as well?" Moss asked, thoroughly confused. Richmond blinked. "Come to mention it, I do need to go actually." "I'll take you," Moss said, standing and holding his hand out. Richmond grasped it and they walked to the toilets hand in hand. There were a lot of cubicles. Richmond had never noticed that before. He walked toward one, and, when he turned and locked the door, realised Moss had walked in with him. "What are you doing here?" Richmond asked, trying to shut the door and undo his trousers and not really knowing quite where he was. "I think I work here..." Moss said, helping Richmond to close the cubicle door behind them. "No, we work with computers." Richmond was having a rare moment of clarity. "We've come out for an executive lunch, I bet." "A legendary lunch!" Moss cackled with laughter. Outside the stall, the toilet entrance door slammed. "Someone's got a bloke in 'ere," a woman's voice said. Moss looked at Richmond. Richmond stopped what he had been doing and tucked himself back into his trousers. Moss watched... a little bit too closely. "Is there a bloke in here?" Moss asked. Richmond shook his head. "It's that one, look, you can see his shoes," another, female voice said. The owner of the voice kicked Moss' ankles. He stumbled forward and ended up pirouetting drunkenly, before slamming Richmond against the cubicle wall. "Fuck," the first female voice said. "They're well at it. Is he a good snog, love?" Moss' face got closer to Richmond's. Dimly, Richmond wondered if that made him the girl. Moss' lips were against his, tasting sweet and warm. Richmond opened his mouth a little, just to see what might happen. He wasn't expecting Moss' tongue to slip inside, but he didn't mind once it did. It was rather nice. He grasped the back of his workmates head and deepened the kiss. He murmured with pleasure. "Sounds like it," the second female voice said. Richmond had to agree. Moss was sucking his tongue like his life depended on it. His hands were inside Richmond's clothes, against his skin and, wanting to do the same, he tugged Moss' anorak from his shoulders and let it fall to the cubicle floor. "I reckon they might be up to something a bit more than that," the first female voice said. "Bloody 'ell." It was about the time that Moss' fingers, his cold fingers, wormed their way into Richmond's tight trousers that it all started to go a bit wibbly. And this time, it wasn't a flashback. "Oh," Moss said, breaking the kiss. His fingers had just met little Richmond. He looked up, his eyes growing wider as his fingers considered the girth. "That's quite a fella you've got in there." The women outside the cubicle door squealed. Footsteps were heard. "I think we might be in a bit of trouble," Richmond said. If Moss didn't stop saying hello to little Richmond soon, there was likely to be a sticky end. "Don't you like having your thingy touched?" Moss was puzzled, though he didn't stop researching Richmond's nether dimensions. "I think we might be in the ladies loo," Richmond replied. Finally he grasped Moss' wrist to stop him from doing what he had just started to do. "That's a problem," Moss agreed. "We'll just have to continue this somewhere else." "We will?" Richmond asked. Moss withdrew his hand and flung open the cubicle door. It set one of the hand driers off and he stood there for a moment, his tight Afro blowing... well, just a little bit. "You will," Becky the barmaid said, walking into the lavvy. "Richmond." "It's alright," Moss said. He straightened his glasses, retrieved his anorak and threw it over his shoulder, showering the floor with lose change. "Richmond, have you ever been debauched by an IT engineer?" Richmond shook his head. None of this was quite going the way he'd planned. "It's time you were." Moss took Richmond's hand. "Cheerio Betty," he said to the barmaid as he began walking out. "Have fun lads," Becky said with a grin. She reconsidered. "Oh, and next time, use the bloody gents."

#the it crowd #it crowd #maurice moss #richmond avenal #maurice moss/richmond avenal #moss/richmond

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write-havoc · 5 years

Text

Of Sons and Daughters Ch 11

Summary: Arthur is tasked by Dutch to watch over a young woman who had just lost the last member of her family she had left. That young woman just so happens to be the daughter that Dutch told no one else about.

This is a non canon AU with no major spoilers

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character

Status: Ongoing

Contains: swearing, PG 13 smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlist in my bio

Several days pass as the gang comes to terms with Micah’s betrayal to them. With what Charles had told them about what he had seen, it’s evident that after Micah’s plan to get Dutch out in the open to meet with Colm had failed, he went out to that train station to telegraph Milton. Once the agents arrived, Micah must’ve told them Dutch didn’t take the bait. Milton’s impatience apparently had gotten the better of him because he then decided to just raid the camp instead of going about contriving another plan to get Dutch away from everyone to arrest him.

During these days, Emmeline settles in more. She tries her best to do jobs around the camp at Shady Belle. Laundry, mending clothes, washing up, none of it is really new to her, anyway. Once the sun goes down, she starts to help Lenny in his pursuit to teach Sean how to read. The Irishman seems more inclined to listen to Emmeline than Lenny, so he actually makes progress.

“The... dog... j-j-“ he reads along as he points to the words on the page with his finger.

“Sound it out,” Emmeline says in support.

“J-um-p-ed. Jumped!” he calls out excitedly. “That fucker jumped !”

Emmeline and Lenny both laugh at his reaction.

“You’re doing good,” she comments. “See, you’re getting it down. You’ll be reading novels in no time.”

Karen, who is close by, decides to see what all the hubbub is about. “Who jumped?” she asks as she comes to stand by Sean.

He points to the illustration of the little puppy in the book that Lenny had borrowed from Jack. “The dog!” He follows the words with his finger again as he reads. “The dog jumped!”

“You can join us, Karen,” Lenny mentions. “If Sean can learn, you surely can, too.”

She thinks it over a minute. “If I learn to read, Mary Beth will be shoving those stories she writes in my face all the time askin’ if they’re any good.” She moves to sit down next to Sean. “But I guess I ain’t got nothin’ better to do right now.”

Soon enough, Abigail and Jack join in on the lessons, though Hosea has to be recruited to help out with the teaching. It helps to keep spirits high in this time of uncertainty. Arthur often sits next to Emmeline as she continues to help, though most of the time he’s sketching in his journal instead of helping out.

“Who taught you to read, Emmeline?” Abigail asks one of the days they’re all sitting around the fire.

“Both my parents loved books,” she answers. “They didn’t send me off to school, but they both taught me all they knew. Taught me to read and write. How to add numbers. Even had me read some history books, too. They wasn’t really educated, but they did their best.”

“Well you’re loads smarter than Arthur, here,” Sean calls out at Arthur’s expense. “How’d you manage to convince a sweet girl like that to be with you.”

Before Arthur can respond, Emmeline steps in to defend him. “He didn’t have to convince me. Arthur is sweet and kind. And he ain’t dumb. He’s taught me a lot.” She looks over to Arthur and smiles.

“Ain’t that sweet!” Sean razzes him further.

Karen slaps the back of the Irishman’s head. “He’s a better man than you, Sean.”

“Aw, you love me. Give us a kiss.” He leans into Karen, his lips puckered.

“I don’t love you, you pig!” Karen calls out, but everyone knows she’s not serious.

About a week after they had moved into Shady Belle, Arthur finds Dutch standing at the back of the property looking over the swamp.

“Whatcha doin’, Dutch?” he calls out as he approaches.

The older man doesn’t even turn around, though he does answer. “Watching the alligators,” he says with very little emotion in his voice.

Once Arthur comes to stand next to Dutch, he can see blood in the water and an alligator moving around underneath it. “They fighting or something?”

“I watched a boar walk over to the edge of the water,” Dutch starts, eyes still fixed on the swamp. “I watched as one of those gators silently swam up to it, the boar none the wiser. Only took but a few seconds and that gator had that boar in its mouth, dragging it in the water as its meal.”

“Shit,” is all Arthur can think to say.

Dutch lets out a sigh. “All this time, I thought I was the alligator. Turns out I’m the boar.”

Arthur could tell that Dutch hadn’t been taking Micah’s betrayal very well. He had shut himself in his room, barely talking to anybody, which isn’t normal for him. This is actually the first time Arthur had spoken to him in days.

“Now come on, Dutch,” Arthur replies gently. “You ain’t no boar. You’re a man. And men make mistakes on occasion. I know that more ‘n anyone.”

“I’ve been thinking about... him ,” Dutch says, refusing to use Micah’s name. “About everything he’s done. Everything he’s said.” He lets out a heavy breath and casts his gaze to the ground in front of him. “He played me, Arthur. Like a fiddle. Told me everything I wanted to hear. Then he tried to get me to turn on you.” He finally looks over to the younger man. “And John. And Hosea. I nearly fell for it.”

“But ya didn’t.”

“But I nearly did. And everything I’ve been working for would’ve been lost .” He lets out a sigh. “I’ve just been trying so hard ,” he brings his hands up and clenches them into fists in front of him, “to hold onto everything. To keep everyone together. Not to fall into the trap of this...” he waves his hands around, “ civilization .”

“I know, Dutch. We’re still here. We’re still with you.”

Dutch turns his body to face Arthur and places his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “But for how long?” He doesn’t stay to get a response, instead, walking past him toward the house.

Just a little while later as almost everyone is eating their supper, Sean calls out, “Hey, English!” in Arthur’s direction. Bill is walking next to him, which can mean nothing good, most likely.

Arthur lets out a sigh, causing Emmeline to chuckle beside him. “Yes, Sean?” he replies, already exasperated.

“Me and Bill was ‘avin a drink at some saloon in San Denis when we hear these two blokes talkin’ about some train that’s s’pose ta be carryin’ a lot of gold. Apparently they gonna be movin’ money outta the bank fer some reason.”

“And...?” Arthur says after a pause.

Bill jumps in. “We rob it!”

Arthur just shakes his head. “I don’t think we should be doin’ nothin’ like that right now. All the heat that’s been on us... we need to lie low.”

“Don’t we need the money, though? To get to Tahiti?” Sean asks, parroting Dutch’s words.

“Right now we gotta focus on not getting nabbed by them Pinkertons,” Arthur explains. “Micah don’t know where we went to, but I’m bettin’ he’s told them agents that we’d head further east once they ran us outta Clemens Point. If we do something big, they’ll know it’s us and it’ll only be a matter of time before they find this place.” Arthur scratches at his beard as he thinks it over. “We need to do shit much more quiet than we have been. No train robberies. No banks or stagecoaches. Nothin’ like that. We send the women into the city to pickpocket some rich folk. Javier and whoever else can rob homesteads as long as it’s quiet. Me and Charles can hunt and sell the pelts. It won’t get us a heap load of money, but it’ll make us enough to keep surviving. For now, anyways.”

Since Dutch is continuing to lock himself away most of the time, there’s no one else giving the gang orders but Arthur and Hosea. They are both in agreement that the gang needs to lower their profile for the time being. Especially until Dutch gets back to his old self. Arthur hopes he’ll come out of it, sooner rather than later.

During this time, Emmeline and Arthur try to figure out what it means to be in a relationship together. She, of course, has no experiences of her own to draw off of. Arthur isn’t much better, though, only having one serious relationship in his life. There are some awkward moments, usually coming in the form of Arthur being teased every time someone catches him even so much as looking at Emmeline. She shrugs it off, but Arthur usually has to try to hide his blushing cheeks.

While he’s never been very comfortable with public displays of affection, he makes up for it in the privacy of their own room. He’s tentative for the first few nights, but with Emmeline’s assurance that she is fine with his advances, he gets more comfortable with her physically. Before too long, he comes to crave the intimacy that she provides. He had long since accepted that he would never have another woman in his life, but then Emmeline showed up and awakened parts of him that had been dormant.

One morning, Arthur and Emmeline are cuddled up together in the small bed in their second floor room. Arthur has been working hard lately, so he decides to sleep in a little today. As for Emmeline, her pregnancy has continued to take the energy out of her, so some extra time in bed doesn’t bother her any.

“You awake, Emma?” he whispers when she stirs a little from her position lying on his chest.

“Yeah,” she answers sleepily without lifting her head. “But I’m still tired. I might just fall back asleep.”

He kisses her crown. “Go on ahead. I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Just a few minutes after she tries to fall back asleep, she’s overcome with a wave of nausea. Thankful that she decided to put her nightgown back on last night after she and Arthur were done with their “activities,” she runs out of their room to try to make it outside before the contents of her stomach could come up. Unfortunately, she just barely makes it out into the hallway before she starts to heave.

Abigail can hear the commotion from her room just a few feet away. She leaves Jack, still sleeping soundly, to see what’s going on. “Are you alright?” she asks Emmeline when she sees the mess at her feet.

Emmeline clears her throat and wipes her mouth. “I’m fine,” she says as she looks up to the other woman, unsure what else to say.

Arthur comes out of the room, having hastily put on his pants to cover himself. He shares a look with Abigail before he gently lays a hand on Emmeline’s back. “Why don’t you go back in and lay down,” he says to her. “I’ll clean this up.”

Abigail’s face suddenly lights up as she calls out, “You’re pregnant! I knew it!” She had her suspicions, but the fact that Emmeline had gotten sick and Arthur isn’t at all worried about it confirms what she had thought.

Both Arthur and Emmeline snap their heads to look at the other woman.

“Keep it down,” Arthur growls out.

Abigail lets out a scoff. “Ain’t nobody up here but Jack. And he could sleep through the end of the world. Even Dutch and Molly are out, for once.” She starts to vibrate with excitement despite Arthur glaring at her. “But it’s true, right?”

Emmeline smiles gently as she nods slightly. There’s no use in lying at this point.

Abigail can’t hold back the squeal of happiness as it leaves her mouth. The thought of having another child in the camp for Jack to play with swirls in her mind.

“Shh!” Arthur pats the air to try to calm her. “You can’t tell nobody, Abigail. Especially not the rest of the girls.”

“I wont.”

“Abigail?” John’s raspy voice rings out from the steps. “You alright up there? I heard you yell.” He starts to come up the stairs before she even answers.

Abigail runs over to meet her husband on the landing. “Emmeline’s with child!” she tells him immediately.

Arthur throws up his hands and rolls his eyes. “Abigail! I just told you not to tell no one!”

“John doesn’t count,” she replies as she leads John over to where the group stands.

“Is that sick?” he points to the pile a few feet away.

Abigail swats him on the chest. “Don’t worry about that! You’re gonna be an uncle!”

“Don’t tell nobody else,” Arthur asserts. “I mean it. Both of you.”

“Alright, alright.” Abigail turns to leave. “I’ll get a bucket to clean up that mess. Then we’re gonna talk all about this.”

John shakes his head and claps Arthur on the shoulder. “Looks like we’re more alike than I thought.”

Emmeline scrunches up her face in confusion at his comment. “What?”

“I knocked Abigail up with Jack on accident, too.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Shut up, Marston.”

She looks over to Arthur for a moment before turning back to John. “But you were happy, right?”

“Little Johnny Marston ran away. Like an idiot,” Arthur answers for him. “I won’t never do that.”

“I came back,” John defends himself.

“It only took four years for you to get your shit together to be somewhat of a father to the boy,” Arthur bites back sarcastically. He had always looked down at John for his decision to leave instead of accepting his role as a father. Now that he’s put himself in the same position with regards to an unexpected pregnancy, he’s focused on not repeating the younger man’s mistake.

Abigail reappears carrying a bucket and some rags. “Stop fighting, you two. You should be celebrating.”

“We ain’t ready to tell everyone just yet,” Emmeline comments. “So I think we’ll have to wait for any parties.”

“It’s your news to tell. But the second you do it, there’s certainly going to be a party.” Abigail bends down to start to clean the floor. “I suggest you nibble on some biscuits to settle your stomach, though. If you start getting sick all the time, people are gonna get curious and ask questions.”

Early one morning, Emmeline takes Abigail up on her advice. Once her stomach starts to roil, she sneaks out of bed quietly enough not to wake Arthur to head down to Pearson’s wagon in search for biscuits. The sun isn’t even up yet, so it takes her a few minutes in the dark to locate the small tin on the table.

After eating a few of the biscuits, she decides to head over to where Miss Susie is hitched at the edge of camp to visit with her for a moment.

“How ya doin’, girl?” she asks as she pats the horse on the neck.

Upon hearing a rustling behind her, she flips around just in time to see Kieran exiting his tent not far away from her.

“Miss Emmeline?” he croaks out, his voice still tinged with sleep.

“I’m sorry, Kieran. I didn’t mean to wake you. I honestly forgot your tent was over here.”

“That’s okay.” He moves to the other side of Miss Susie, petting her on the nose. “It ain’t too much before I’d get up anyway.”

“I need to thank you for taking such good care of her,” she says as she continues to stroke the horse’s coat. “I haven’t gotten the chance to take her out much lately.”

“She’s a real good horse. Very friendly. I must admit that she’s my favorite to ride out of all of them.”

She smiles. “Really?”

“Most of the other horses only accept one rider in the saddle. Miss Susie here don’t mind me taking her out at all.” He pats her neck. “I’ll get her a couple of carrots for a treat.”

He starts to move further away to where he keeps his supplies while Emmeline continues to pet her horse. Suddenly, there’s a scuffle and when she turns to look, she sees a man in a green vest grappling with Kieran, trying to pull him off into the woods.

“No!” she screams at the top of her lungs and instinctively runs toward the man that she realizes must be an O’Driscoll with what Arthur has told her about them. She doesn’t have any weapons on her and she’s only in her nightgown, but she doesn’t let that stop her from trying to help Kieran. Jumping on the O’Driscoll’s back, she forces one arm around his neck and tries to pull him away.

Unbeknownst to her, the O’Driscoll hadn’t arrived alone. His partner roughly grabs her by the shoulders and throws her off the first man and onto the ground hard. She’s stunned for a moment, but once a gunshot rings out, she comes to just in time to see the man on Kieran crumble to the ground.

With the O’Driscoll’s plan well and truly bungled by the surprise appearance of the raven haired woman, the remaining man can only think about making it out alive. He quickly pulls the woman in front of him up by the hair and holds her to his chest, using her as a shield.

“One move and she gets it,” he calls out to Bill, first and foremost, since he’s the only one close by with a gun. That’s not going to last for much longer, though. He can hear everyone else in the camp stirring at the noise. And with the sun starting to bathe the landscape with light, he no longer has the cover of darkness on his side.

“Let her go,” Kieran pleads.

The O’Driscoll knows he has to make a run for it now before he has more guns trained on him. He figures that the only chance he’ll get is if he kills the girl, catching them off guard enough to make his escape. He cocks his gun then a shot rings out.

Meanwhile, Arthur is pulled from sleep by the sound of Emmeline screaming “No!” It’s faint, but it’s like his mind is attuned to her voice. Without much thought, he grabs his gun belt and runs out of his room in only his union suit. As he’s running down the stairs, he’s bucking his belt around his hips and drawing his Schofield, ready for a fight. The sun is just barely up, but there’s enough light that he can see a man on the edge of camp holding Emmeline to his chest. Their right sides are facing Arthur so he gets a good look at the gun the O’Driscoll is holding to her head.

Arthur runs full bore at them. Without slowing even a little bit, he readies his gun to shoot the man behind Emmeline. Despite everything going on around Arthur, he somehow sees the small movement of the man’s thumb pulling back the hammer on his gun. Time seems to slow as Arthur lines up his shot to the side of the man’s head before he can fire his gun. Arthur wastes no time in pulling his own trigger, sending a bullet straight into the O’Driscoll’s temple, dropping him.

Emmeline thinks she’s been shot for a moment. She waits for the pain to radiate through her, but it doesn’t come. The only feeling she gets is the cool morning air rushing over her back, signaling that the man that had been holding her isn’t behind her anymore. Before she can turn to see what had happened to him, Arthur rushes over and turns her back to him.

“Don’t look, sweetheart,” he says hurriedly.

Bill’s voice calls out, “We got more bastards coming!”

Without a thought, Arthur picks Emmeline up, cradling her to his chest and runs back to the house. Gunshots start to ring out as he gets closer to the front doors. Before he can open them himself, Dutch bursts through them, both of his guns in his hands.

“Get her in here with the women!” he calls out to Arthur then starts shooting from the porch.

Arthur deposits her just inside. “Run upstairs to Abigail.” He places a kiss on her forehead then turns to go back outside.

Emmeline does as instructed and rushes up to the Marston’s room. She finds Abigail cradling a crying Jack to her chest on the bed.

“Get in here!” Abigail holds her free arm out to Emmeline and she huddled up next to the woman.

Though they’re about the same age, Emmeline allows Abigail to hold her as if she were her mother. She wraps one arm around Abigail’s back and places the other around Jack as an added layer of protection for him.

Outside, the firefight is intense. Round after round of O’Driscolls come at them. It has to be every single member of the gang, Arthur reckons. He sticks right beside Dutch as the man takes down his fair share of enemies. That is until he hears Sadie scream from behind the house.

“Go,” Dutch calls out unprompted. “I’ll cover you.”

Arthur runs around the house as Dutch takes down any men that might shoot at him. When he sees Sadie, she’s pinned down behind one of the buildings in the back. He fights his way toward her, then the two fight their way back out, clearing out all the O’Driscolls that had flanked the house. Soon, the gunshots fade as the few remaining enemies retreat.

Arthur doesn’t even give himself a minute to rest before he’s rushing back into the house and up the stairs. John is hot on his heels as he’s thinking similarly to Arthur in wanting to check on his family. Both men come through the door to the Marston’s room and see the women and Jack sitting on the bed, still cuddled together.

Upon seeing Arthur, Emmeline jumps up and runs over to him, enveloping him in a hug. “Are you hurt?” she asks into his shoulder.

“I’m okay.” He pulls back to look at her. “You okay?”

She nods, her eyes still watery with unshed tears. The battle had certainly shaken her up.

He pulls her back into him and cradles her head to his chest. “It’s alright. It’s over now,” he whispers to the top of her head. After a moment, he looks over to John, now sitting beside Abigail and Jack, his arm around them. “We need to get out of here,” he says suddenly.

John looks at him confused. “What do you mean?”

Emmeline backs up to look at Arthur as well. “Are they coming back?” She takes his statement as meaning that they need to clear out the camp again.

“No. I don’t know.” Arthur shakes his head. “I mean we ,” he gestures between himself and John, “should leave.”

“What are you saying?” John bites back.

“This life ain’t no place to raise a family, John. We all know that. Jack shouldn’t be raised like this.” He looks over to Emmeline. “No child should. Both of us need to seriously start thinkin’ about leaving.”

John stands with a huff. “All the shit you gave me for leaving and now you’re suggesting it?!”

Arthur takes a step towards the younger man. “You didn’t just leave us . You left them .” He gestures to Abigail and Jack. “Your responsibilities to the gang are one thing, but you left your responsibilities as a father. That’s what I gave you shit about. That boy needed a father. Still does. And this life more ‘n likely is gonna end in him losing you. Or bein’ an orphan.”

“Arthur’s right, John,” Abigail concurs as Jack still clutches his arms around her, though he’s cried himself out and is now falling asleep despite the voices around him. “We can’t keep doin’ this forever. Jack’s getting older and he’s gonna be aware of what we do pretty soon. What you do. He’s a good boy. Smart, you know. He could do so much more than either of us.”

Emmeline feels a bit like a third wheel in this conversation. Though, undoubtedly, she’s one part of the subject of the conversation, everyone else besides her is dealing with a history she’s not involved with. Arthur and John have lived together for over a decade as brothers, for lack of a better word. And Abigail has been with the gang for a few years as well. The decision whether or not to leave the group certainly must be a difficult one for them. The input of a person that’s only been there for a few weeks probably won’t be very welcome at this point, so Emmeline keeps her mouth shut.

John looks from Abigail to Arthur then flicks his gaze over to Emmeline. “You plannin’ on leavin’ with her?” he asks Arthur.

“Don’t have no plans, really.” Arthur runs his hand over his beard as he lets out a sigh. “That O’Driscoll had his gun to her head, fixin’ to shoot her,” he says as he gestures to Emmeline. “In one second she coulda been gone. I coulda lost that chance to...” he swallows roughly at the thought, “to be a father. All because of some old gang feud she ain’t had no part in.”

Not knowing what to say, Emmeline just takes Arthur’s hand in hers. Truth be told, she was specifically avoiding thinking about how close she came to death. And how close Arthur came to it as he battled outside. This whole situation is something she’s never had to deal with before.

Heavy footsteps echo in the hallway outside the room causing everyone to look in that direction.

“Arthur, John?” Dutch’s voice calls out as the footsteps grow nearer.

“In here,” Arthur answers.

A moment later, Dutch appears in the doorway, looking more lively than he has of recent. “Everyone alright in here?”

Everyone nods.

“Good,” Dutch continues. “No major injuries on our side. It seems the O’Driscolls plan was thwarted thanks to you, Emmeline.”

“Oh?” she replies. “I didn’t really do nothing.”

“You alerted us,” Dutch says, pride in his voice. “And Kieran told me you went after the man that attacked him. That was very brave.”

Arthur whips his head around to look at her. “You what ?”

“I just reacted,” she answers. “I saw someone hurting Kieran, so I tried to stop it.”

“You can’t do that,” Arthur asserts.

“Now, son,” Dutch interjects, “she most certainly saved that poor boy from a grisly fate. I think she deserves praise for that.”

Emmeline gives Dutch a genuine smile. Despite the fact that she hasn’t known the man that fathered her for that long, she’s not immune to his charms. Much like the way he’s fostered loyalty in Arthur over the years, she feels a sense of pride that the man is complementing her.

Arthur, on the other hand, is not happy. “I don’t think we should be encouraging her to put herself in danger.”

“It’s not encouragement, Arthur. Just acknowledgement.” Dutch pauses then lets out a heavy breath. “That’s not why I’m here, anyway. Javier caught one of the O’Driscolls before he could run away. I thought I could use you two,” he gestures to Arthur and John, “to interrogate him. See if he won’t tell us where that bastard Colm is so we can return his hospitality .” The word is laced with venom.

Arthur and John share a look before nodding.

“I gotta get dressed first,” Arthur says as he turns to leave with John and Dutch.

“Meet us in one of the buildings in the back,” Dutch calls out as he an John start to descend the stairs.

Emmeline follows Arthur over to their room. “Did you really mean all that?” she asks while he gathers some clothes from his trunk. “About leaving?”

He pauses his motion and turns back to her. “I’ve been scared since... the doctor told us we was gonna be parents, really. Scared what kinda father I’d be. Scared what Dutch is gonna say. Scared about it changing everything here, my whole life, everything I’ve ever known. But all of that weren’t nothing compared to how scared I was when I thought I was gonna lose the two ‘a you. And I don’t wanna leave you a widow, neither. We both need to get outta this. Together.”

She gives him a soft smile as she looks up at him. “That’s what I want, too.”

Over the last few weeks, Emmeline has come to care for the people around her in the camp. All she’s seen is people working together in a normal way, doing everyday things like tending the horses and cleaning up. But this burst of violence is unlike anything she’s ever experienced. She’s never been so close to gunfire, never seen anyone be fought with or shot. Now that she has, she wants nothing more than to never experience that again. If that means leaving everyone here... it’ll be hard, but she’s fine with it as long as she, Arthur, and the baby are safe.

#of sons and daughters #writehavoc Of Sons and Daughters #writehavoc writes #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #arthur morgan / oc #arthur morgan x original female character #Arthur Morgan / Original Female Character #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr

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wwd-discordserver · 5 years

Photo

It’s day two of our ★ WWD Advent Calendar! ★

Today’s post features work from two of our members - click below the cut to find out who they are and what they’ve created!

The first work of the day is an art piece by @sketchysprix for the prompt “KFC”:

The second work is a piece from @hollyandvice for the prompt “ugly holiday sweater”, which can be read below.

“This is a terrible idea.”

Izuku knows the grin on his face must be nearly maniacal. “This is a great idea.”

“No, this is a fucking terrible idea. Who put you up to this, Kirishima?”

Izuku pretends to look appalled. Katsuki sees right through him. “I can’t believe you think I would do something like this for someone else’s satisfaction and not purely for my own.”

Kacchan’s glare goes eve darker. “What the fuck, Deku. I’m not wearing that damn thing.”

“You can wear this one instead, if you want,” he says, holding up the Hero Deku ugly holiday sweater beside the Hero Kacchan ugly sweater he’d offered Kacchan.

Kacchan’s eyes flash. “Yeah? You for real?”

Izuku hesitates. He’d bought them assuming Kacchan would rather wear his own merch. If they switch–

Kacchan seems to see the moment of weakness. He pounces on it. “Yeah, let’s do that, then. You wear mine, and I’ll wear yours.”

Izuku swallows. Then, emboldened by the victorious smirk on Kacchan’s lips, he gives in. “Fine,” he says, chucking the Deku sweater at him. “Fine. We do it your way.”

Kacchan’s smug look falters, and Izuku feels the victory like a brief warmth in his chest. Kacchan straightens at whatever look is on Izuku’s face. “Deal.”

Izuku smiles. Victory will be his in this. Nishiyama’s going down.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Damn. You really got him to wear an ugly sweater?”

Izuku grins victoriously at the secretary. “You’re damn right I did. Pay up.”

She sighs, shaking her head as she hands over two thousand yen. “You’re a miracle worker.”

“Damn right I am.”

She laughs. “Looks like you miracle isn’t happy with you, though.”

“What?” Izuku turns to follow her gaze and sees Kacchan making his way over to them in all the green, red, and black glory of his sweater. “Oh.”

“You bet on me, shitty Deku?”

Izuku shrugs, knowing better than to try to argue with him when he’s right. “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“You’re damn right it’s a problem, Deku! What the fuck?”

“It was the theme. I could hardly let our coworkers down when I had a chance to get you to follow the theme, now could I?”

“That’s not the same as betting on me!”

Izuku shrugs, unashamed. “Maybe not. But it’s what I did. Can you blame me?”

“Yes!”

“What, like you wouldn’t have done the same thing in my position given enough incentive.”

Kacchan opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it after a moment, clearly at a loss. “Yeah, well. Whatever. It was still a shitty move, Deku.”

Izuku nods. “Maybe so. But if I promise to take you out for dinner with the money, will you forgive me?”

Kacchan tilts his head to the side, something thoughtful in his eyes. “You askin’ me out, Deku?”

Izuku can’t control the flush that floods his cheeks, and knows Kacchan sees it from the way his eyes go wide with something like surprise. Izku looks away, unable to ignore the heat in his belly. “Can I be?”

Kacchan swears. “Fuck, of course you can, Deku. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting on you to get your head out of your ass and ask?”

Izuku looks up, heart in his throat. “You mean it?”

“‘Course I do. I know it wouldn’t have been my place to say anything, not after the shit I pulled when we were kids, but I thought… I thought that if you wanted it, you might be the brave one again and ask me.”

Izuku swallows, looking up at Katsuki with heat in his chest. “Then consider this me asking.”

Kacchan’s grin is sharp and bright. “That’s not asking.”

Izuku rolls his eyes, willing to give Kacchan this if it means he gets to have Kacchan the way he’s wanted him for so long. “Can I take you out on a date, Bakugou Katsuki-san?” he asks, giving a low bow.

Kacchan’s eyes go wide. He recovers himself quickly enough, stepping on Deku’s foot in retaliation. “Yes, fine, whatever, just stand up. Everyone’s looking at you funny.”

Izuku laughs, straightening up. “Oh, and one more thing.”

Kacchan looks wary. “What?”

Izuku holds a hand out. “Can I have this dance?”

Kacchan doesn’t hesitate. He reaches out, taking Izuku’s hand. “You’re damn lucky I like you, jackass.”

Izuku laughs, high and bright. This is their relationship, this is who they’ve always been, and he isn’t about to start complaining now.

“By the way,” Kacchan asks as they dance. “How the hell does that sweater fit you so well? Min’s hanging over my wrists like I’m five years old again.

Izuku laughs. "What can I say, I’m a miracle worker.”

Kacchan frowns. “There’s no way.”

“No, really!” Izuku says, feeling the sly grin on his lips.

“Uh huh. And who helped you pull off this miracle?”

“The clerk at the local hero goods store.”

“You traded mine in for one your size?”

“Yup.” Izuku knows popping the p might have been a bit much, but it’s worth it for the look on Kacchan’s face.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

Izuku’s grin widens. He leans in close, not entirely sure where the audacity hits him from. “I can be a pleasure in the ass too, if you want me to be.”

Kacchan snorts. “Okay, that was bad.”

“Yeah,” Izuku agrees, “I know. But I couldn’t very well leave low fruit like that hanging, now could I?”

“No, I guess not.” Kacchan shakes his head. “You’ve changed, you know that?”

“How so? In a bad way?”

Kacchan tilts his head to the side. “What do you think?”

Izuku looks down, contemplating. “I think I like myself a lot more than I used to. I think I’m physically stronger and faster than I used to be. But I think who I am hasn’t really changed at all, and those are the parts of me that are the most important. So, no. I don’t think it’s in a bad way.”

Kacchan hums. “You’re definitely a lot more gutsy than you used to be. And, I have to say, your confidence is damn sexy.” Izuku blushes. “But you’re right. The core of you, the parts of you that make you my best friend and the most important person in my life? Those things haven’t changed. In fact, they just shine brighter than ever. You’re brilliant, Deku, and I hope that the core of you never changes.”

Izuku looks away, overwhelmed by the honesty and warmth in Kacchan’s words. He tries to find the words, tries and fails three times before he finally chokes out two words, insufficient, but all that he can offer. “Thank you.”

Kacchan leans in, pulling Izuku close. “Anytime, dumbass. Any time.”

Thank you both for submitting and participating today! Before I wrap up today’s post, I want to take a moment to clarify a couple of things.

First, submissions are welcome at ANY TIME from December 1st to December 24th. If life was busy and you weren’t able to get something into us before the 1st, don’t panic, you can still participate! We are accepting all submissions and every work we receive will end up on the calendar at some point!

Second, I want to remind everyone of the creation guidelines for things that you would like to submit - please note that all posted content should be SFW:

Art: chibis, doodles, lineart (without guidelines), and sketches as well as anything that you feel inspired to color or shade, all are welcome!

Fics: we encourage fic writers to aim for ~500 words, but anything beyond that is also welcome! If you are doing a freeform work, there is no word count suggestion.

Other Media: AMVs, cosplay photos, graphics/edits, original music, etc. is all welcome for submission!

For those of you that aren’t members of our server and of this event - you can be! Check out this post and send off a DM to any of the mods, who will be happy to provide you with a link to join our server.

See you tomorrow with the next round of works!

- Mod Rito

#WWDAdvent2k18 #bakudeku #katsudeku #the Worst Wonder Duo! discord #bnha #boku no hero academia #advent day 2 #hollyandvice #sketchysprix #written work #art work

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the-end-of-art · 5 years

Text

Nobody in love is original

Christian Wiman wrote this gorgeous remembrance for poet Craig Arnold that is full of everything "the necessary but destabilizing intensities of poetry, and the life that one risks by cultivating those intensities, and the life that—in some cases, our cases, we both felt—poetry also rescues." I don't know about you, but in college I was trained to separate the poet from the poem, and while I think a poem needs to stand on its own without needing the context of a poet's biography to fill it with anything it's lacking, but in the last few years I have wanted so much for poetry to connect and reconcile me to other people, places, and things - and not least the people who write poems, inasmuch as we can ever know another person, or at least for as much as we can know them through an experience of their words.

I truly believe that books find you exactly when you need them, and I just want to tell of the happy journey that led me to this at exactly the right time: years ago someone loaned me Carl Adamschick’s Saint Friend, still one of my all-time favorite poetry books. It was published by the McSweeney’s poetry imprint, and some months later, at random in the library, I saw another McSweeney’s book, and while I was really put off by the title, Love: An Index, which made me think it was going to be a book of poems built around a conceit, a trick, on the strength of the many good McSweeney’s poetry books I’d read, I borrowed it, and devoured it. There was definitely a central operating principle - sections began with A, B, C through Z - but I remember many moments in that book as rising above it to be really good, and I was moved that Rebecca Lindenberg had written it in memory of a partner who had died suddenly and unexpectedly in an accident. About three years later, @waitingforthecat liked one of my posts and I was intrigued enough by that handle to look up their tumblr, which wow is full of stuff I really love, and when I read the poem Bird-Understander I got that I-must-read-everything-by-this-poet-immediately feeling, and it turns out to be by Craig Arnold (and the beloved in Bird-Understander could well be Rebecca Lindenberg - and even if it isn’t literally, autobiographically, everything we write comes from who we are, and the people who make us who we are).

From an interview with Jeremy Richards, “How to Write Love Poems”:

What’s the most pressing challenge in approaching a love poem? Craig Arnold: For a poet at the beginning of the 21st century, I think the most difficult thing is how to navigate this brave new world, where we’re in the midst of making up our collective mind about what it means to be men and women. In the Western tradition most love poems have assumed a male poet writing to or about a female object, who can accept or refuse the offering but who doesn’t otherwise say much, and the formal conventions of poetry have crystallized around that assumption. There are those wonderful Provençal troubadour poems that imagine the poem as a dialogue, a back-and-forth between two mutually desiring individuals, but those are among the few exceptions. Now when we sit down to write poems to our lovers—or to the people we hope will be our lovers—we’re more likely to be thinking: What am I responding to? How do I hope this person will respond? How is this part of an ongoing conversation? With “Bird-Understander” I wanted to say not, as an Elizabethan courtly sonneteer might have said, “Look, I made your words into poetry, aren’t I fabulous?” but rather “Listen, what you said to me, it’s already poetry, better than anything I could write, and it would make me happy simply to have you see that.” Where do you think most bad love poems go astray? Any love poem has to strike a careful balance between the particular and the common. As a lover you feel as though you and your beloved are the most intensely particular people in the world—“Never again a love like this,” as Roddy Lumdsen says. But the fact is that you’re submitting yourself to what is possibly the most common or universal human experience, and that sometimes the most direct and most accurate expression of that experience may, in fact, be the language of cliché. I’m thinking about the duet that Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman sing on the rooftop in Moulin Rouge, which is just a pastiche of trashy pop songs, and in some way that’s what all love poetry is leaning toward. But when you think about [it], what is a cliché, if not a poem that won? We feel that so many love poems are bad, or clichéd, but I suspect that what we dislike about them are not the clichés, but the experience of being in love itself. As poets we like to think that we’re original, and it embarrasses us to remember how utterly unoriginal we can be—the sudden appeal of the corniest things, the mood swings, the crying at movies and the like. Let’s face it, nobody in love is original. We all feel and do pretty much the same things, make fools of ourselves in the same ways, and hopefully come through it alive and well and happily in bed with someone else. But that’s also precisely the appeal of love poetry, the intensely humbling nature of the experience it tries to describe. As a younger poet, did you ever fumble with the bad, saccharine attempts at love poems that most of us write? What can we learn from those fumbles? It’s hard to say. I came into my writerly existence in the 1980s, the Decade of Irony, when it was very uncool to express any sort of strong feeling directly or plainly. If you wanted to be taken seriously as a writer, you learned to police yourself for any signs of sincerity, to cloak them in irony and diffidence and perhaps a certain obscurity. A while ago, my first lover sent me a copy of a poem I wrote when I was maybe 19, and what strikes me about it now is, though I clearly meant it as a gesture of love, I didn’t frame it as such. Rather than I addressing you, it was all in the third person, a sketch of a character from a noir novel, a sort of Philip Marlowe–like individual smoking underneath a window. It was a stealth love poem, a meta–love poem, a sort of “I have this friend who’s in love with you” kind of poem. The habit of indirection was already very strong in me, as it was with other poets of that era. So I think the danger then was actually not being too saccharine, but rather of being too cool, too frigid. Now the danger is probably being too caffeinated—I’m thinking of the maniacally antic poems of the New New New York School, whatever generation of that we’re on now. So one can fumble by being too cool, and one can fumble by burying the truth of one’s feeling under a heap of jagged and jarring images. I think Creeley, of all people, was able to hit the right note, plain and plaintive and wistful and awkward—what he brings out is the awful hesitancy of that moment where you’re holding out this little offering to somebody else and hoping to hear Yes I said yes I will yes. And what you’re risking is a certain kind of sentimentality. But for my money, I think it’s better to risk the sentimental and fail, than aim for frigidity and succeed.

So now I’m going to read Robert Creeley. I am so grateful to have poetry in my life.

(https://www.poetryfoundation.org/articles/69223/how-to-write-love-poems)

#Craig Arnold #Rebecca Lindenberg #Christian Wiman #Carl Adamshick #poem #poet #poetry #love #Jeremy Richards #Robert Creeley

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