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savkirschtein · 3 years ago

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The AOT friend groups after a break up headcanons

Modern college SNK friend group au headcanons/semi imagine

characters: (Eren Jaeger, Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert) (Jean Kirschtein, Connie Springer, Sasha Braus, Marco Bodt)

Multiple characters x gn! reader or fem!reader, w/ ex male s/o

Warnings: FLUFF! mentions of ED! cheating, depression, alcohol, threatening of violence, vandalism, doxxing and cussing

Eren, Mikasa, Armin:

• You had just gotten out of a 2 year relationship, after catching your boyfriend cheating on you. Needless to say shit was rough.

• But now your friends were worried sick. Your distance was understandable, but that didn’t make them worry any less.

• Eren and Armin were kept up to date about you through Mikasa. As not only was she your best friend, but also your roommate.

• Mikasa had been the one to wake you up every morning for your classes, making sure you at least ate a granola bar on your way out to class.

• Because although she knew you’d much rather lay in bed all day, Mika knew deep down that you would regret slipping up in class more later on.

• And of course the boys were supportive. They both would send texts in the morning or throughout the day.

Armeen👼🏼: If you need a coffee, I got your regular latte with oat milk for after your morning lecture💙

Ereh👹: I got you a bowl from chipotle, imma head up to yours and Mika’s apartment to drop it off before my class starts

• But Eren, Mikasa, and Armin allowed you, your space for the most part. Making sure not to bring the topic up at all until you were ready. And not forcing you to go out if you didn’t want to.

• But once it hit the end of the 2nd week of your break up, they knew that by then was a good time to step in.

• Mikasa had a late lecture on Friday night, meaning she probably wouldn’t be back till 7. So that left you in your apartment all alone until she would eventually come home.

• Lights off in the entire apartment. Laying in your room which has now developed quite the mess. Clothes both clean and dirty that you’ve refused to fold and put away, or put in your hamper. Empty, and half filled water bottles you would forget to put in the trash. Assignments and textbooks astray that you couldn’t bring yourself to organize let alone do.

• As of late you had been doubting your self worth, these part 2 weeks have just been beating you down. And truthfully it feels like nothing could possibly make you feel better. You’ve lost motivation to do even the most basic things like shower.

• And on top of all of that. You felt bad because for the past 2 weeks you’ve been shutting out the 3 people who you care for the most. They were only trying to be supportive, and yet here you were loathing around, when they were only trying their best.

• Everything you used to find easy and fun, became so difficult to even attempt and dull.

• You get taken out of your daze by a knock on the front door. Which left you puzzled because nobody should even be home, and the only people that would be, were busy.

• You open the door and take in the sight of your 3 childhood best friends with bags in hand. Smiling at you in your crumpled form, wearing 3 day old sweat pants, and oversized t-shirt.

• From what you can see in the bags in their hands, poking out were your favorite snacks, drinks, and even face masks.

• Immediately you just break down crying.

• Knowing that the 3 of them were busy with class, homework, or work, and yet here they were right in front of you. Purposely putting their own obligations aside just for you.

• Eren bursts through the door and drops the bags on the side to embrace you in the biggest hug, with Mikasa and Armin coming in on the sides to hold you as well.

• Eren wipes your tears with his thumbs, as Mikasa brushes your stray hairs aside and tucking them behind your ear, with Armin rubs your back to soothe you as well.

• Once you guys got settled, the 3 of your friends just let you vent. Getting all of your tears, and frustrations out. Occasionally making their own comments and remarks.

“I swear to god, I’ll put him on his ass Y/N just say the word.” Eren being the protective friend he is just clenched his fists together hearing every word that came from your mouth, all with a scowl on his face. With Mika and Armin thinking of their own plots.

“Or pop his tires, or maybe we should key his car. Or I’ll do it by myself. You said that ugly ass car meant a lot to him right?” Mikasa brings up as she looks at you, saying it in a tone that let you know she was actually considering it.

"Or I can beat his ass too." She adds, confident in her ability to put the man that broke your heart in his place.

“What if we doxxed him.” Armin said so nonchalantly, as he took a drink from the wine Mikasa bought, that you all didn’t even really grasp what he said until it really settled. Making you all laugh till your ribs began to hurt. But Armin was honestly being partially serious.

• After getting what you needed to out by venting. You 4 ended up playing all of your favorite board games, and video games from when you were younger.

• Making cookies together with the pre-made dough, snacking on all of your favorite snacks and drinks.

• Doing skin care, and putting face masks on together. To which Eren and Armin ended up asking if you guys could do face masks more often afterwards, because of how relaxing and nice their skin felt afterwards.

• And binge watching your guys’ favorite shows and anime together, until eventually you all knocked out.

• You end up waking up at 2 am to something falling on the ground, only to find your friends scrambling to pack stuff in a picnic basket, gathering blankets, pillows, and even the lawn chairs from the closet by the entrance door.

“Dammit Eren.” Mikasa palms her forehead as she stood in the kitchen packing the picnic basket. With Armin folding the blankets and packing the pillows shaking his head on the other end of the couch.

Eren picks up the lawn chair he dropped and turns to you with a shy and apologetic smile.

“My bad Y/N. We weren’t going to wake you till we were done.” He rubs his neck after throwing the chair bag’s strap over his shoulder.

“Just hurry up and take the stuff to the car you two.” Mika makes her way to you still dazed and half asleep on the couch. She plops down on the open part of the couch near your stomach and fixes a stray hair out of your face. As Eren walks towards the door, Armin follows shortly behind, lightly slapping the back of his head on their way out.

“What’s going on?” You ask with a raspy voice, still a bit fuzzy in the head, probably from the amount of wine you had drunk.

“We thought you could use a bit of fresh air, I already packed your hoodie in Eren’s car. Come on.” She gently ushers you off the couch holding both of your hands and pulling you out of the apartment. Making sure to lock the door behind you both.

Eren and Armin were already in the complex parking lot waiting for you both in the car after packing everything. Mikasa taking the passenger seat, as you take the seat behind Eren’s driver, with Armin across from you.

Armin is quick to put the unused part of the blanket he had over his legs on you, making sure it’s covering your arms, and sharing the warmth. Making you smile at him.

As Eren continues to drive on the empty roads, do you realize exactly where you’re all heading.

The beach.

You arrive and it was completely dark, with the occasional light post, and the smallest help of lighting from the moon.

Mikasa hands you your oversized hoodie to put on before you step out. Knowing it’s about to be freezing. While Eren and Armin get out of the car to grab everything. When you and Mika step out the car to help gather whatever the boys couldn’t carry, you head out to the sand to pick a spot on the empty beach.

After setting up the blanket and pillows on top of the sand, along with the chairs, picnic basket, lantern light, and mini speaker. You all settle down, sat close to each other with a huge blanket wrapped around all of you, binding the four of you together.

Almost reminiscent of how it was like when you were kids, merely teenagers at the beach huddled close for warmth sharing a blanket together at midnight. Eren on the left holding one end of the blanket, Mikasa on your right, and Armin on the other end holding the other end.

And for a while it’s just silent with nothing but the crashing of the waves, and Eren’s playlist of songs that reminded him of you, Mikasa and Armin being the only things heard.

From there you felt at ease, of course the heartbreak you had just endured was painful. But in that moment, you felt nothing but warmth, nothing but pure love for the three people at your sides. And nothing but the love they had for you as well.

They were your childhood best friends, they were your family. They knew you best, and you couldn’t help but be grateful, and wonder how did you ever get so lucky. So lucky, to be able to watch the sky slowly be painted with the beautiful, warm hues of oranges, pinks, and yellows of the sunrise.

In the midst of a heart ache that you swore would never go away, you were able to feel the tightness around you heart ease even if it was for just a moment. But that was all owed to the people at your sides that you were lucky enough to call your best friends.

____________________________________________

Jean, Connie, Sasha, & Marco:

• After finding out that your boyfriend of 3 years had not only been cheating on your for 2 months, but had been cheating on you with multiple people. Let’s just say you were not in the best shape.

• You were hurt. Has heartache ever hurt this bad before? Why did it look like the world was losing its color?

• And on top of that, you were embarrassed. This person you were so dedicated to, talked so highly of, and loved deeply, had just turn his back on you. And betrayed all of that. He made you look stupid and naive.

• Your friends on the other hand felt bad, but more than anything they were PISSED. After you had told them everything in the middle of a breakdown, they just couldn’t let it slide so easily.

• Especially since they were the ones that had to deal with the aftermath of your broken heart, not that they minded at all. But having to see how badly of a toll it took on you, it only made them more angry.

• With Sasha being your roommate and best friend, she had to watch you first hand, sleep the days away, struggle to get out of bed, skip meals, and slowly look like you were withering away.

• Of course she did her best for you, packing you sandwiches in your bag before you would head off to class in the morning from your guy’s shared apartment. Waking you up so you can at least have a chance to make it to class.

• And she would text Jean, Connie, and Marco how you were doing. Keeping them up to date

Y/N protection squad🤝

Sash👩‍❤️‍👩: I at least got her to eat a piece of toast before she left for class.

Jeanie🧑🏼‍🌾: that’s good, I’ll probably get lunch with her later and see what happens. That asshole really fucked everything up for her.

Cornelius💂🏻‍♀️: my question is…WHY👏🏼 HAVEN'T👏🏼 WE 👏🏼JUMPED 👏🏼THAT👏🏼 MF 👏🏼YET👏🏼🤨😫😫

DeMarcus👰🏻: to be honest…yeah, why haven’t we done that yet :/

Sash👩‍❤️‍👩: MARCO???? HELPPP😭

Cornelius💂🏻‍♀️: MARCO STOP I KNOW YOU LYING.

Cornelius💂🏻‍♀️: YOU AINT ABOUT IT MARCO

Jeanie🧑🏼‍🌾: I say we do something

Sash👩‍❤️‍👩: 👀

Cornelius💂🏻‍♀️: 👀

DeMarcus👰🏻: When. And where.

• It was Friday of the 2nd week of your break up. Usually you and your friends would have gone out like usual to either the diner down the street from campus, maybe a drive in movie, the roller rink, or even froyo.

• But because of your distance and lack of socializing within the past 2 weeks, your friends thought it was best to just not press you about going out.

• So instead of doing anything without you they all just said they’d do whatever individually. The same way they had to last week when you refused to leave your room in yours and Sasha’s apartment.

• Connie saying he’d probably hit the gym with his teammates, Jean opting for working on his art project early, and Sasha and Marco saying they’d just pick up shifts at their part time jobs.

• You on the other hand just lied curled up on the couch of your now empty apartment. Refusing to stay even a second longer in the depression mess that has become your room. Literally exhausted, even after sleeping till noon, and taking a long nap even after that.

• No matter the amount of sleep you were exhausted, mentally, physically and emotionally. The lack of energy had you failing to even attempt to eat the fruit Marco had bought, cut, and packed away in a Tupperware for you in the fridge. Drinking water felt like a chore too.

• Before you knew it you fell back into a deep slumber. Only to be awoken, by the looks of the time on your phone, an hour later. To a FaceTime notification…

Cornelius💂🏻‍♀️

would like to FaceTime…

You press the red button to decline. Putting the phone down underneath the pillow to go back to sleep, only for ANOTHER call notification to come in.

DeMarcus👰🏻

would like to FaceTime…

You yank your phone out from underneath the pillow and press the green button this time to answer with a harshness in your voice both from just being waken up, and also from irritation.

“WHAT.” You say as the light from your side of the phone lights Marco’s freckled face, who seemingly is in the dark of his van, with maybe street light posts lit from behind him.

“Well. First of all. Hi Y/N! I’m doing great, thank you for asking. I hope you ate the fruit I cut and packed away for you this morning…now. You were saying?” Marco says in a kind, but also slightly passive aggressive way as his way to say ‘I don’t appreciate your tone’ to which you sigh and collect yourself.

“Sorry Marco, I’m just tired. What’s up?” You say with a better tone now after being put in check by your friend.

“Well I was going to ask—HEY” Marco gets cut off by his phone forcefully being turned to another familiar face.

“OH SO YOU ANSWER HIM, BUT NOT ME?” Connie yells after turning the lights on the car roof in Marco’s van on, coming up from the backseat. Only for you to hear familiar laughs and chuckles, both that you knew belonged to Jean and Sasha.

“You interrupted my nap. So yes. I declined your call. Disrespectfully.” You say unamused, as you were still tired. Only to make Jean laugh even louder from the passenger seat beside Marco, and Sasha in the backseat behind him. To which Connie gets offended and playfully sticks his tongue out, before flipping you off and settling back into his seat.

Sasha gets up this time, to lean over the glove department towards Marco’s phone to get your attention.

“Come outside babe. We’re going somewhere.” She grins knowingly with excitement. As the boys all watch you on the screen shuffle to sit up from the couch. Going over to the window of your guy’s living room window which saw out to the complex lot. To see Marco’s infamous van parked on the curb.

“But—” Before you can even answer Sasha is quick to cut you off.

“Nope. We aren’t giving you an option this time. I’m telling you girl. You have to come outside now.” Sasha points to you through Marco’s camera.

“It’s either you come outside or me and Connie are going in.” Jean says as he turns Marco’s phone towards himself, giving you a stern look. Making you groan, knowing damn well that he was serious.

“…whatever.” You roll your eyes in defeat, making all four of your friends cheer in unison at their small victory to get you out the apartment.

“And bring a jacket or something it’s going to be cold.” He finishes before Connie snatched the phone out of Marco’s hands.

“YOU GOT 5 MINUTES BOO. NO MORE. NO LESS.” Is all he yells before ending the call out of nowhere. Groaning once more you take yourself to your room to grab the oversized flannel you took from Jean. Sliding it on, before grabbing and lacing up your converse, and heading out the door.

• As you head down the elevator to the lobby do you begin to feel anxious. You had only ever left the apartment for school. Since your part time job was on campus you didn’t have to go anywhere else.

• This whole breakup had you stripping yourself of all things that were fun. All things normal. Not because you wanted to of course. But because it also stripped you of your motivation, stripped you of ability to feel excitement.

• So whatever your friends had planned you hoped deep down could help. Because truthfully, you also felt bad for them. They’ve been so supportive and loving through all of this. And your lack to give it back, let alone do anything at all made you feel like you were holding them back, and becoming a burden.

As soon as you’re met with the stingingly cold air, you’re quick to make a small jog to the van. With your four best friends waiting impatiently inside.

You take a look through the front windshield to see them all cheerily smiling with the yellow light from the roof of the car lighting their faces. Shaking your head and rolling your eyes, you force yourself to the door on Marco’s side sliding it open, with Connie popping out to let you in.

“BOUT DAMN TIME.” He playfully rolls his eyes, earning him a flick to the forehead from you as you hop in to the seat next to Sasha, Connie sliding in next to you afterwards.

You look to the Jean and Marco in the front seats, raising your eyebrows, waiting for some sort of explanation of what is going on. To which Marco holds up two rolls of toilet paper, and Jean in the passenger seat holding up two cartons of eggs.

Your eyes widen, then Sasha taps your shoulder to look at the back seat of the van. You lift yourself up to turn over and look to see more packs of toilet paper and cartons of eggs in the backseat as well. She smiles at you proudly, you turn to see Connie smirking with his eyebrow raised. You snap your attention forward to the two in the front, knowing exactly where this was going.

“Let’s do this.”

As if your ex cheating on you wasn't embarrassing enough. Mf was also in a frat. As to why you let that red flag slide so easily, don't know. But this little mission your friends had planned was perfect.

He and his frat would be competing at a Brotherhood tournament or some shit. Meaning their house was vacant.

And that these mfs really lied about doing everything they said they would to do this.

As soon as you pull up to the curb, of the familiar three story, brick house. Jean hops out quickly to pop the trunk of the van. With Sasha and Connie on both sides of you, turning to lean over their seats, reaching behind to grab toilet paper and cartons of eggs from the back.

Marco braces himself as he gets out of the driver's seat to help Jean out. You sit between your two friends, now kind of unsure of all of this, but as Jean slides the door on Sasha's side open from outside, he looks at you with a reassuring look knowing exactly what you're thinking.

"Don't feel bad for that asshole, or his punk ass frat Y/N. They don't deserve it" He says with rolls of toilet paper in his hands. And Sasha turns to face you with a kind smile on her face.

"Jean's right hon, he doesn't deserve a single ounce of your sympathy. Not after what he did." She takes your hand in her warm one. With Connie nodding on your left, agreeing with the other two.

"He's a thot in a frat full of thots Y/N, if anything we are doing community service." Connie adds, making you laugh.

"And besides, this will give those man whores an excuse to actually clean their stank ass house." He lightly pats your shoulder before sliding out on his side, with egg cartons in his hands. Walking to meet Marco on the other side of the van, behind Jean.

"But of course, if you don't want to Y/N, we don't have to. We can always do something else. Don't feel pressured to do this. And if you don't want us to, we can totally pack up and go eat, or hang at the pier or something." Marco comes into view, standing beside Jean with understanding eyes. As the rest of your friends look to you waiting on an answer. To which you answer by taking a roll of toilet paper from Sasha's arms with a smile.

"If Marco is willing to do this, then it would be criminal to opt out." You hop out after Sasha, all five of you looking at each other and laugh before going to work on the house.

The entire process of the egging and TP'ing the house Marco made sure to stay on the side walk, close to the trunk to supply the four of you with eggs and toilet paper. But also to keep an eye out for anyone who may be coming, in case he may have to book it to the driver's seat.

Connie and Sasha both take their rolls and run around the porch of the house wrapping them around the pillars. Giggling as they run down the steps to finish part of the job by throwing them on the tall trees of the lawn. Leaving streamers of toilet paper dangling from the branches. While you and Jean just went ape shit with the eggs, chucking them at the windows, on the cement, and the roof.

"You would think that as rich as frats are, they'd get a ring camera or something." Jean chuckles at how you guys really were about to potentially get away with this.

"Oh they will, after this." You laugh as you chuck another egg at one of the windows. Marco then runs up to you two, holding silly string cans up, more than happy to give them to you both after handing some to Sash and Connie.

Then all five of you just run around the lawn and porch with silly string of all different colors, spraying them all over the place. Anywhere it could stick to, the weird strings of purple, green, orange, pink, and blue were there. You all get so caught up in the fun of it, that you forget that this was all being done out of spite of your ex.

As you all continue the job, Connie jogs back to the van trunk to grab more cans of silly string, before he sees headlights approaching from down the street. His eyes widen knowing exactly who was coming.

"YOU GUYS WE GOTTA GO. LIKE. NOW." He yells from the trunk of the van. Making you and Marco look like dears in headlights as you stand on the porch. And Jean and Sasha freeze in the middle of lawn.

Connie sprints to the driver's seat of the van, knowing there was no time to get into the usual positions. Starting it up as you all drop everything and make a break for the open back seat of the van.

"HURRY THE FUCK UP." Connie yells leaning over the wheel to look out the open passenger seat door at you guys.

Marco is quick to drop the cans and grab your hand to drag you along. With Jean and Sasha literally diving into the back seat already.

"COME ON!" Sasha yells as she looks past Jean at you and Marco.

Both of you look to see the bright headlights approaching closer, before splitting up. Marco hopping into the passenger, and you literally jumping into the laps of Sasha and Jean in the back seat.

Connie quickly speeds off, before Jean can even close the back door, or even let you get yourself to sit between the both of them. While Connie makes sharp turns into different neighborhoods as a way to lose anyone who could be on your guys' tail. Sasha and Jean swiftly help you off their laps to sit in between them both. Then with all of you looking over your shoulders making sure you weren't being followed.

And once Connie was sure the coast was clear, he stopped in a quiet empty parking lot of a park. As soon as he parked, both him and Marco turn around to look at Sasha, you, and Jean in the backseat. And you all immediately break down dying in a burst of laughter at each other.

"I can't believe we just did that." Marco giggles.

"That shit was too good." Connie cackles as he wipes tears from his eyes, from laughing so hard. With you, Sasha, and Jean all leaning on each other for support, trying to regain composure with your stomachs all hurting from the laughter, and cheeks hurting from smiling so much.

"I want a milkshake." Sasha sighs once everything died down, and you all had caught your breaths.

And immediately as soon as those words leave her mouth you all give each other knowing looks and smirks, with Marco and Connie without hesitation hopping out to switch seats.

From there you guys make your way to the local diner you all go to often together, and treat yourselves to the usual milkshakes, refillable baskets of fries, and burgers after a successful mission. Laughing at parts being brought up from your chaotic night, reminiscing on old memories from middle school and high school, and simply enjoying the presence of each other.

And as you sat in the booth between Marco and Sasha, with Jean and Connie across from you, you begin to feel at peace. The most at peace and comfort you had felt since the ending of your shitty relationship. Your heart for the first time in two weeks swelled with warmth, and not pain.

Your friends all glancing at you occasionally amidst the conversations, just glad to see color returning back to your face, and the brightness of your smile coming back.

And although the emotions of sadness, resentment, and heartache were still far from over. These feelings you were experiencing in the moment, feelings of love, importance, home. Were the starts of your heart coming back together happily.

All because of the hilarious, caring, crazy, and loving four people at your sides. The four people you were lucky enough to call your best friends.

#Spotify #savkirschtein #aot modern au #attack on titan headcanons #aot college au #eren jaeger #mikasa ackerman #armin arlert #jean kirschstein #connie springer #sasha braus #marco bodt #eren x reader #mikasa x reader #armin x reader #jean x reader #connie x reader #sasha x reader #marco x reader

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tuber-culosis · 4 years ago

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I've been reading through a lot of radfem blogs and posts lately. and gotta say, i'm leaning a lot towards radical feminism. And im definitely gender critical.

but one topic I want to talk about in particular is the criticism of Islam.

Which I feel is totally valid considering the current state of mainstream islam and Muslims.

Mainstream Islam (is what you see on all social media, seemingly practised by a lot of Muslims) IS sexist. And homophobic. There's no use denying it, neither do I think I'm a bad Muslim for not supposedly defending my own religion. You have to recognise the flaws in your own system to improve and progress.

Then arises the question why am I still Muslim then/ why do I still practise Islam? If I recognise the way it is practised is sexist and homophobic, which are things I'm against?

The difference lies in my belief that "mainstream Islam" is much different from the root of Islam.

Many (read: a LOT, not all) modern Muslims have been influenced by ultra conservative movements that want to return Islam to the way they believe was practised during the time of the Prophet (pbuh), ie; some centuries back. This is propagated by the ideas of Salafism and Wahhabism that frankly, prevent progress, reform or any sort of growth in Muslim communities.

I personally have witnessed this in my own country, India, where women are increasingly wearing the hijab and even full body covering purdahs, not talking to the opposite gender, men not looking a woman other than their wives in the eye, etc compared to when my mother was a child, when almost all Muslim women dressed in normal comfortable clothes and there were no much gender segregations. (Gender segregation still existed to a certain degree due to conservative Indian culture ofc)

This radicalisation led to the development of ultra conservative Muslims who enforce sexist, homophobic and separatist policies in the name of God.

They claim to want to return to "true Islam" but they add so many unnecessary rules and regulations you have to follow in order to be a "true Muslim" that are almost so impossible to follow I can vouch I have unconciously broken like 50 of them in one day maybe. These "laws" are derived from:

1. The hadith

2. Arab culture

3. Poor translation of the Quran to fit these radical ideals.

Explaining each of these in a little more detail,

1. A lot of practising Muslims might come at me for this one, but I feel that considering the hadith to be a holy source of guidance and believing everything in the Hadith when there are so many contradictions and logical fallacies, is foolish.

For those who have no clue what the hadith is, Islam basically has the Qur'an, which is, as we believe, a holy book revealed by God to the Prophet (pbuh), which acts as divine guidance on how to live life as a good person. It has rules, suggestions, and guidance to take desicions on a lot of everyday matters we face. It was a godsend (hehe pun fully intended) to women, who weren't even allowed to own property back then. Muslims believe that the Quran is guaranteed againt corruption by God, as revealed in one of the verses. Therefore, to a believer, it is THE book to consult, and the verses will never change, no matter how many years pass. There's actually a really interesting way the Quran is coded, so people can know if it has been tampered with or not, if anyone is interested. But the bottom line is, for a Muslim, the verses of Quran cannot be challenged. There are various INTERPRETATIONS of said verses, but the core Arabic text is the same.

Now there is a secondary source of guidance in the form of Hadith, which is literature that claims to record things the Prophet (pbuh) has said in his lifetime. The problem I find, along with other hadith critics, is that it was compiled much later after the death of the Prophet. Muslims argue that these hadiths were passed down in a proper recorded chain of transmitters that can assure the message hasn't been altered or tampered with. The problem is, that the standard used then was just how reliable was a person's memory and how trustworthy they were, and they did not actually judge the actual content of the hadith. So even if a hadith hypothetically said "Kill all the disbelievers", (which, fyi, it does NOT) and it had a reliable chain of recorders, it would be accepted as "sahih" (trustworthy) hadith, even though it clearly goes against the guidelines of the Quran, where it says there shall be no compulsion in religion (which implies you cannot just murder anyone who refuses to believe/ believes another religion). If one actually examined the content of this imaginary hadith, it would be easy to see it's tampered with by people with or without malicious intent (for eg, it might've actually been "You can kill the disbelievers ONLY if they attack you and will not leave you and your family alone") or some may not even remotely be the words of the Prophet, as he only followed the Quran.

Also, the integrity of the Hadith isn't guaranteed by God anywhere in the Quran. To know more about this, I suggest you read this link , and this one.

So yeah, I take hadith with a (large) grain of salt. So I will not be including them in my discussion obviously.

Now a lot of these hadith have been fabricated, as established, or reflect something that was applicable specifically in that time and setting, seeing that the Prophet was an ordinary man who couldn't predict the future or know about all the different cultures of the world.

So even if the headscarf was a part of Arabian attire, that doesn't mean it has to be assimilated into our cultures now. Just because prostitutes used to pluck all their eyebrows out to signify that they are prostitutes (sex work is forbidden in Islam, because of the negative impact on women and society), doesn't mean that women are not allowed to pluck their eyebrows now.

Following these hadith blindly without considering for a moment that hey, these might be outdated, seeing it isn't meant for all time periods like the Quran, and half of these contradict themselves, maybe we shouldn't consider this as an authority on rules in Islam. Personally, I don't believe anything is forbidden that is mentioned as such solely in the Hadith, and not in the Quran.

But the staunch belief in all of these Hadith leads to micromanaging of women, and literally everyone else. Few ridiculous examples include:

women can't pluck their eyebrows

men can't wear silk or gold, and they need to grow beards

music and dance is forbidden (seriously???)

the Prophet married a literal child of nine years (no do not try to justify it as "it was acceptable back then". According to the Qur'an it wasn't. Girls had to be mature enough to reject or agree to marriages and literal children can't do that. There is plenty of research to prove that Aisha (ra), his wife, was at the very least 19 or 20. Again a case of unreliable and maybe purposefully manipulated Hadith. Scholars and people who uphold the theory that Aisha was 9, and hence, child marriage is legal are pedophiles through and through)

I feel that if anything, hadith should be considered with the authority of historical commentary, giving us more context to the times, and should never be blindly trusted just because a lot of scholars say it is a "sahih" (trusted) hadith.

Also a main feature of Islam is that you don't need an extra priest (no offence to religions who have priests) or a scholar to tell you things and intervene with God for you. You have a holy book, your own common sense and humanity, and you pray to establish a connection with God. Scholars are secondary OPINIONS who can provide insight from their knowledge and research to people who want it, but by no means any authority on things, just like hadith.

2. Arab culture and society, especially back the times that radicals want to emulate, was heavily patriarchal. Islam gave women rights and protection, but they were still limited by the cultural norms of that era.

What these people actually want is to return society to Arabic culture in that time period. (Exhibit A: the abaya/purdah for women and khandoorah for men. exhibit B: sex-segregated spaces)

Back then, women were expected to be caretakers and mothers, and men were expected to be the strong masculine protector.

Enforcing said cultural norms into modern day Islam is ridiculous. Saying that women rarely left the house back then, hence women shouldn't leave their houses now is the same as saying there weren't phones back then, so I shouldn't use one now. Would you ever give up your phones? So how about we do the same to women's autonomy and freedom? Adapt to modern times like regular humans?

If women were meant to stay at home, and meant to just rear children, and never meant to be seen in public, and never meant to be seen by the opposite sex, as extremists say "is God's will", then why is none of this found in the Quran? Do you seriously believe that God, describe multiple times as All-forgiving and generous and kind, would ever persecute women to such a fate? If you do believe that, then maybe you need to re-examine in the nature of God that you believe in. Also if you tell me the "it's for their safety" gimmick, I will flip out. It has been proved multiple times that a woman's dressing has nothing whatsoever to do with why men rape.

Sure, Islam advocates for modesty in dressing, for both sexes. Both are called to not stare rudely (many Muslim men seem to forget that part of the verse, strangely), both are advised to dress in modest, comfortable, clean and practical attire. Never once is anything remotely like "YOU'LL GO TO HELL IF YOU EXPOSE YOUR ELBOW, WOMAN". But the way modern Muslims enforce the dress code (some even going to the lengths of saying women shouldn't wear BRIGHT COLOURED CLOTHES, so as to not attract attention!!! I'm looking at you, Mufti Menk), you'd think that God says something much worse than that. Infact God pulls out Uno reverse, and encourages us to dress as beautifully as we want, especially when visiting the mosque.

3. A lot of English translations of the Quran come from Saudi Arabia. A country famous for its conservative practise of Islam. While the original Arabic text cannot be changed, a lot of these translations include information in parantheses that add "rules" based on the above mentioned factors, that a casual reader or a new Muslim who doesn't know Arabic will consider to be authentic rules of the Quran, extrapolated from the verse, and not extra additions that are often derived from hadith. A very good example of this is the headcover verse, which you can see in this link.

Even all the hostility surrounding homosexual people has been derived from cultural influences and one set of verses. From around 6000 verses, just a single set passingly mention homosexuality. Don't you think that if it truly were such a great sin, God would have explicitly forbidden it? Also why would he create such a natural variation in sexuality and then forbid it? Why isn't it forbidden for animals then? Is all-loving God that cruel to create this natural and healthy attraction in them and then explicitly forbid it when straight people get to marry and live life in bliss? (Please don't say that "God also created pedophilia, and that's natural, so by this logic shouldn't we allow that too?" because pedophilia IS NOT HEALTHY, AT ALL. IT'S IS A DISORDER. Unlike homosexuality) I'm also not picking and choosing things to fit my lifestyle, as some might say, as I am straight, and the only reason I support the LGBT community because I have basic humanity?? And they're humans who deserve rights and joy and freedom and acceptance just like the rest of us.

There have been reformed translations of Quran which examine the verse without prior bias against LGBT people, and they have presented an alternate translation, that the verse condemns sexual assault, which happened to be homosexual in the particular story. Check out this link too, which explains how closely examining the words used could change the meaning from one thing to another.

What I attempted to prove in this extremely long post is that the practise of a religion isn't necessarily the reflection of its true nature.

There are progressive open-minded people who believe in Islam because it gives them hope and solace. People who believe because core beliefs of Islam aligned with their own views and simple logic.

NOT to say there aren't religious bigots who will totally use religion to manipulate people into oppressing themselves or other people. There are, there are a LOT of people like that who call themselves "scholars". And there are a lot of people who follow these extremely harmful regressive version of Islam without critically thinking about what they are following.

I've seen a post discussing the meaning of the word Islam, which means submission to God. It said that it implies total submission, without questioning what we believe.

That is an argument used by both religious extremists to further their beliefs, and by the opposite side, who say the religion is oppressive.

I wish to present a view that Islam itself tells us to think critically, to use our brains to question everything and anything we believe. And then to arrive at our own conclusions. And if you're a decent, kind human, those beliefs maybe align with Islam (not saying that if you're not Muslim, you're horrible, that is not what I meant at all). And if the opinion between people differs, there's always logic and reasoning behind every rule that is presented in the Quran. Don't believe me? Here's the verse that tells people not to blindly follow their parents' religion. And here's a list of verses about critical thinking.

The reason we (atleast reformist Muslims) submit to God is because we questioned it, we came to the conclusion that Hey! This is right. I can submit to my Creator by, who is basically the consciousness that created everything and is the source of all goodness, love and strength, because the rules mentioned here make sense and they privde a moral framework for me to base important desicions on. They feel right. And there is logic behind everything written in this.

I don't mean to present Islam as an all-perfect amazing religion everyone should believe and that I'm right, everyone else, especially those liberal atheists who criticise my religion are wrong and WILL BURN IN HELL. I consider Islam a perfect moral framework, and that's my business only. Anyone can follow what they want and it's none of my business. In fact there is no compulsion in religion at all, and people who say Muslim or go to hell are wrong imo.

What I intended was to paint a picture of reformist Muslims who are still out there, who follow the religion because they questioned it. And not the religion as this stringent rule book we all have to follow down to a t, micromanaging every aspect of our lives and living in perpetual fear of hell, but rather this basic moral guide that teaches us tact, compassion and justice, to bring us closer to God spiritually. I wanted to show that the majority isn't always reflective of what I think is the true core of Islam.

I feel that many practises in the name of Islam are highly questionable and should be criticized, but I also want people to know that the people who seemingly represent the religion, are not representative of the entire mass of believers. That sometimes the practises you might criticize might have nothing to do with the actual religion, atleast according to some of us. It was also for fellow Muslims who might be in the same place I was a few years ago, questioning everything I had learnt was part of my religion.

This is also NOT to undermine struggles of people forced to follow Islam and its seeming requirements like hijab. This is not to claim that nope, every Muslim is fine and ok, and we're all peaceful progressive people. In fact I wish to do the exact opposite, to show that people who enforce oppressive policies in the name of Islam aren't actually backed by the religion and neither should they be backed by other Muslims. I'm also not trying to say no one should criticize Islam. Criticism helps us grow. Criticism is necessary to uncover oppression and eradicate it. So by all means, criticize.

I'm so glad I found the subreddit r/progressive_Islam when I did because it helped me a lot, and opened me to other like-minded progressive Muslims, who actively hope to counter the negative effects of Salafism and conservatism that is overtaking Islam.

So yeah, I think I covered almost everything I wanted to talk about and here's a final link that pretty much just states my position on things.

PS idk why this thingy is in different colours it just seemed cooler and less boring to read

#religion #islamicpost #radfem #gender critical #muslim #progressive #change #critical thinking #sexism #feminism #feminist #allies #humanity #extremism #womenempowerment #freewomen #headcovering #mine

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kozumekenza · 3 years ago

Text

house of memories :: two

:: kageyama tobio x f!reader :: playlist :: masterlist ::

:: taglist: open :: wc: 2.1k ::

the last you had heard of kageyama tobio, he was following his grandfather’s footsteps and leaving you behind to join the syndicate. a chance meeting throws him back into your life, along with all of the memories.

tw: alcohol, mafia elements, profanity

You’re shivering, the moonlight reflecting off of the tears on your face. You really shouldn’t look this beautiful while crying, he thinks, and immediately admonishes himself for the thought. However, he also finds it fitting. There will be a lot of tears where he’s going; a lot of break-downs, a lot of pain. But still, he doesn’t think it’ll compare to the breaking of his heart in his chest when he watches you turn away from him forever.

---

Kageyama Tobio is known for a lot of things; his cold exterior, his unforgiving nature, his skills with a weapon. He is also known for his unfriendliness, performing his job with a blank face and a calculating mind. He is known for having impenetrable walls and refusing to let people inside them. He is known for his detachment to everything around him; he doesn’t form connections with others, and his emotions are seemingly nonexistent.

Even still, he can’t help but feel devastation and despair when he watches you walk away from him yet again, four years later, slipping from his grasp for the second time.

---

After mumbling a quick apology to the bartender, who you now realize was Kageyama Miwa, you bolted to the dance floor and dragged Hana out of the club. She went willingly, asking next to no questions, her state of intoxication making her follow you with no complaints.

Now, as you half-carry her into your shared apartment, you can’t help but wonder what would have happened if you stayed. It was obvious that both of the Kageyama siblings recognized you, although Miwa’s reaction was far better. Hana falls asleep the moment her head hits the pillow, and you leave her with a bottle of water and painkillers for the morning, sighing as you do so. You can only hope that she doesn’t ask too many questions about your quick escape tomorrow. You aren’t ready to dive into your past with Kageyama.

When you finally crawl into bed, sleep evades you. Your night is spent tossing and turning, and when you finally do drift off, your dreams are filled with flashes of navy eyes and raven hair.

---

The weeks pass as the sweltering heat of summer finally comes to an end; suddenly, you and Hana are back to your normal lives as college students. She asks no questions about that night at the club, and you’ve pushed it to the back of your mind, practically forgetting about it.

The beginning of the semester starts, and with it, late night studying and weekends spent partying. Hana’s still going strong with the guy that has the membership, and you’ve finally met him, learning his name is Ushijima. He’s stoic and serious, but his love for Hana is obvious, and their relationship has progressed past late-night flings and one-night stands. You’re happy for her, even when she says that he’s not a college student, but a businessman who works under the CEO of a fairly well-known company. You know that’s true on the surface, but you don’t tell Hana that her newest lover is most likely one of Kageyama’s colleagues, whose job involves more guns and blood than it does numbers and desk work.

All things considered, he treats her well, taking her on extravagant and luxurious dates, picking her up in a Bugatti, and always bringing her flowers. He’s respectful whenever he sees you, and if you didn’t know any better, you would think he’s just a nice, rich man. You know that Kageyama probably told him about you, but you can’t be particularly bothered, especially when Hana’s eyes light up whenever she talks about him.

You start your fourth and final year of university without much fanfare; for you, it’s back to research work in the lab and long lectures on biology and medicine. You’re slightly envious of Hana’s path in nursing; she’s already working in the hospital and doing clinicals. Unfortunately for you, you’re stuck applying for medical schools while balancing your ever-growing list of lab write-ups and reports.

It’s a fairly normal day, a few weeks into the semester, when Kageyama becomes the focus of your mind once again.

You walk out of your final lab feeling exhausted; it’s already eight in the evening, and Hana’s on night shift, so you’ll be alone in your apartment for the night. Normally, you don’t mind, but tonight, all you want to do is crawl into bed without dinner and without completing any of the assignments that are due this week. Hana usually keeps you in check; reminding you of a lab report you have forgotten and keeping you company while you complain about your professors.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you spot Kageyama Miwa, leaning on a black Lexus, eyes on her phone as she waits outside your lab building.

Her eyes meet yours as she glances up, and she waves you over. Grabbing the straps of your backpack, you approach her. You aren’t sure what she’s here for, but you’re assuming it’s you. It doesn’t surprise you that she knows which university you attend and apparently, your class schedule. You’ve always known that Kageyama kept an eye on you.

“Hey, Miwa,” you greet her with a smile.

“Hey, y/n.” She pulls you in for a hug. “We didn’t get a chance to properly talk that night. I almost didn’t recognize you, it’s been forever.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “but I’m pretty sure you aren’t here to catch up.”

She looks slightly surprised and disappointed, and you know that you’re right. “Unfortunately not. Are you busy tonight?”

You shake your head. Homework can wait for tomorrow, and as long as wherever she’s taking you has food, you don’t really care. You’re more curious about why she’s here; what Kageyama could possibly need you for.

“Good.” She opens the passenger door of the Lexus. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

You get in as she goes around the other side and starts the car. “Why do you need me?”

She pulls away and you recognize that she’s heading towards Shadow. “Security issues. Personal files were leaked. Tobio’ll explain more, but he’s concerned for your safety.”

You snort at that. Kageyama Tobio, concerned. Hilarious.

You can see Miwa glance at you out of the corner of her eye, but she remains silent as she pulls down a side street adjacent to the club. A garage opens, and she pulls in. You note the multiple luxury sport cars inside as you follow her out of the garage.

She leads you down a hallway to an elevator, then up to the 30th floor. From what you can tell, the bottom few floors of the building are dedicated to the club, and you can assume that the top floors are for Kageyama’s personal use. You don’t think about the multiple basement buttons and what could possibly be down there.

A ding signals the end of the ride, and you step out into the foyer of a large penthouse. Miwa leads you past a kitchen and living area, up a sweeping set of stairs. You can’t help but admire the modern apartment; it’s truly beautiful, accented in neutral blacks, grays, and browns. For a second, you’re jealous of Kageyama for being able to live in a place like this, but then you remember what he does and the feeling disappears.

Miwa knocks on a door at the end of the hall, and it opens a second later. Kageyama is seated at a large mahogany desk, papers spread in front of him and the glow of a laptop reflecting on his face. The night lights of Tokyo can be seen from the floor-to-ceiling windows opposite the door, and you marvel at the view for a few seconds. You note that Kageyama looks exhausted; the file leak must be really bad. Much to your own disappointment, you also note that he still looks as handsome as ever in a dark blue suit.

He barely looks up when the two of you enter, and Miwa clears her throat. “Bi, she’s here.”

The small giggle that leaves your mouth as a result of Miwa’s continued use of his childhood nickname causes Kageyama to look up at you, carefully assessing you. You know that you look like shit right now, your hair is messy from wearing goggles, and you’re dressed in lab clothes that have stains from previous chemical spills.

“Come sit.” Kageyama gestures to the seat in front of him, and you dutifully obey.

“Do you want something to drink, y/n?” Miwa’s still by the door, doing her duties as a host to Kageyama’s guests, but you shake your head.

“I’m alright, thank you.”

She smiles and pauses with her hand on the door handle. “You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner. We haven’t eaten yet, and I know I probably interrupted you heading home to eat.”

You grin, nodding. “I’d appreciate that, thank you.”

She leaves with an incline of her chin, the door shutting softly behind her.

You look Kageyama Tobio in the eyes, trying to decipher his feelings about you being here. You used to be pretty good; he never had to say anything for you to know what he was feeling. Now, you can tell that the years have made him cold and unreadable.

He sighs and leans back, interlacing his fingers in front of him. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug. Two simple words not only for the hassle of dragging you here and interrupting your evening, but for the past four years, starting from the second you walked away from him and continuing through the obvious surveillance he’s done on you without your permission. “You do what you have to do.”

He looks relieved to hear you say that, enough that he grabs a file and rearranges its contents, pulling out a piece of paper to slide across the table to you.

“So, as Miwa told you, we had a breach in security. Personal files were hacked from our database, and that included yours. I’m sure you know why you have a file.” You nod. “Yours contained information such as your personal history with Miwa and me, as well as your whereabouts and what you’ve been doing for the past four years. Addresses, emails, phone numbers, and social media accounts were also leaked.” Kageyama sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Under normal circumstances, I would not be concerned. Everyone involved in my business knows the risks and how to defend themselves. You, on the other hand, didn’t ask for any of this. I’m concerned the group that stole the file will attempt something with you, as the file is clear evidence that you’re important to both Miwa and me.”

Awful news so far, but you saw it coming when Miwa mentioned a security issue. “Do you know who stole the files?” Kageyama nods. “Did they take anything else?”

“No, just personal files. Didn’t touch mine, they know everything about me already. They only took yours and Miwa’s, which is why I’m so concerned.”

You nod along to his words. The hackers wouldn’t take such inconsequential information unless they were looking for someone close to Kageyama to use as collateral. Plus, they would normally take business information, not anything personal. Things in Tokyo’s underworld must be bad.

“What are you going to do?”

Kageyama gestures to the paper. “I know you’re in school, so I can’t simply lock you up somewhere until it’s safe again.” His small smile and dry humor makes you brighten up a little. You missed that side of him, with the short quips and ever-present sarcasm. “I’m proposing a security detail. Just two of my men, to keep an eye on things. You won’t even know they’re there. Plus, as you know, Ushijima hangs around your roommate quite a bit, and he’s under orders to keep an eye out as well. This,” he taps the paper, “is simply for your own knowledge. I’ve listed all the information that was leaked, as well as what to look out for if you believe you might be in danger. There’s also information on the two I’ll have guarding you, so you aren’t alarmed in case they make their presence known.”

You take the paper and briefly skim it. “Thank you.”

Kageyama’s smile is brief but genuine. “Again, I’m sorry about all of this. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

You sigh. “It’s alright. Something like this was bound to happen one day anyway.”

It’s true; you’ve always known the risks, even though you haven’t been associated with Kageyama for four years, before his reign over Tokyo. You knew that even when you left, there was still a chance someone would trace back to you.

Kageyama stands up, his hand held out to you. “Want to go eat?”

taglist: @lilith412426

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general-mahamatra · 4 years ago

Note

This is very specific but do you have any headcanons about double dates between Jeanbilee and Silvercyclops? That or how do you headcanon Charles and Erik’s sexualities? I think of Erik as pan and Charles as gay.

Hehe... Oh I can do this.

For Charles and Erik’s sexualities, I definitely agree. Charles is gay and Erik is either bi or pan (that one I’m not too solid on).

With the double date, catch me putting this in a modern setting. It’s under the line since there’s a lot

Individuals

Scott

Scott was definitely against the idea of a double date

Why? Because it’s kind of awkward to go out on a double date where the other couple... one of them is your ex

Yeah he’s still good friends with Jean! He’s just not sure how to handle going out to an event with her in a sort of romantic setting. Especially because there’s that slight problem that you KNOW he’s kinda anxious. Like what if people who knew him when he was dating Jean finds him all close and romantic with Peter?

Of course that’s not gonna happen. Man’s just anxious

But Peter managed to convince him and assure him that it would be alright

“It’s just a movie, Scotty. No one’s gonna care,” Peter had said. “Literally it’s dark and the seats are set up in pairs, you don’t need to worry.”

Scott protested immediately with, “but what if--”

“I’ll pay for the popcorn and treats. And the drinks. I’ll pay for it all for you.”

Scott caved pretty quickly

Except he didn’t know that before the movie the group was going out to dinner because for some reason his mind completely omitted that information. By the time they got together, he remembered, but oh man. He was not prepared

Yeah he was dressed up because Peter was really insistent on him wearing something decent, but the fact they were going out to dinner skipped his mind entirely

He was antsy during the dinner at first. Really shifty-eyed and such and was overall just visibly nervous

But he cooled down fast

He had a lot of fun at the dinner, even if he was a bit awkward with Jean at first

But he loosened up. He found himself enjoying the event much more as time went on and he even managed to calm down enough to comfortably interact with Jean just like he used to

It was actually kinda refreshing

He had whole conversations with the ginger. While Jubilee and Peter were going off about their crazy ideas and plans and things that have happened to them over the past weeks, Scott and Jean were just talking about... life. Catching up on what they’ve missed since they split apart and inevitably pulled away from each other (Scott moreso than Jean)

It brought a sense of closure to Scott that he didn’t realize he needed

He found himself warming back up to interacting with Jean and was... happy with it

Peter

Oh Peter was excited for the double date

Ever since Jubilee ran up to him and proposed it to him he was completely on board. Hell, he even helped plan it out with Jean and Jubilee at times

It was actually Jean’s idea for Peter to convince Scott that things would be alright. She knew he was worried about it, even if it was all irrational. She also knew that he was their best bet on helping Scott out and getting him comfortable with the idea

So Peter did just that

He actually did a lot more than just blatantly tell Scott that he was going to pay for everything at the movies

Peter did a lot of minimal prodding. Stuff to get Scott to talk in a way that wasn’t too intrusive or anything (it’s honestly a special ability of Peter’s). It helped him understand what he was gonna have to do to help his boyfriend out

Because Scott had never been on a double date before

And Peter actually found that kinda funny

But when it came to the date itself, he was completely down for it. He wanted to do it since the moment Jubilee told him about it and he decided he was going to put about as much planning effort into it as her. After all, it’s not different from other... events they’ve planned in the past. They have a perfect system

The movie was his idea

He deemed it “necessary after eating at some dumb fancy place. Because who in their right mind is gonna go out to eat and then just head home at like, 7pm?”

(Peter was also the reason they didn’t end up going to a restaurant where you had to dress up SUPER fancy)

(Granted he wasn’t entirely successful. Jean shot him down and made him settle with having to dress up a little. She wasn’t going to drive them all to dinner if it was gonna be some fast food shit)

Honestly, him and Jubilee are on the exact same wavelength for the date

Jean

Jean was definitely the TRUE brains behind the double date

She was the one who mentioned the idea to Jubilee who then took the idea and ran with it, making it a true plan

She did it because, well, she’s always wanted to have a double date. It was only possible now that she was with Jubilee and her other friends were together

Besides, she like anyone else was aware of just how close Jubilee and Peter were. It was honestly a perfect plan

Scratch something off her bucket list while also getting the two away from their peers so everyone could actually catch a break from their high energy

Actual perfection right there

That and she could tell Scott was awkward around her, even if they’ve been broken up for almost an entire year by this point

There were a lot of times Jean tried to reconnect with him and get him to loosen up but nothing really worked until she came up with the double date

It would give her the opportunity to get her friend back while also allowing him to be in a sort of comfortable environment (she’s noticed the way he tends to cling to Peter whenever she comes around. She isn’t sure if she should be hurt by it or not but she knows he doesn’t mean ill will)

She has to admit though, Peter’s idea of a movie after was a great idea. It’s not something she would’ve put forward or even thought about

Then again... she wasn’t expecting the duo to take over the planning and make it a lot more “light” than an actual “true” date

Jean was looking to reserve them stuff out at a true fancy restaurant. Maybe get them to all dress up and put them in a romantic setting but she was quickly put in her place by Jubilee and Peter’s insistence that it’s a double date, they don’t need to be in a super romantic area

And honestly, they had a point

But she refused to let them make the event completely casual. If she was going to be involved in any planning, they were gonna go somewhere where they have to dress up at least a little

She won that argument easily

Jubilee

OH MAN

Okay yeah Jubilee was definitely the front runner with the planning and setting everything up

Even with the double date originally being Jean’s idea, Jubilee took it upon herself to plan it all out mostly because she wanted to treat her girlfriend

(You act as thought Jubilee doesn’t know her own partner’s bucket list. Jean literally has it written out in a notebook under her pillow, Jubilee has gone through it multiple times)

She wanted it to be perfect

Which is why she went to Peter

Jean was the one who planted the idea of going on the double date with Scott and Peter but let’s be real, Jubilee would’ve chosen the boys anyways. They were the best bet

Either way, she was ecstatic

She literally has so much experience with planning from the pranks and events she’s set up with Peter, she knew exactly what she was doing when she got with him to plan everything out

Jubilee was actually the one who chose where they were going to dinner

It was a nice Hawaiian themed place. A seafood restaurant with a tropical theme and generally considered a 4 or 5 star restaurant. It was a perfect place, especially with its looser “dress code” (it was basically a sort of business casual, for lack of better terms. If she tried to describe it she would just point to Scott wearing a nice button up with no tie and Jean wearing a cute blouse and flowy pants to match)

(The really funny part is her and Jean low-key made it out to Peter like super fancy restaurants require you to wear formal clothes just so he would cave and “go somewhere less strict”)

(He never found out)

But if she was going to be honest, her favorite part of the double date was the movie afterwards

It was the newest Men in Black and she was losing her mind throughout it

Did she tune out the boys while they were nerding out quietly to her right? Yes, yes she did. She was much more focused on the humor and action and experiencing it with her girlfriend

Overall

Not gonna lie, Scott definitely clung to Peter at first

Like that much is obvious, but it really wasn’t that... obvious? It was if you looked closely at how he hovered closer to the older boy or how his head always seemed to be turned slightly towards him during conversations as if looking to him for stuff to say

Peter noticed it for sure, just as Jean did

Both of them let it happen. Because even when Scott loosened up as the night went on, he still wanted to stick close to his comfort and they didn’t want to pull him away from that

Man just doesn’t handle break ups well

Honestly though, the dinner was wonderful for the entire group. There was so much laughter and chatting and catching up, especially since they aren’t consistently hanging out together anymore

Jubilee convinced Scott to try some really spicy squid dish that he couldn’t remember the name of for the life of him and Peter just... kept ordering more chocolate milk

(They quickly learned that he forgot refills aren’t free)

(That didn’t stop him)

Outfits

Scott: Nice blue button up and black slacks. Honestly really basic typical “oh that guy looks cishet” kinda look, especially with the very plain uniform look to him

Peter: Black button up with white specks across it that look like stars and some slacks as well except his belt was a bit more... decorative than Scott’s. (It’s colorful)

Jean: A cute, loose blouse with a nice white and red floral/watercolor sort of pattern that sits nicely on her frame with some flowy pants and flats. Her hair was done into a braid

Jubilee: A nice long sleeve sweater-like yellow top and a short white skirt with a pair of flats as well. She had her hair down and man was it nice and curly

Honestly everyone was dressed so nicely, it was almost a miracle

During the movie, the couples sat together. That’s a given. But the way they interacted was definitely different from each other

Jean and Jubilee were vibing in their seats. They had chocolate and slushies and popcorn and were overall having a great time just enjoying the movie. There wasn’t too much commentary other than them laughing together or making fun of something they saw on screen

(Jean one time did yell at someone for having their phone on in the movie...she’s that person)

Jubilee was constantly touchy with Jean whenever something crazy happened or there was something intense. Hell, she ended up wrapping around Jean and crying when her favorite character died

Jean took it and honestly... it made her soft

She didn’t know it was possible to fall even further in love

Peter and Scott, though, were different. They too had all the treats and candy and such like the other couple but they were much closer than the girls. They were BASICALLY cuddling (Scott will never admit it). Like come on, you know it’s true

Scott was curled up against his boyfriend. Like head resting against Peter as the older had his arm around him. You know the drill

Again, Scott will never admit to it

But the entire time they were geeking out. Both of them grew up with sci-fi, especially MiB. And BOTH were excited for the newest movie and were having a great time pointing out the aliens and all that stuff and just overall having fun

After the date, the drive was both full of energy and calm. It was 10 by the time they were leaving the theatre and honestly... it’s an experience none of them would give up for the world

...they planned another one for the future

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betweentheracks · 4 years ago

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My question is regarding styling for promotional work in the US - I see so many female stars who are in a different outfit, with full hair and makeup, for their interviews, sometimes with multiple changes per day. And then, there is their male costar slouching along in jeans and a rumpled shirt for a whole days worth of appearances. Is there a contractual requirement placed on female stars or is this just an industry norm? Thank you in advance for any insight you can offer!

Ah, look at you go Greyface! Taking a real stab right into the black heart of the style industry. How bold and perceptive of you! 🤭

The simple and direct answer is, this is a double standard.

The more complex path that still leads to same resulting answer is very worth traversing though and is filled with the peaks and plummets of the fashion industry's history. So, naturally, we'll walk this way together and take a look.

Buckle up, rack mates, this ride is a doozy.

The following is my insight and perception as a professional stylist and is subjective to my position and role.

It is a well and widely known fact of fashion and beauty that at the heart of all the glitz and glamorous there is a horrible ugliness beneath. It is treated as an unseen slight or even a "secret" we shouldn't talk much about. It is as old as fashion itself and has only been worsened over time and with the evolution of marketable style and beauty standards. Women are more promotional than men = women are more desirous than men = women are the pitch and men plunder fame by proxy.

Sex sells. Point of fact; type face bold print. This is the truth of fashion and entertainment and is a marketing strategy at this point.

Specifically, however, it isn't that "sex" sells but rather which sex sells. As in which gender is the apparent and clear choice to use as a promotional feature and living advertisement. The answer is, as it has been for ages now, women. Feminine features are fair and pleasing to behold. They can be dressed up and toned down; styled into an ideal of wanting and craving. Women can be influential to both male and female audiences by beckoning men's gazes to the treats she has for them (treats being whatever it is she is being used to stage and sell) while sitting loftily as an iconic standard of beauty for women to reach for and in turn take up anything to help achieve this ideal (meaning they'll buy whatever is being promoted in their wish to be like the woman on the package).

This strategy and double standard extends well beyond the immediate scope of fashion or upselling the brands of luxury labels. It is also very present in the entertainment industry as a means to promote films, television, and other media. You'll see an actress working the promo circuit or doing interviews dressed to the nines even in casual and laid back styles and then you'll blink and she's done up entirely different but no less coifed and glamorous. Meanwhile her male counterparts and costars are parading about in very understated styles or even sloppy attire, sometimes dressed out in high quality suits but still not quite up to snuff. The efforts of stylists clearly more aimed towards maintaining the woman first and the man second, if at all.

The second and less often discussed pigeon hole that fuels this sexist standard is money. Femme fashion, while typically more expensive, is still unquestionably more versatile than menswear. This is because fashion profits more off female consumption and interest than male and thus caters to that market with more variety and visibility. Wardrobe budgets for filming are skewed with more money funneled into the styling of an actress or female celebrity with a limit on how much is spent on the men. This is symbiotic with the pricing of menswear being less than womenswear but altogether more durable in its make.

It's frustrating and awful and I am ever so glad and thankful that it is slowly having attention called upon it by those within the industry. As modern style continues to evolve and dilute the boundaries between gender stereotypes and typecasting, this double standard becomes more and more frail. Many voices have started gathering in outrage over such rampant and asinine misogyny. Men have come forward to demand that they are as equally marketable and appealing, women have put their foot down and refused to be sexualized or sensationalized. There is the rising trend of androgyny and transgender recognition. Each step is in the right direction and in pursuit of an equal playing ground where women and men can each be glammed up and used as a standard for beauty or poised as a pinnacle of style.

I work extensively with male clients to this effect. I not only enjoy gender neutral styles but have clients that have made it clear they like the glamor of femme styles and want their image to be a balance of masculine and feminine. My oldest client wears heels and likes glittering eye makeup and has often made a case to be allowed to wear skirts or dresses, while my only female artist prefers more of an asymmetrical blending of menswear with feminine accents and likes her footwear to be the type that she, in her words, "can kick ass and stay looking class" while wearing.

There's an uptick in the emergence of queer brands and LGBTQ+ labels in the US with ideals/ethics steeped in the goal of gender neutrality and equality. With them comes the new hope for fashion's future where gender lines are not drawn and women are not the golden rule of promotional value for their supposed sexy/cute/inviting stereotype.

I hope to see men as a campaign centerpiece for lingerie, make up, and other needlessly gendered interests and women in ads for suits and leisure activities such as fishing or mudding and the other inherently male coded interests. I hope to see all gender typecasts and molds fall away entirely with people simply promoting things they enjoy. To see a full cast given the same amount of primping and stylized effort when making the rounds to talk up their projects.

Progress is slow but the world of fashion hinges upon welcoming change and being influenced by current climates and trends just as much as it influences outwardly. One of these days this double standard will be stripped out and the industry will again be revolutionized or it will become obsolete.

Beauty is beauty; people are people; style is style. Promotional/marketable viability cannot stay relevant against the might of such simple truths. The coming years will see the divide between gender being filled as designers and labels fight to remain prominent empires of fashion, and from there other interrelated industries will have no choice by to comply lest they find themselves stripped bare ass naked and lacking affiliations.

This post went and became a sort of tangent, whoops. I'll rest my rambling here and call it good. I intend to make a full post detailing the reshaping of fashion in the height of today's evolving inclusivity of gender roles and norms and the correlation of how fashion has long since been steps ahead in this movement. This ask happens to be a good sounding place for what some of that content will look like.

Fashion and style was never intended to give distinction between the masculine and feminine nor to place significance on gender. Segregation in fashion was initially between wealth and status; a determination of class in way way back when clothing first became an expression. Originally, fashion had no actual gender associations and men and women all worse similar styles of robes that would now be considered dresses. Class and wealth gave way, buckling to the thought of using one's showy status to promote goods to be traded and this was the birth of marketing women as a means of interest. Ever since it has been an internal struggle between ethics of material misuse of rights (sexism) versus capital relevancy (turning profits via brand visibility). A number of fashion houses are guilty of going with the flow and hoping the fortune and reputation made along the way could either cushion the blowback of systemic misogyny one day being aired out or could be used to steadily alter the trajectory of style's evolution.

Consider fashion as a tightrope act being performed between the politics of brand recognition and the conceptual idealism of expression. One small and out of sync step will result in a dire fall with no way of knowing if there is a safety net to pardon a brand or label from plunging into obscurity. This is why the fashion industry prefers taking time to plan careful steps forward and seldom rushes out. Fashion keeps pace while also staying baby steps ahead to change the course of current societal trends, even willing to sometimes relinquish any ground it has in effort to remain on the wire at all. It's a precarious give and take.

Three paragraphs later, truly, I yield to the length of this post and am done. I can’t guarantee this was even close to what you wanted to know and for that I am sorry. I get swept up by the passion I have for the inner workings of the business and lose myself (and my train of thought so if this doesn’t make a lick of sense, that would be why lol). Still, I do hope some of this sheds a little light on the matter.

#racks asks #style #fashion #style discourse #please this post is so out of pocket and i am still unsatisfied #oh to be a pro stylist in the fashion realm during societal shifts #it's like all the runway lights are set to strobe and with every luminous glimpse of genderless style there's a follow up of pitch black

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

Text

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 26

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 26 - Photograph

From the South Third Ring Road overpass, turn right and cross a small road covered by empress trees to reach Shenjiayuan.

The fragments of low-rise buildings and the chaotic street stalls on both sides of the street were standoffish in such a modern city. However, this was one of the country's famous antique marketplaces, and tens of thousands of people came here every day with lots of money to spend, risking being baked by the sun and getting heatstroke by lingering around each of the stalls, hoping to find one or two hidden treasures stashed away in a corner somewhere. It was an industry gaining some traction. There were many speculators, collectors, tourists, calligraphers, painters, and even gamblers among them. They firmly believe that a city thousands of years old hid unknown wealth somewhere. It was this mentality that gave them a similar look; intoxicated and wild-eyed with a long outstretched tongue, drooling over the crude high antique imitations on the stalls.

This was the place where Lin Yan made countless memories when he was a teenager. The middle school he went to was nearby. After school, he often came here alone with his schoolbag on his back. Back then, there weren't as many people. There was a very polluted river nearby that hadn't been turned into a landfill yet. The air was always filled with the smell of stinky salted fish. The vendors who set up stalls hadn't yet learned to casually laze about while sneaking glances at the faces of customers to judge how much money they could cheat out of them.

The old days were like rolls of yellowed newspapers. A young man in a light blue school uniform walked through it, exchanging his pocket money for a piece of colored glaze from the late Qing Dynasty. He squatted in front of a stall to sift through the options. The old man at the stall was smoking a cigarette while telling the story of Liulichang in the late Qing Dynasty. Lin Yan didn't know why he was only interested in street stalls when kids his age were saving up to buy posters of celebrities. Just like when they were gushing over the Belgian chocolates their relatives brought home, he was still obsessed for years with the pot full of honey hard candy the old lady in front of the school had.

The wood, rice paper, and the dusty rusticity of the old objects held a taste of time, and teenage Lin Yan couldn't help but be immersed in it. Like a lone fish in the stream.

The sun was shining on the ground at 3 o'clock that afternoon. Lin Yan carried a bulging bag in his left hand and a cup of roasted sencha milk tea in his right. He paced slowly in the crowd, the grass green V-neck T-shirt and cotton calf-length pants standing out. He didn't know why antique hunters liked to wear black, the dust on their clothes making them look like they had just crawled out of the ground.

"Here, it's weirdly hot. Do you want a sip?" Lin Yan shook the milk tea, the ice cube hitting the wall of the cup with a soft thud. Onlookers thought he was talking to the air when actually there was an invisible person next to him helping take off some of the weight of the bag. That mean, even though Lin Yan was carrying a lot of things, it didn't take much effort.

Xiao Yu lowered his head and took a sip where Lin Yan had touched. He bit on the straw a few times and turned his head.

Lin Yan wanted to laugh a little, and brought the cup back to the corner of his mouth.

A-Yan said that Xiao Yu might remember more following him around, so Lin Yan took him to the antique market after breakfast, hoping that something from his own time period might bring something back. Who would've guessed that, after going through all these stalls, lots of purchases were made but there was no progress with the ghost's memory. Lin Yan glanced at the bag in his hand. It was stuffed with clothes bought from a well-known Hanfu store in Shenjiayuan. They were well-made and expensive. Most people only bought them to complete a Hanfu set for their collection. For Lin Yan to buy these kinds of clothes on a daily errand, that was really a rare sight. Even the clerk couldn't help but do a double take.

Xiao Yu didn't understand the time they were currently living in, so he stood his ground and refused to adapt his style to the times. Lin Yan rolled his eyes and glared at him bitterly. He thought, you're the boss here making me throw away my money while I'm just your servant who follows behind you and pays.

Right after they left one store, before he could recover from the purchase, Xiao Yu suddenly stopped when he passed a woodworking shop. Lin Yan looked at the store’s gorgeous decorations and pieces of pearwood and red sandalwood furniture, whining that he really couldn't afford this stuff. Xiao Yu ignored him and dragged him inside. Thirty minutes later, Lin Yan swiped his card to check out under the watchful eye of the clerk and bought a beautiful Tongzhi wood guqin.

"Oh great ancestor, what more do you want?" Lin Yan tucked the order slip from the woodworking shop into his pocket and glared daggers at Xiao Yu.

Xiao Yu shook his head nonchalantly.

There were more people on the street. Some of them didn't know the treasures that they had found, and they couldn't hide their excitement, sneaking a peek at what they have just bought. Some of them had grim faces, looking like they had been ripped off. There were also groups of foreign tourists wearing Lei Feng hats gathered at the roadside to buy shadow puppets. Occasionally, they turned around and curiously look at the antique city, which was built in the traditional Chinese-style.

In the market area to the south, there were large ancient buildings imitating Ming and Qing style architecture. The bustling narrow street seemed like scene straight out of the Water Margin. The wooden window on the second floor were pushed up, supported by a short stick. Looking up, he could see customers sipping tea. The shopkeeper was a short man, busily carrying a large teapot back and forth.

The narrow street lead to a large emerald-green stall covered with plastic tarps to offer shade from the sun. Lin Yan and Xiao Yu walked under the shadow of the tarps when they heard a familiar voice yelling loudly.

"Look at how green the colour is and how good the water head* is! You won't be able to find another one at this price anywhere in Shenjiayuan!" The peddler selling jade pieces had a round belly, one foot on the stool, holding up a transparent fortune bracelet, spittle flying everywhere. The plainly dressed middle-aged woman in front of the stall looked hesitant. She took the bracelet and took another look at it.

*(T/N: Water head [水头] refers to how light shines through jade. Kind of like how the light would look if it were shining through water. There's a list of transparencies if you want to look at how jade is graded, but basically the best jade has a vivid colour with even transparency across the whole piece.)

"It's too expensive, lower the price a bit." The woman said sincerely.

"It's so green, so transparent, I can't go any lower. Miss, if you want a lower price, it'll affect my livelihood. Don't waste my time." The peddler grabbed the bracelet, his eyes bulging.

"I wanted to buy it for my daughter as a birthday gift. It's too expensive. It'd be a pity if she dropped it. Give me the lowest you can go."

"Here." The peddler rolled his eyes. He took out his calculator, punched in a few numbers, and showed it to the woman in front of him, "Is this all right? I can't go any lower!"

Lin Yan couldn't help but lean over and glance at the numbers on the screen. He let out a laugh.

The peddler squinted at him.

Lin Yan shook his head. He took the bracelet and said to the woman: "Don't buy this, he's fooling you."

"Hey, hey, what are you trying to say? I'm running an honest business here. If you don't believe me, go around and ask. . ."

Lin Yan smirked. He put the roasted sencha tea cup on the stall and held the bracelet at a different angle. The curved surface reflected the light from the plastic roof. He said to the woman buying the bracelet: "Look at the blurred edges of the reflection. If you look closely, you can see that there are very fine meshes on the surface." Lin Yan raised the bracelet to let the light through. "There is purple fluorescence inside, indicating that the reason this bracelet is so transparent because of acid washing and a glue filling."

"Also, notice how the green is only sitting on the surface and doesn't reach the middle. That means it was dyed after the fact. This thing is worth one or two hundred yuan. Don't buy it."

The peddler's nose and eyes scrunched up. At first glance, they looked like a dried walnut.

"Oh." The middle-aged woman hurriedly stuffed an envelope containing the money back into her bag, repeatedly thanking Lin Yan.

When she left, the peddler huffed. Pissed, he turned his head away, not looking at Lin Yan. Even his swollen belly seemed to be flatter than before.

"What else should I do when I notice that someone with money on the street?"

Lin Yan roughly flicked the peddler's forehead: "Everyone here has money. It's embarrassing to lie like this, there's no skill in it."

Several surrounding stalls burst out laughing. The peddler rolled his eyes back to normal. He grabbed Lin Yan’s milk tea and poured a few mouthfuls out of the plastic lid. He muttered while he crunched on the ice cubes: “I don't fool people in this business. It's not my fault their eyesight is poor. No refunds is the standard."

This much was true. Antique jade sales rely on good eyesight. Figuring out which store has more genuine products than fake depends on the customer. They can't return them either so the shop doesn't have to admit they were fakes. Lin Yan clicked his tongue: "These people don't know what to look for. You're just trying to make your father think you're good at this job."

The peddler rolled his eyes, knowing that he was in a bad position and couldn't say anything.

Lin Yan had been a frequent visitor to this antique market since he was a child. Since choosing his major in university, he preferred to come to the small stalls to practice his appraisal skills when he had nothing else to do. See what was selling for a high price but was bought for a low price. He was also kind and helped others pick out the best items, so many peddlers knew him. For example, Lin Yan first met this guy's father, a very honest old man. He even took out the receipt with the price he paid for it when he bargained with customers. Unfortunately, when Lin Yan graduated from high school, the old man fell ill and his son took over the business. and this was the leeching peddler in from of him.

Lin Yan wasn't polite with him. When he walked around the stall, he took out a copper box from under the table. Inside were piles of Ming and Qing paperweights. These objects were all family heirlooms that the original stall owner received from nearby residents’ homes when he was young. Lin Yan had just remembered this box of objects then dragged Xiao Yu over to look at them. Brass mirrors, jade bracelets, thumb rings, snuff boxes, tobacco pipes; Xiao Yu looked over them all and just shook his head. Lin Yan threw the last piece back into the box and patted the dust on his clothes, a little frustrated.

"That box has been there for ages and no one's ever touched it. What are you looking at it for?" The peddler kept squinting at him and was too curious not to ask about it.

"Looking for Ming Dynasty artifacts for my classes." Lin Yan actually didn't know what he was looking for. He moved on and put the box back.

"Ming Dynasty?" The peddler didn't care about the bracelet anymore. "Old man Liu has lots stashed away."

"No, no, no. . ." Lin Yan hurriedly refused, but he thought about it and sighed, "Forget it. I've been shopping all day and haven't gone there. I'll give it a try."

"Don't say the wrong thing. Good luck." The peddler made a face.

The shop run by old man Liu was quite famous in Shenjiayuan. Not just because he was the only antique peddler to sell only sell antique pictures, but also because he was notoriously grumpy. Every day, he'd leave the shop and hang up his old camera in the park to make money. Whenever he went to the shop to buy something, the owner was never there. Walking down the street, he ran into him wearing an old Mao suit, cursing and waving around. His thin mantis-like face was slanted and a pair of glasses rested on his nose at an angle. Sometimes the lens' were shattered like cobwebs, and sometimes the lens' weren't there at all.

His shop sells old photographs of the old city, hung densely from the floor to the ceiling. Because old photographs were difficult to reprint, they were also very expensive. The sub districts of Qianmen, Dashilan, old gardens in the setting sun in 1872, passers-by in long gowns with thin faces and numb eyes. The TV station came to interview him, but only half the program was filmed. From photographers to reporters, old man Liu chewed them all out without exception. The interview never went anywhere, and the shop still didn't have any business. The old man still walked around outside with his camera everyday.

The shop was in the northwest corner of Shenjiayuan and its location was considered unlucky. There was a symbol meant to ward off evil spirits designed by a famous Feng Shui master hung on the door. Xiao Yu couldn't enter and stood at the door waiting for Lin Yan.

Lin Yan looked at the ominous storefront. For the first time, he felt reluctant to part with Xiao Yu.

Unsurprisingly, Old Man Liu wasn't in the shop. A seven or eight-year-old girl in a red jacket was facing away from him. She was pointing at a photo on the wall and muttering something. When she heard someone enter the door, she turned back and grinned at Lin Yan.

Lin Yan was a little surprised. This little girl was his neighbor. Although he didn’t know where she lived, he often saw her running around in the yard downstairs in a dirty red dress. Sometimes when Lin Yan went out to buy dinner at night, he saw her playing with cats in the yard, no one coming to bring her home. He hadn't seen her often in the past month and he didn't expect to see her here.

Was it possible she was related to that strange old man? No wonder no one cared about her playing outside everyday, Lin Yan thought.

"Why are you here by yourself?" Lin Yan knelt down and asked her in a soft voice.

The little girl was lean, her eyes staring straight at Lin Yan, grinning silently. Lin Yan suddenly felt that the little girl’s smile probably made people feel uncomfortable. It didn’t seem right to call it a smile, but just a casual grin. The corners of her mouth were upturned but her eyes were dull. Wearing such an old jacket in summer, she seemed to be left behind by the times, like the rest of the photos in the room.

Lin Yan hesitated on whether he leave and wait outside for the strange old man.

"What the hell you XX, I XXXX. . ." Lin Yan was distracted, and suddenly there was a thud. Old man Liu hugging his broken camera fell through the front door. He fell on all fours in an extremely embarrassed posture, landing on the only part of the floor that had sunlight hitting it.

"A-Are you okay?" Lin Yan rushed over to help. Unexpectedly, the old man gave him a sour look. He rolled over and sat on the ground, patting the dirt on his knees, and continued his tirade of curses towards the door relentlessly. Lin Yan stood awkwardly off to the side, neither leaving nor staying.

The old man felt he had cursed enough. He grunted and got to his feet. When he turned his head and saw Lin Yan, his eyes widened like he had discovered a whole new world, and said with a quacking voice: "What are you doing here?"

"I came to buy something." Lin Yan didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Shouldn't that be the first thing the shop owner thinks of when he sees a customer in the store?

"Leave. What is there to buy? Young people are clueless." The old man held his stern gaze and walked around behind the counter, irritated: "Why are you still standing there? You have no business being here!"

Lin Yan didn't want to talk nonsense with the old man, so he pat his back and turned to leave.

"Hey! Wait!" The old man yelled. Lin Yan had just reached the door and was so frightened by the voice that he came to a halt.

"You look good, I'll take a picture of you." The old man suddenly walked out from behind the counter with his camera in hand. He grabbed Lin Yan by the collar and pulled him into the room. After couple of pushes, he stood beside the little girl. He squatted down involuntarily, and the shutter sounded with a few clicks. The old man's furrowed face appeared from behind the camera and he smacked his lips with satisfaction.

After the shutter, several photos appeared from the top of the camera. The old man took one in his hand and glanced at it. He pulled one out and shoved it at Lin Yan: "You take it."

Lin Yan was shown the strength of this old man. He turned his face angrily, trying to walk out, rubbing his shoulder: "I don't want to."

"Take it!" The old man yelled in Lin Yan's ear, making his ears ring.

Lin Yan took it and glanced speechlessly. He saw that in the black-and-white picture he stood like a wooden pole, staring expressionlessly at the wall. The background was dimmed, and the entire thing looked like a horror picture people would share online.

What's wrong with. . .

Lin Yan eyes widened and a nerve in his head popped. He couldn't help taking a step back, looking at himself in the photo. When he looked at the spot where he was standing when the picture was taken, it felt like a bucket of ice water was poured over his head.

The little girl who took the picture with him just now wasn't in the photo. He was the only person in the black and white background straight out of a horror movie.

Lin Yan hesitantly looked up. The girl in red was standing where he stood, wearing an out-of-date ragged jacket, grinning at him biting her fingernail.

"Hehe, hehe." The old man held up the camera to his crooked eyes and a piece of the lens fell to the ground. "Perfect, great picture."

Lin Yan crawled out of the house.

The sun was bitterly hot and the bustling street was swarming with people. Xiao Yu was standing casually by the doorway. Lin Yan couldn't say a word, swallowing hard. He rushed over and wrapped him up in a fierce hug.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #english translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #yaoi novel #yaoi #bl novel #danmei novel #danmei

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mommymooze · 4 years ago

Text

Grand ReOpening

Hubert x Reader 5,613 words

descriptions of violence, possession, Modern AU

You work at the newly remodeled and soon to be reopened Museum of History in Enbarr. A huge fire caused devastating damage to the old building, over half of the structure had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Donations pour in from private collectors in the form of money and items to replace those lost to the flames.

You finish arranging the items in the display finally locking the door on the huge glass case. Some items donated were questionable. Everything in this case is legitimate, you reassure yourself. You have already weeded out the fakes, the near perfect imitations. The director asks you how do you know? You explain to him the materials available for crafting such items, known specifics from inventories found in the locked away historical books, too delicate to be placed upon display. Sometimes you tell him you just have a feeling deep inside based on your experience and knowledge of the period. You can’t tell him the truth.

Whenever you touch one of these items, you close your eyes, the history of the item and its owners flash through your mind. It is easy to bypass the collectors, the ones that shove an item in drawers or hang it on a wall as a decoration for years at a time. The imprint left on the item when it was handled, touched, used is what you are able to see most clearly.

The small silver dagger in the upper left of the case. Its card reads: Dorothea Arnault owned this fine silver dagger. It is small enough to conceal in multiple places upon the body. Perhaps she may have concealed it in the curls of her hair for a ball or tucked it away in her corset or bodice.

They write the cards to romanticize the exhibit. People want a good story, not simply a display of stuffy items from long ago. Who would want to read a card stating she kept this particular dagger tucked into a pocket in her left boot for many years, which is exactly what you saw when you touched it.

Metal rimmed reading glasses belonging to the Imperial Spy Master, Hubert von Vestra. The card: Perhaps he wore them while brewing one of his poisons or when translating encoded messages during the war. Hah. He did not obtain these until fifty years old and mostly wore them when reading a book that struck his fancy prior to retiring for the evening.

Ferdinand von Aegir’s opera glasses. The Card: Fine mother-of-pearl covered opera glasses belonged to the Imperial Prime Minister, Ferdinand von Aegir. He may have used them when going to the Mittlefrank Opera house to watch Dorothea perform. Nope. Mother gave him these when he was but a child. Once he was older, after the war, he purchased a pair that much better suited his face, these were much too small for him as an adult.

Oh my, you’ve lost track of the time again. You scurry out of the building, making certain all doors lock behind you. Making it home just in time to change clothes, freshen up, you head back out for the Museum’s Grand Reopening Gala. Thankfully you are not on the front lines, that is the duty of the Curator, the Directors, those on the board and anyone responsible for schmoozing the rich guests, many who donated to the cause, keeping them happy. You put on your headset and have three laptops at your disposal, ready to answer any questions the staff has regarding particular items on display. You are literally fielding questions left and right. To the left are the searches for the director’s queries, to the right the Curator. In the center you follow on the security monitors where they are standing helping you to identify which particular item they need additional information about. Well past midnight you are finally allowed to leave. Security escorts you to your car and you head home for a well deserved sleep.

Two days later is the Grand Reopening. The tickets sold out three months in advance. The most devoted history fans always line up first to observe and breathe in the milieu. Listening to them mill about the displays, pour over the cases of preciously preserved objects is a joy for you.

“Look, this mirror belonged to the Emperor herself. I wonder what these items could say if they could speak. Did they reflect her face as she finished her makeup before one of the grand balls at the time, I wonder?” You knew the answers to some of their ponderings and could not hide your smirk.

A very tall dark haired male catches your eye. Dark suit jacket, black satin shirt, very nicely tailored. His jet black hair blocks the right side of his face from view. His fine leather gloves barely hover over the display case as he observes the items contained within. It suggests a hint of cosplay? Or perhaps he is attempting to channel the spirit of Lord Vestra? Your eyes sweep about the room regularly, spotting him in several different locations, each time it appears he is studying items that had belonged to the man he resembles. You wish you could see his face more clearly, however his back is turned or someone is in the way. You quietly move towards the end of the circuit the floor plan leads you through, close to the guard by the exit. There are three items of clothing belonging to Hubert this person would probably pause to examine, perhaps you can obtain a good look at his face then.

Finally, you glance through two panes of glass to see the face of the man. There is a strong resemblance to Hubert. Not exact, of course, but the cheek bones were close, the eyes are a similar shade of green. His skin tone is much darker, not nearly as pale. Your attention is taken away as the security guard a few feet from you is asked a question by an older woman.

Your focus is then called in front of you as a polite “Ahem” is noted. Standing directly before you and requesting your notice is none other than the tall dark gentleman that you have been secretively following for the last 30 minutes.

“My apologies. Not to be a bother, but I believe that you work here and would like to ask your opinion about something.” His long slender gloved fingers reach into his breast pocket, pulling out a golden box about the size of a cigarette case, barely a centimeter thick. His thumb activates a button on the case and the lid pops open revealing a dull yet clean looking folded yellowed cloth. The initials H.v.V. are sewn in black thread close to the bottom edge. The cloth is folded in a different manner than it normally lies in order to display the initials on top.

You raise your right hand up to the level of the box which is even with your chin. Touching the material with an index finger you feel the violence connected with the item, fainting straightaway.

You find yourself in the employee’s lounge with two security officers and the strange man. He is seated at a table nearby, you are located pleather covered chaise lounge, reclined. Bolting upright on the lounger, you gather your senses about you. The security officers called for EMT’s to check you out. Fortunately, you were unconscious for maybe a minute or less. You flush bright red and blame it on ‘female issues’. They insist that you remain and be checked out.

“I am terribly sorry. I assisted in bringing you back here and now that I know you are well cared for, I shall excuse myself.” The stranger stands to leave. You reach in your pocket, thrusting your business card toward him. He completes the exchange by handing you his. As he returns to the public areas of the museum the EMT’s arrive and begin their 1,000 questions.

After every possible vital statistic can be taken and recorded, they finally leave you to yourself and the security of the museum. They nod in agreement that it was most likely ‘female issues’ and you should increase your iron intake. Once you finally convince your boss that you are well enough to leave, you get in your car, grab some drive thru dinner and head directly home.

A warm cup of tea, comfortable clothing and your soft couch beneath you, you take a deep breath and begin to relax. You mull over what happened when you touched the handkerchief. That sort of reaction is expected when you touch weapons used in the war, used for self-defense, etcetera. You did not expect that from a handkerchief. The cloth was normally soaked in a strong smelling agent and held over the face of his target. Too early for ether, most likely mandrake root. Normally it would cause the target to quickly become unconscious, occasionally it would cause illness along with and possibly but not always death. One of Hubert’s weapons in the darkness, when silence was required.

You pull out the business card. Vincent H. Vestraegir. Hmmm. Possibly from the line of descendants. You enter his number and name into your phone, then text it.

You: I gave you my card at the museum. Do you still wish to discuss the

item?

Waiting for approximately 20 minutes you hear the notification tone.

V.H.V: Absolutely. Perhaps meet for coffee? Thursday or Saturday?

You: Thursday. Crown Café, 10am, after the morning rush has cleared.

V.H.V: Agreed. See you then.

Working on your day off, as usual. You log onto the Museum’s Employee website to check your email, the top notification is from your supervisor telling you that you will take a few days for yourself. The success of the reopening is greatly due to your hard work and you will take the rest of the week off. See you Saturday.

Well, well, you may get some sleep after all. After a fitful night of restlessness and strange dreams you awaken Thursday morning feeling overtired. It would be in poor taste to cancel the meeting, so you get up, showered and dressed. You decide that since you are doing this basically for free for this man, you have no obligation to him and refuse to dress up. Wearing your hair in a messy pony tail, GMU sweatshirt and jeans you head to the coffee shop a bit early. Hopefully you can get a full cup into you and wake up before he arrives.

You order a coffee double shot and finish it quickly. Bathroom, order new regular coffee, take a seat and it’s 9:50am. In the corner of your eye you see him walking past the café’s front window. This makes you smile, but you are not certain why.

He takes his seat across from you at 9:59am.

“Good morning” you greet him casually.

“Same to you.” He says, placing his phone face down on the table. He wears a long sleeve black turtleneck, fine dress pants, and black gloves.

“Please tell me what history you know of the handkerchief.” You request.

“Skipping pleasantries, straight to business, eh?” His lip curls at the edge of his mouth on the right side. “See if I pick you up off the floor the next time you faint.”

You roll your eyes.

He clears his throat. “There are several items that have been kept within the family. I do not understand the meaning behind them, why they are kept in separate or specific locations within the family residence or what significance they mean to particular members of the family. My family history appears to go through highs and lows, the most recent low is turning around, getting back toward recovery.” He pauses, enjoying his coffee for a moment. “My mother recently passed and I am now in possession of the family estate. I have not had much time to go through the property, my work is my priority. I have no intention of living there and have considered selling it. There are few things I plan on keeping for myself, the rest may go to the museum should you be able to find a use for them. I noticed at the exhibition there were some unusual items on display that I do not normally recall seeing in museum exhibitions.”

Quaffing your coffee, you take a breath. “I am sorry for your loss. The museum is changing its thought process. People are more interested in seeing the everyday life of those from history. The differences are always blown out of proportion, romanticized, too large to be true. The current exhibition is displaying the things of everyday life, to show these were not only persons held in high regard, but also humans with human needs, feelings, emotions. I agree with some of this, however there are personal items that I question if they would really want to have displayed.”

Mr. Vestraegir thinks on these last remarks, savoring the remainder of his caffeinated beverage. “Why are you concerned about the feelings of the dead? It is not as if they can come to you and complain.”

“Let us say this afternoon you are struck dead by lightning. The funeral is held in three days. Open casket. You are dressed in a white tuxedo, no gloves upon your hands. How would you feel about that?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Preposterous!” He blurts out. “I would insist on having gloves on and I have an ample amount of perfectly adequate black dress suits.”

“Why should be concerned with the feelings of the dead again? Why is it that you wear gloves? The weather is certainly warm enough they are not needed. You are extremely familiar with wearing them.”

“Hmm.” He nods in understanding, rubbing one gloved hand upon the other.

“You do have me intrigued. It is difficult to find pieces of history still standing today. It has been hundreds of years.” You wonder aloud.

“The original structure has been incorporated into the current structure. At one point walking through a corridor it feels as if you are stepping backward in time. Quite an unusual feeling.”

“When do you plan on returning there next?” You ask, thinking of your full calendar.

“In the next day or so. I want to go through some things personally prior to the movers bringing the more recently purchased furniture here.”

“I would like to accompany you to the estate. If you like, I can drive us there this afternoon. I need only to pack an overnight bag and a few items for research. My guess is you do not have internet there?”

“No.” He answers. You would have to use your phone. Not all of the house has electric, so you may wish to bring some flashlights or long extension cords as well.

Fantastic, less disturbance to the original structure you ponder. “I can pick you up in an hour if that suits you?”

He nods and it is a blur from there. Rushing home, packing, picking him up at the duplex at the address he provides. Stashing his items in the trunk you are headed to the highway.

Vincent as he prefers to be called, tells you what information he knows of the Vestra Estate. He had lived there for the first years of his youth. He and his father did not get along well and mother abided by fathers wishes. By the time he turns 12 he is sent to boarding school, graduating straight into college. Finishing his degree in law minor in accounting, he is an atty and CPA/Accountant.

There may be a few books at the property that have a bit of history in them, he’s never had much interest.

A brief stop at the store close to the house, you purchase groceries. Simple premade sandwiches, a few frozen dinners, drinks and snacks. As you wait in the car you suddenly realize you have driven far from the city with a perfect stranger, not even leaving a trail of where you are or who you are with. The perfect setting for a murder. How stupid! You quickly drop an email to your landlord, advising of your destination and how long you expect to be gone. You hesitate and do not leave Vincent’s name, that would only lead to more questions from her as she is determined to set you up with a nice bachelor.

Another 30 minutes and your car is pulling into the long driveway, the large house comes into view. He unlocks the door to show you in. He really doesn’t know much of the history of the place, it had never interested him. The two of you unload the car and he has you place your things in his mother’s old bedroom, located in a newer section of the house that has electric and running water. He goes back to the kitchen to work on groceries.

Beds are so personal. You take a breath and complete the touch. Trying to keep your mind focused on the edge of your vision. Fortunately, it is a newer bed and does not take long to complete. You will be fine sleeping here.

Vincent invites you to the more modern kitchen and the location of the food, coffee, and sundried items. He has a few things to attend to, leaving you free rein of the house to explore. He will get to specifics later tonight or in the morning.

He is absolutely correct about the corridor, they had built on to the house in multiple stages. You enter through the most recent and modern additions. The corridor seems to reach back further and further.

You slowly walk down the walls touching each section. Perceiving people passing through the corridors fill your vision, styles of clothing changing as you progress. You touch the doorframe of a small bedroom in an older portion of the house. The faces of the occupants quickly parade before you. You will the flow to slow, a young girl clings to a doll, nodding with tears in her eyes. Then the next owner, a young male perhaps ten years old with hair to his shoulders, citrine eyes. His brows are furrowed, and he is shouting, but you cannot hear what he says, anger written all over his face, his brows furrow deeply as if he argues with someone just behind you. The door appears as he is slamming it shut. Was that Hubert? Could this have been his room, you wonder. The room is decorated with old wallpaper with a feminine print. The coat of dust on the few furnishings reveals that the room has not been used or tended to for many, many years. The curtains on the window are of a thin lace, possibly being held together by the spider webs covering them, the bottom inches shredded threads.

The mantel of the fireplace and baseboards are the only pieces painted. The rest is left to the beauty of the original wood and bricks. Running your hands over the bricks at the edge of the fire box you see countless hands stacking wood, lighting the kindling, flames beginning to burn bright in the small firebox. Finally, you see older gloved hands, incredibly long fingers waving as fire bursts from their fingertips into the kindling. There are gaps until much younger but long spindly fingers cast magic into the wood creating flames.

Touching the firebricks making up the fireplace you reach out to the bottom bricks. On the right, the furthest one back is loose. A bit of maneuvering and you pull the block from its wedged in position. Three bottles lie on their sides. Without thinking you reach in to grab them. Hubert’s face comes into view, laughing with the bottles in hand. These are definitely his poison bottles, contents long dried. His handwriting on the side, coded of course, one is foxglove, the next mandrake and last is nightshade. A small paintbrush is also in the hollowed space. Removing the item provides visions of blades and darts being painted, and then the interior of a teacup.

Diabolical bastard. You admire him and hate him both at the same time. The Empire would not have won the war without him, however you did not need to firsthand witness his secrets. Sitting on the floor you catch your breath. The daylight is fading and you need to go back to your bag and set up lights and a flash light.

The room is different in the too bright halogen light. Rubber gloves in your pockets, in case something more lethal is found are at the ready. You begin touching the floorboards with your bare feet. You will notice if any has a special significance of course. Only after moving the bed and the rug that is beneath it do you find something. (the bed is approximately 300 years old, mostly for children, same with the rug.) A pocketknife blade at a corner edge and the board lifts quite easily. Several items are stashed between the supports for the floor. Gloves on and flashlight in hand you reach in and remove the items, placing them in a large clear plastic bag. You replace the floorboard and return the bed and rug to its normal position.

“Keeping yourself entertained?” Victor chuckles as he enters the room.

“Found a few things. Haven’t had a chance to look them over yet.” You say as you take the halogen lamp to the next room to inspect.

“I can make it easy for you as far as what few things I know.” He offers. “You’ve already been under the floorboard there. Next the master bedroom.” He turns that direction and you follow him with the light, dragging the extension cord behind you. He steps until he hears a hollow spot at a floorboard by the head of the bed, taking out his pocket knife, he lifts the board out of place, then steps back for you to see.

Bringing the flashlight you see a jacknife and several gold coins. You pick them up with your gloves on and place them into a separate plastic bag.

“That is all I know. I found the floorboard when I was much younger, so of course I had to stomp on every floorboard after that listening for hollow sounds.” He grins.

“Quite logical, actually.” You nod. “As a boy I am surprised that you left them here.”

He coughs. “There were more coins, I did leave some.” He looks away, the tips of his ears turning pink.

You both decide to stop searching for the evening. You’ve not had dinner yet and tomorrow is another day. Besides, you want to investigate the floorboard items further as well as show him the items found behind the fireplace.

Dinner is quickly tossed into a microwave, coffee brewed and laptops pulled out onto the kitchen table, connected to the internet via the cell phones. Both of you sit quietly, only forks scraping plates or fingers tapping on keyboards for an hour.

Closing your laptop, you place a soft towel on top and the first bag with the items from the fireplace. Wearing a glove on your right hand you take each item out of the bag, placing them on the towel.

“There were owned and handled by Hubert. I believe them to be bottles of his own poison. The brush is used to paint it upon his weapons, mostly daggers.” You relay to your tablemate.

Vincent’s eyes go wide. “You’ve just seen them. How can you swear to their authenticity?”

“The appearance matches what you would find from the time. The writing on the bottles closely resembles his handwriting from the samples we have at the museum, and the code is correct for three different poison types. The brush appears to be animal hair that would be used at the time, stuffed into the end of a tube and then crimped to hold the hair tight.”

Taking a small box of plastic bags, you pack each item individually. As you reach for the third bottle it tips over and rolls off of your laptop. You grab it with your left hand and read its history. Your eyes focus as Vincent’s fingers are snapping in your face.

“Come on, are you all right?” He questions.

“Um, yes.” You shake your head a bit, placing the item in a bag and back into the larger bag with the other items.

“Are you epileptic? You spaced out there. Please let me know if you have health issues.” Vincent pleads, the concern is heavy in his voice.

“It…it’s hard to explain.” You want to tell him something. You’re never this open with people, but he makes you feel like it is okay to let him know.

“Go on.” He says waiting patiently.

“I can see some things related to a history of an item just by touching it. I see who used it, how long ago it was when used. Yes. I must be crazy.” You nod quickly after your confession.

“I want to see it work.” He frowns, two wrinkles between his eyebrows get deeper. He stands and goes to a drawer, pulling out a large spoon and a knife. Both appear to be silver, one more tarnished and scraped that the other. He places them on the laptop.

You grab the spoon. You see his mother’s hand stirring long yellow beans in a pot before pouring a creamy sauce onto them, then it changes to different people, an older stove, another older stove. A black ceramic stove stirring gravy in a large heavy skillet.

“Your mother liked to use it for cooking yellow beans. It has been here for several hundred years, at least 300 based on the dress of the last man who had a beard was dressed.”

He looks down at the table and thinks a moment. “She loved wax beans. They look like green beans but taste a bit different. She would cook them in a sour and creamy sauce. She said the spoon was in the family for a long time. Now the knife.”

Taking the silver knife in your fingers it shows she used it nearly every day to put butter on rolls with jelly. There was a lot of time in the drawer, different users. Clothing styles changed. The age of the silver butterknife is closer to 450 or 500 years old.

You share your findings.

“I’m still not convinced.” Vincent reaches into his shirt, and pulls out a gold necklace with a ring hanging from it. A simple gold band with its necklace is placed with hesitation on the laptop. As he places it there your hand brushes against his glove.

“Your gloves are four months old, purchased at Baers and the saleslady had red hair. Just saying.” You clear your throat and take a sip of now too cold coffee.

Reaching for the ring your fingers touch it softly. Your mind is filled with its memories. He has it with him all the time, takes it off for nothing, then you see the crash, blood everywhere. You fall headfirst into the table. Vincent helps you sit back up in your seat as tears are streaming from your face.

“I…I am so sorry for your loss.” You choke and gasp as the tears fall from your eyes. “M-motorcycle crash. Five years ago. He would bring you little yellow flowers he picked from the side of the road.”

Vincent’s face lost all color. A tear fell to his cheek as he nodded. He took the necklace back and put it around his neck.

After a while he took the cups to the sink, “I think it is time to sleep.”

You nod and head to bed. For hours you lay there, unable to sleep as your mind plays back the last nine years of Vincent and his husband’s lives, together and apart. You should have refused to touch it, but you wanted him to believe. And now…now. You shake your head, turn over and stare at the wall again.

The alarm on your phone wakes you. You want to flee, leave this place. It is one thing when someone shares with you tragedies in the past, it is another to have them thrust upon you. You push yourself out of bed. You can make it through today. Once in the kitchen the coffee has just finished you reach to grab a cup. Seeing the two in the dish drainer, you carefully pick out the cup you used yesterday.

You find a note on the table that he has gone for a walk and to go through the boxes he has left in the living room. Grabbing a muffin from the counter you head to the boxes. Wearing glove you begin. A few interesting books, certainly a possibility to go into a collection, many of them simply too modern or of no interest to the museum in their current condition. A box of random items haphazardly placed into a wooden box. Some woodworking tools, chisels, a pocket watch that did not work but was several hundred years old. A coffee grinder, you would definitely need to check that out. Taking that and the watch you sit at the kitchen table. One by one you experience the history of the items. The pocket watch came from approximately 1300. The coins from the floor and jack knife were owned by Hubert’s father, Marquis Vestra. The coffee grinder, broken by a child, had belonged to Hubert at one time well after the war, during his retirement.

The bags from the child’s bedroom revealed two very different groups of items. Vincent himself had placed items in a pocket next to the ones he had originally discovered. Thinking they were a time capsule, he created one of his own including a letter about his 9 year old self, a green plastic army man named Lt. Schwartz, a yo yo and a few baseball cards. The other group of items were from a young girl. A cloth doll with a few wisps of hair still left on its head. A tiny gold ring. A slate and stylus used for writing letters and numbers, the wax long eaten away. A small carved wooden horse.

Deciding to see if there is anything in the last room as well as completing your inspection of the master bedroom, you take your half cup of coffee with you down the hallway. Coming to the end of the corridor, you hear a sound behind you. Turning slowly, you see the countenance of Hubert von Vestra walking toward you. Outfitted in his full Imperial dress uniform, his large stiff collar extends several inches up from his shoulders. A ruby red brooch holds down his cravat. You drown in the sound of leather creaking from his belts on his clothes and the swish of the heavy material of his jacket. His boots create a deep a thunking sound echoing down the hallway.

“Finally.” He says with great satisfaction. “It has been an eternity.” His right hand, void of gloves, reaches out to you, fingertips softly stroking your cheek. His pale skin is cool to the touch, it has always been that way, you think to yourself. He opens his arms welcoming you to be wrapped within them. Burying your nose in his chest you deeply inhale the familiar scent of coffee, parchment, ink and dark magic. How you have longed for this.

“What of Vincent?” you ask him, looking up into his beautiful yellow-green eyes sparkling down at you.

“We have come to an agreement.” Hubert chuckles.

The vibration of his chest, his deep laughter sends chills down your spine. After waiting nearly a thousand years to have him back in your arms the reward is so worth it.

Epilogue:

Each lifetime you searched for him, but your journeys were fruitless. This girl was the most cooperative, the most willing. You found her worse than Bernadetta in some aspects of her life, especially social. She shared this body, watching from behind, creating stories in her mind. You take control and immediately begin your plan. The museum holds his property, perhaps by touching these items you can call to him. Send a signal that you are here. But they would not let you touch the things that belonged to him. The display items you could reach, touch, were not his, only beautiful recreations. Even items held in storage at the museum were not his. You had developed a spell to obtain the history of an item by touch.

It was awful that you had to burn down part of the museum, but you needed access and you needed legitimate items. What people wouldn’t do to have their name on a placard as a donor. From the items donated several very real items were found. You found yourself touching them frequently, just to catch another glimpse of him. Your cohabitant could not take the violence, she caused you to faint so frequently. Perhaps now she may finalize her agreement with you, being released and then you and Hubert can finally have the lifetime together that was stolen from you during that horrible war.

You spoke often of death, war does that. Both agreed to move on and live the best life they could. Finding out Ferdinand was at his side made you happy, especially since it made him happy. Still, he had promised that no matter what, he would find you again and finish what was started. And so the rest of your lives begins…

#fe3h #fe16 #feth #fe3h x reader #fe16 hubert von vestra #fe3h fanfic #fire emblem three houses #hubert von vestra

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thickenmyblood · 4 years ago

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i just spent 3 days straight reading WTSIOA and i have 0 regrets. it was so poignant and well written. genuinely on of the best works i've ever read, in any fandom. thanks so much for sharing it with us. i'm a bit dense so i just want to clarify a couple of things about the fic: why was laurent wearing tight clothes? i saw you mention it in a couple of comments and replies but i didn't understand the significance. also, why did damen say auguste would never scar again? (ctd)

Hello! I’m very happy you enjoyed that fic, and I’m even happier you decided to reach out to let me know how you felt. Thank you for the compliments and the kind words!

Your questions were very interesting, so don’t feel dense for asking them. You apologized for the length of your asks, so now it’s time for me to apologize for the length of my reply. I get carried away sometimes.

So, here’s what I think.

Laurent has a complicated relationship with self-destruction. It was hard to write it explicitly, mainly because I couldn't use terms like 'trauma' or 'self-harm' or even 'depression'. As you can imagine, writing Canon Setting fics is very hard sometimes. There's so much of modern psychology that just couldn't be included for the sake of historical accuracy. Even the Patran physician sometimes felt like a stretch, and so I found myself avoiding scenes where I would have to show exactly what happened in those 'therapy sessions'. I'm very ignorant when it comes to phycology, and although I did some research when I was writing the fic, most of what I found was related to dreams. So that's what I stuck to.

As a child, Laurent has little control over his life. Abuse is, in essence, the loss of control over one's body and decisions. This manifests in Laurent wanting control in whatever shape or form he can get it, similarly to what happens in canon. When the abuse stops, Laurent doesn't magically gain all the control back because A) his uncle has managed to emotionally manipulate him to the point of making him believe that what they had was love, thus still controlling him from a distance and B) Auguste makes it his life's mission to ensure nothing like that ever happens to Laurent again by basically having him watched 24/7 and constantly reminding him that he's too young, that he's not to engage in certain acts, etc.

He's a very controlling child. He doesn't like Aimeric not only because Aimeric has been mean to him and tried to humiliate him multiple times, but because he can't quite control Aimeric the way he'd like to. Child-Aimeric is very fierce and doesn't care about propriety, something that is foreign to Laurent as a prince. Laurent also likes the fact that Jord and Lazar are, up to a certain point, obliged to obey him. He likes to refuse food. He likes control so much he lies to himself about his situation when he foolishly believes he's managed to manipulate Auguste into sending him away to Akielos. Auguste sends him to Akielos because he's been advised to, presumably by the Patran physician and Damianos. It has little to do with Laurent.

As an adult, Laurent still craves control. Here's where the tight clothes come into play. Self-inflicted pain has a lot to do with control issues and over discipline. As readers, we've missed a large portion of Laurent's life, four years where he goes through puberty, and so we can only guess that his need for control has escalated to a more physical level. Puberty revolves around the changes in one's body, changes that Laurent despises because he knows/has been told his uncle doesn't like them either. And Laurent wants to be liked by his uncle.

He wears tight clothes and tight shoes because they hurt him, because he's uncomfortable in them. I think he's been uncomfortable his whole life, for one reason or another, and through these small practices, he's able to control that discomfort. He can regulate it perfectly.

His self-harming tendencies go beyond the clothes he wears. He does things without caring much about how they will directly affect him. He has a lot of negative feelings towards himself, some he voices out loud, some he does not. For example, he's willing to give himself to Torveld in exchange for soldiers despite having no sexual attraction towards him (it could be argued that he's internalized that to serve his kingdom through marriage is his duty, but he says very clearly to Damianos that he does not want to be married. To let Torverld fuck him would be a self-rape kind of situation). In the epilogue, he calls his past self a whore. As I said, negative self-talk.

He dresses very stiffly in the books as well, hiding a lot of skin. I always thought the laces, despite being just part of his culture, were very functional to his self-imposed "modesty". They're great tools to show restraint.

Moving on to the next question, Damen says Auguste would never scar again because he believes Auguste will be executed that day. Between the scene where Auguste is wounded and his supposed execution, there are only a few hours. It's not enough time for a scar to appear.

Now we've reached the juicy bit of this ask. So, Laurent and Auguste.

I agree with your interpretation. Auguste's guilt is immense and unimaginable, and he never deals with it 'correctly'. He blames himself for the abuse, for being naive and too trusting. That guilt makes him feel ashamed.

Laurent can sense some of that shame in Auguste, but he interprets it to be shame towards him. Laurent thinks Auguste is repulsed by him, by what Laurent thinks he wanted, and that Auguste is essentially ashamed of him. That is not the case.

In reality, as I said above, Auguste is ashamed of himself. He was left in the role of Laurent's main caretaker (something that is only heightened by the fact that he is the King—the caretaker of the whole kingdom, in a way) and he failed his brother. He failed Laurent so terribly their lives are forever changed and shaped by that failure.

Auguste's obsession with Laurent being a child has nothing to do with fetish. It's about how Auguste knew Laurent as a boy before the abuse took place, and how he remembers Laurent being back then. He calls him sweet, in contrast to adult-Laurent who is cunning, and mean, and very much like child-Aimeric. Auguste treats Laurent like a child because he wants that version of Laurent back. In fact, Auguste is convinced Laurent's 'true' personality is sweet, but that the abuse took that away from him. If their uncle had not existed, Laurent would have grown up to be very, very different, and that is something Auguste is continuingly mourning.

I think they're both very codependent and bad at communicating. They don't have the tools to address what happened to Laurent, and so the shame and the guilt fester in both of them, making their relationship very twisted at times. You mentioned Auguste's jealousy, but I wouldn't necessarily call him jealous. I'd say he's extremely overprotective, to the point where he ruins things for Laurent. He kept Laurent inside the palace for four years, not even letting him attend Damianos' coronation. (However, Laurent proves time and time again that he's not to be trusted too easily. He did try to run away and get back to their uncle at fourteen/fifteen). Auguste is overprotective because of the guilt he feels. He's overcompensating, basically.

He kills Benoit because of the disrespect he shows Laurent, but also because he can't stand Laurent's objectification/sexualization. Children are not sexual beings, and to him, Laurent is a child, no matter how old he is.

He's mad at Torveld because he was overstepping. Courtship is important, and to skip the step of asking Auguste first whether or not he can pursue Laurent's affections is a big deal. Auguste views that behavior as predatory because it happens behind his back. This is why he's so angry at Damianos towards the end. Auguste has trusted him to keep Laurent safe, something he's only ever done with one other person (their uncle, duh, we all can see why he's projecting so hard and why he's so angry at Damianos in that tent. It feels like he's failed all over again, thus he feels renewed shame and guilt).

Lastly, Auguste's reluctance to take a pet has to do with control. Laurent is not the only controlling bastard in Vere, apparently.

Because of his uncle, Auguste has not had a moment of true peace in years. Half his country hates him and accuses him of the worst acts he can think of, and the other half follows him out of fear rather than true and free commitment. To have every action scrutinized… to be always in the wrong no matter what and have everyone dissect your choices…. He's just not willing to bend in some areas. I really think he'd rather snap.

Pets are one of those areas. Auguste tells Damianos he's had pets over the years, but he doesn't go into too much detail. When the lords keep suggesting he beds one (but not ANY of them, it has to be a man who looks nothing like Laurent) Auguste views this as other people trying to control him. He can't do any of the things he wants (hug his brother in public without being accused of being incestuous, rule his whole country, execute his uncle, etc) and so he thinks 'why must I give them this too?'

His reluctance to take a wife comes from the fact that the last woman he liked enough to court was one of his uncle's spies. He had her killed in a horrible way and her betrayal has stayed with him. It makes sense that he's a bit cautious of dating again.

Laurent is jealous of his brother's pets, but not because he wishes he was one of them. Laurent is jealous of them because they hold his brother's attention. He's jealous of anyone who takes or threatens to take Auguste away from him. It's because of this reason that he's so irrationally angry at Aimeric in the second half of the story. He hates the idea of Aimeric, who's always been his 'rival', getting to be in a position of controlling Auguste or holding his affection.

Despite how much Laurent criticizes Auguste, he can't conceive a life without him. He doesn't want Auguste to die, and he also doesn't want to go away forever and never see his brother again. This is mentioned a couple of times, both when he's a kid and when he's an adult. "I don't like sharing" is one of the quotes that come to mind. Again, codependency.

Lastly, Laurent's dislike for pets has to do with his self-hatred and, controversially, with his slut-shaming. He's been on his knees for his uncle, not just sexually. Again and again, he keeps mentioning kneeling/sitting by his uncle's feet on the floor, being fed by him, etc. I think… Although there's a big part of Laurent that still fervently believes his uncle loves him, there's also a small, tiny part that knows or suspects his uncle's interest in him was purely sexual. Which means he was just a boy being used as a pet. Which in turn makes him dislike pets for reasons he can't quite explain. There's always disdain and disgust when he speaks of them, but it's pretty obvious it's not because he cares about the morality of sex work. That knowledge that his uncle used him is subconscious, but it manifests itself in his dislike for pets.

How can pets enjoy being used sexually? The only way Laurent can justify what happened to him is through the lens of love. His uncle loved him, and that's why they had sex. Otherwise, to 'enjoy' being used without the romantic component lowers him to a pet status. It's degrading.

The ending is very open. Auguste and Laurent have both done pretty horrible things to each other, but they've done so out of love most of the time. Ultimately, the fic is about abuse aftermath and how different people deal with it. As mistaken as Auguste was, I think it's fair to say he loved Laurent very much. And Laurent loved him too. They both lived their lives with only each other in consideration, but Damianos' presence in their lives shifted that dynamic slightly. It wasn't just the two of them against the world (and each other lol) anymore.

I apologize for this deliriously long reply to your questions. It's been a while since I've had the chance to talk about this fic, and I would hate to think you were left wondering things. If anything I've said was unclear, feel free to message me again.

Also, please keep in mind these are my personal interpretations and headcanons. They don't have to be yours. These were my thoughts as I wrote the story, but they aren't more important than any reader's opinions.

Thank you for giving me the chance to talk more about this fic, and for being awesome and reaching out!

#anon #this was super fun

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carewyncromwell · 4 years ago

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Next Cinderella AU part ahoy!

Conical hats were actually considered very fashionable during the Middle Ages and the early Renaissance. What’s fascinating, however, is how they evolved into two very distinct and oddly opposing styles of hat: the stereotypical “Pilgrim” hat and the pointed hat that witches are generally depicted wearing! Around the turn of the 17th century, the most stylish variation of black conical hat was called the capotain, which is a cone, but with a rounded top -- the hat McGonagall wears in that top sketch is one of these types of hats (her dress is based on this design, which also features a shorter version of the capotain). The hats were originally fashionable among both men and women, but over time, one group of women that was most associated with wearing them were Quakers, a branch of Christianity that broke away from the Church of England and advocated quite liberated views for the era, such as the abolition of slavery, women’s rights, and a refusal to involve themselves in war. They also passionately believed that one didn’t have to attend church in order to be close to God and that one could practice one’s faith out in the world by living and dressing modestly and being active in charity work. (To learn more about the history of how the conical hat evolved into our modern image of “the witch hat,” check out this awesome fashion history video on the subject.) As one can expect, Quakers and Quaker women in particular were not well-taken-to by a lot of European society, especially by the religious movement on the opposite site of the political scale in Britain, the uber-conservative, Bible-purist Puritans. Many of these same Puritan-types got very involved in hunting witches both in Europe and in the Americas (the Salem Witch Trials are a perfect example). But yes...if one looks up pictures of historical clothing for Puritan men and/or “the Pilgrims” (A.K.A. the group of Americans that colonized Plymouth, who were Puritans), they very often wore a variation of the capotain! Although it’s been theorized by historians that the capotains worn by Quaker women ended up being associated with sin and therefore witchcraft, similar hats were also worn by the men who persecuted them. The hats were worn by both sides -- victim and accuser -- and yet most of us today look at the capotain and immediately think “witch” exclusively. Talk about irony.

Greensleeves is often ascribed as being commissioned by King Henry VIII for his second wife, Anne Boleyn (even Six the Musical references this)...but it actually was written in the later half of the 16th century, when Anne’s daughter Elizabeth I was Queen. So yeah, that’s sadly just an old wives tale. But it is a lovely song! The melody for Greensleeves has been remarkably long-lasting, even being rewritten as multiple Christmas songs over the centuries, including the still popular What Child is This?, which was written in 1865.

Previous part is here -- whole tag is here -- Katriona “KC” Cassiopeia belongs to @kc-needs-coffee -- and I hope you all enjoy!

x~x~x~x

Carewyn very quickly threw on her mother’s green-sleeved yellow dress and as many warm wool petticoats as she could before fetching her white horse from the palace stable. She rode up through the gate in exactly twenty-five minutes, to find Orion on his black mare waiting for her. Carewyn was ready to ask Orion if everything was all right, but almost as soon as they’d left the perimeter of the gate, Orion urged his horse into a fast gallop.

“Come, my lady,” he cried over his shoulder, “let us chase that horizon!”

Carewyn had to send her horse charging forward in its own gallop to catch up with him. They rode right through the market and then out of the capitol altogether -- they avoided the road that led toward the Cromwell estate, dashing eastward. They weaved in and out of the rolling snow-capped hills, riding beside and around each other. The freedom of riding alone was enough to bring some life back into Orion’s cheeks, and Carewyn despite herself soon found herself smiling.

When they came to a stop at the top of a hill close to the northern border, Orion looked out over the edge with a handsome, endless gleam in his eye, like that of a sailor looking out to sea. Carewyn once again prepared to ask Orion if he was all right...but once again, Orion dodged the question.

“Do you see that eagle, overhead?” asked Orion.

Carewyn looked up. She did -- it was a truly handsome golden eagle, gliding in a circle through the air over their heads.

“I’ve seen eagles just like that nearly every day, up and down the border,” said Orion. “Shall we see if we can ride fast enough to overtake it in flight? Could we take flight as birds do, without ever spreading wings?”

“Orion...”

Carewyn brought a hand gently down on his arm.

“I know there’s something wrong,” she whispered.

Orion looked at her, his expression losing most of its levity and becoming much blanker and more inscrutable again.

“I understand if you can’t tell me,” she insisted softly. Her blue eyes rested on her own hand on his arm rather than his face -- with the intense concern she felt, she didn’t dare expose them further by looking straight into his eyes. “And I truly don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Your secrets are your own, and I know you have a reason for them.”

Just as I have mine.

“I only...I can tell you’re running from something...maybe even the thing you’ve being running from, every time you’ve come to see me, all these weeks...and I don’t know what to do, to protect you from what you’re so afraid of. Please...tell me what I can do.”

Orion’s black eyes trailed over Carewyn’s face, rippling with many tiny flickers of emotion that were hard to properly identify -- pain? Affection? Anxiety? Evasiveness? Shame? Longing? Who knew?

At last the Prince of Florence brought a hand out to gingerly rest on top of Carewyn’s on his arm.

“Chase that eagle with me,” he said softly.

Carewyn looked up at Orion and then at the eagle overhead as it soared off toward the nearby woods. Then she gave him a small, sad smile and nodded.

“...All right.”

Dislodging herself from Orion, Carewyn steadied her grip on her horse’s reins and flicked them to make it gallop toward the woods.

“Well, come on, then!” she called over her shoulder with the strongest smile she could. “T’would be a shame if I out-rode you in a challenge you set yourself!”

Orion’s face broke out into a brighter, fond smile and he pursued her.

The two rode their horses down the hill and into the trees. Racing side by side, overtaking each other in their strides and then catching up again -- all while Orion smiled so fully and handsomely, and looked at her with such blazing midnight-black eyes -- was a joy that Carewyn had trouble putting into proper words. His expression was full of such silent, and yet unbridled joy -- free, in every sense of the word.

“You should be allowed to feel like that more often,” Orion’s words returned to her. “Free.”

You should be allowed to feel like that too, Orion, thought Carewyn. You deserve to feel this free all the time.

The two rode with speed until they’d finally lost sight of the beautiful golden eagle. Slowing their horses into a calmer trot, they then journeyed through the trees, enjoying the peaceful serenity of the chirping birds and the pools of sunlight scattered across the muddy, snow-dusted ground.

“I’ve never been out this far before,” Carewyn confessed, her almond-shaped blue eyes trailing over the interlaced branches overhead.

Orion looked at her out the side of his eye. “...This close to the border, you mean?”

“Yes.”

Carewyn caught a strange scent in the distance -- something vaguely like the fires she’d tend to back at the castle and the Cromwell estate.

“...Something’s burning...”

Orion nodded solemnly. “Bonfires. The Royaumanian and Florentine camps aren’t far from here.”

Carewyn looked at Orion, slightly startled. His gaze had wandered northward, but it was clear his mind was far from the trees his eyes were idly resting on.

“We’re near the war front?” asked Carewyn softly.

“Yes...” Orion glanced her out the side of his eye. “...Are you frightened?”

“No,” said Carewyn.

She looked through the trees in the direction Orion had been facing.

Jacob could be over there right now, she thought to herself. The idea of seeing her brother for the first time in nine years -- of hugging him again and seeing his relieved smile -- it made her feel like her heart was being squeezed.

Orion’s black eyes scanned her longing, but fearless face, before shifting back in the direction of the trees that obscured the path toward the war front.

“The scales are going to shift again, soon,” he whispered. He could feel Carewyn’s eyes on him again. “The two sides have constantly fought for dominance...lashing out ruthlessly and then retaliating, back and forth, until they’re forced to come to a stalemate, just to catch their breath. Then one lashes out again, and the precarious balance is thrown to the winds once more...”

Carewyn’s blue eyes rippled with concern. “Orion...is something bad about to happen, out there?”

Orion closed his eyes. His father claimed he needed him, in order to lead the Florentine army in the two-pronged attack on Royaume...but it wasn’t unlikely that the King might make do and find someone else to fill that role...

“Hopefully not,” he said softly.

Carewyn reached out a hand and took hold of Orion’s wrist. Orion looked down at her hand and then up at her face -- she had trouble looking at him, but he could tell her eyes were rippling with concern. His heart felt like it was suddenly being harshly compressed, just to fit inside of his chest.

You wish to protect me from what I fear...but what I fear, I should wish to protect you from.

The King’s words returned to his mind.

“When you make mistakes, the people you cherish, that you want most desperately to protect, pay the price!”

But how could he hope to protect Carewyn from the War and the cost it would demand? How could he hope to stop it, when his own father unknowingly would be sabotaging his efforts for peace? How could he live with himself, if he had to chain himself to the War the way the King had -- to fight against the Royaumanians he’d met and broken bread with as equals?

Orion took several deep breaths before speaking again.

“...My father wishes me to join him, at the front,” he admitted lowly.

Carewyn looked up, startled. “...Your father’s in the army?”

“Yes,” said Orion. “He’s...a high-ranking officer. He expects that I will follow his example and lead our ranks into battle.”

Carewyn considered Orion for a moment. “...You don’t want to.”

Orion’s eyes darkened significantly. “...I don’t want to.”

When Carewyn didn’t respond, he pressed on.

“My father believes that the War can only be ended through force -- that justice can be only brought about by utterly destroying our enemy. But...I cannot believe that. I grew up on the border between Florence and Royaume. The town I’m from is so close that one could hop easily from one to the other. It caused some tensions, yes...but it also made it so that at first meeting, or even third or fourth, you never knew what side of the divide a person was on. And so I found myself constantly thinking...what is it that truly separates us? Is it morality? Is it values? Humanity? And yet I don’t think either side can boast having any of those things exclusively. It instead all comes back to a mistake made fifty years ago -- a land dispute that ended more violently than it should have. So many people have died, all because of that...and because neither King has decided to be the better man and choose forgiveness over vengeance.”

Orion bowed his head, his eyes closing solemnly.

“...My father asked me to help him lead the army, in an upcoming attack on the enemy forces -- one that he believes could end the War once and for all. But...”

He exhaled quietly through his nose.

“...I couldn’t accept that burden...so I left.”

Carewyn didn’t respond. Orion scanned her face, trying to read her reaction, but it was proving difficult when she wouldn’t look at him.

Does she...disapprove? he couldn’t help but think. She did think he was Royaumanian -- she didn’t understand that he wanted to protect her brother, not prevent him from returning home...but how could he explain that to her, without...?

“I know that the War could end, if my father’s strategy succeeds,” Orion explained, trying to keep his voice level despite the anxiety he felt, “but this is only one strategy of hundreds, all of which have failed. And even if our side was victorious...however many lives I could potentially save by fighting, I would be snuffing out far more. I realize that this is my responsibility alone, and sometimes one must be willing to do what others will not, to reach their goal...but flowers bloom under sunlight and water, not blood. If we could avoid burning a forest to the ground, wouldn’t it then be easier to bring it back to life?”

“Yes...but if someone wants to set a forest ablaze, you have to act if you want to stop them.”

Carewyn’s response was very soft and solemn, but there was no anger or disapproval -- instead, to Orion’s immense relief, it sounded almost encouraging.

“If you believe that Royaume could make peace with Florence, then you need to speak out for it,” she said firmly. “If you see it and believe in it, that’s great...but you need to make others see and believe in it too, if it’s going to really come about. Talk to your father, make him see things as you do -- and if he isn’t able to, then...well, I’ll talk to Andre, and you and he can discuss it together.”

Her lips spread into a gentle smile and she gave his wrist a light squeeze.

“My own family may have profited because of the War, but the people of Royaume, the common man, would celebrate, if peace could come about without further loss. If Florence would also, then that’s a step in the right direction. There’s more than one way to fight for something...all it requires is enough courage to place one’s goal over whatever risks stand in their way.”

Orion stared at Carewyn for a long moment. As he did, the black of his eyes seemed to melt, gaining a warmer, softer light that resembled candlelight rippling in endless, dark water.

“...Carewyn...”

Before he could say anything more, however, there was a loud explosion in the distance. Carewyn’s horse reared back in terror, which in turn spooked Orion’s, and both Carewyn and Orion had to quickly calm their steeds.

“Whoa, whoa,” Carewyn whispered in her horse’s ear, “easy, boy...it’s all right...”

Orion stroked his horse’s mane with a slightly trembling hand, breathing in and out as he tried to steady his heart rate. He then looked at Carewyn with a more serious eye.

“...Perhaps we should make our way back to the valley. It’s not safe here.”

Carewyn looked northward through the trees again. “Do you think your father’s started the attack?”

“No. Coordinated attacks require both strategy and assignments, as well as the element of surprise. I’d say this is a skirmish between younger, less experienced soldiers -- and if so, it’s likely to run farther afield and cause damage outside the designated battlefield.”

Orion could see Carewyn still hesitating. Although there was no fear in her face, she seemed reluctant to leave -- likely thinking of her brother, more than the risk to her own safety...

After a brief flicker of uncertainty, Orion reached out a hand and took hold of Carewyn’s arm not unlike how she’d taken his earlier.

“From everything I’ve heard from you about your brother, I truly cannot see him not doing everything he possibly can, to look out for your well-being...including looking after himself.”

A second smaller explosion in the distance made Orion stiffen slightly, his fingers tightening that bit around Carewyn’s arm.

“...We should move out of harm’s way,” he said as levelly as he could.

Seeing the paleness of Orion’s face, Carewyn relented at once.

“Yes.”

Bringing a hand up onto Orion’s horse’s reins, she directed both of them around so they could start riding back out the way they came.

As they came around a cluster of trees, however, their attention was caught by the sound of the cry of an eagle and many snapping branches. Carewyn’s horse reared back again, just barely dodging a large clump of golden-brown feathers that collided sharply with the ground.

Carewyn once again rushed to soothe her horse. Orion quickly climbed off his horse and bent down to get a better look at what had fallen.

It was a golden eagle, just as brilliant as the one they’d chased into the wood -- perhaps even the same one. It was conscious, but clearly in pain when it tried to return to the air -- its left wing crumpled up against its side and covered in blood and what looked like grayish ash.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed.

“Gunpowder,” he said. “The poor creature’s wing must have been struck by a stray bullet.”

Once she’d successfully soothed her white horse, Carewyn likewise jumped off its back. She dashed over to Orion, hitching up the skirt of her mother’s gown as she went.

“Can you hold him?” she asked.

The eagle gave an angry-sounding cry, baring its sharp talons at both of them, and it tried to hobble away back into the air with its one good wing.

“I don’t think he wants our help,” said Orion.

Undaunted, Carewyn ripped off some fabric from her outer-most petticoat. “Well, he needs it, whether he wants it or not. Can you hold him, please?”

Orion looked at the eagle. Rather than try to grab it, he met the eagle’s eyes and tried not to blink. The eagle looked back at him with a piercing gaze. When Orion extended a hand, the eagle lashed out its talons again -- Orion withdrew, but didn’t flinch.

“Steady,” he said gently.

He waited a moment, keeping eye contact with the bird, and then tried again. This time he was able to move close enough to touch before the eagle lashed out with its claws again.

“Peace,” said Orion patiently. “We mean you no harm, feathered friend.”

Another loud explosion in the distance made both the eagle and Orion flinch.

“That one sounded closer,” said Carewyn, her voice faintly tense but as gentle as she could. “We need to be quick.”

The flames of his childhood home were returning to Orion’s mind despite his best efforts, and he shut them out as best he could, closing his eyes and breathing in and out several times. Once he’d reestablished his focus, Orion opened his eyes again.

The eagle looked from Orion to Carewyn almost critically. Finally, after Orion reached in for a third time, it let the Prince run a gentle hand over its back. Once the bird was calm, Orion then carefully extended its wing so that Carewyn could reach it.

“This will likely hurt him a little,” Carewyn told Orion. “Please hold him still, so he won’t fly away.”

Orion brought a hand around the eagle, which fidgeted and cried out indignantly, but did not claw or snap at them. With Orion holding out its wing, Carewyn was able to reach into its blood-soaked feathers and dislodge the bullet. The eagle gave an angry, pained cry, and Carewyn very quickly set about wrapping up the wound with the white fabric she’d ripped out of her petticoat.

“There,” breathed Carewyn, her red lips spreading into a smile. “That should help...”

The bird looked down at its wing, gingerly folding up against its side as it surveyed her with a very beady eye. With a soft click of her tongue against her teeth, she slowly extended an arm out, holding it very still like a branch.

“Climb on,” she cooed. “That’s it...”

The eagle peered Carewyn over, but after a long moment, it gradually scooted over and leapt up onto her arm. Its talons dug into the sleeve of her dress with strength, and it was heavier than Carewyn expected, but she with some difficulty just barely managed to hoist it up.

“Your talent with animals shines through again,” said Orion with a wry smile, clasping his hands lightly in front of him.

“You weren’t half bad yourself,” Carewyn said amusedly. She brought a hand gently along the eagle’s comb. “You’re a very handsome bird, aren’t you? You poor thing...”

“You there!”

Both Orion and Carewyn looked up in great surprise.

Striding through the woods toward them was a very tall middle-aged woman. She wore a black capotain hat and an old-fashioned black dress with a white ruff around the collar, and her graying brown hair was tied up in an austere looking bun under her hat. Despite her apparent age, her step was strong and her posture as straight as a general’s.

“What are you doing here?” said the woman very sternly.

Carewyn stood a bit uneasily, thanks to the weight of the eagle on her arm, but she nonetheless straightened up, resting a hand on the eagle’s back almost protectively.

“We’re merely out riding, madam,” she said, not impolitely, but still confidently.

The woman peered down at both Orion and Carewyn with an eye almost as critical as the eagle’s had been as she crossed her arms. Her height made it so she towered over both of them with relative ease.

“Well, through your riding, you have trespassed on my land,” she said stiffly. “And it seems you’ve claimed something of mine.”

Her eyes flickered over to the eagle on Carewyn’s arm, taking in the makeshift bandage on its wing. The golden eagle gave a loud shriek -- the woman extended her arm, and it leapt the distance, landing on her arm instead. The older woman did not struggle to hold it up the way Carewyn had.

Carewyn blinked in surprise. “Then...he’s yours?”

“Do you have others, like him?” Orion asked curiously.

The woman peered down at the bird on her arm with a look that was rather like a scolding, but still affectionate mother’s. “No -- he’s one of a kind. All the more reason why I’m pleased to see him safe, after coming so close to the enemy camp.”

The eagle bowed its head, its gaze flickering back over toward Carewyn and Orion. When another cluster of explosions rang out through the air, however, both the bird and Orion straightened up abruptly.

The woman looked northward, and then beckoned Carewyn and Orion after her with her hand.

“Come with me -- with the armies positioned just north of us and a band of Florentine bandits just south, the safest place at present to wait out this skirmish is my home.”

The woman introduced herself as the Baroness Minerva McGonagall. Carewyn felt like the surname was familiar somehow, but she couldn’t quite place it in her memory. Regardless, McGonagall led Carewyn and Orion out through the trees. Only once they crossed the perimeter of the trees and McGonagall gestured toward the valley below did Carewyn and Orion see her country estate. It was odd that they didn’t spot it sooner, for although the valley seemed to cradle the small chateau, it was a rather beautiful and open estate framed by a wrought iron gate. The property itself was made of aged brick and stone with stained glass windows and overgrown with ice-trimmed ivy.

After holding out her arm so that the eagle perched there could jump down on the railing beside the stone stairs that led up to the front door, the Baroness invited Orion and Carewyn inside. As stern as she’d first appeared, she actually was a very kind host -- after Orion and Carewyn’s horses were settled in her stable, she escorted the two into the dining hall, where she served them some rose water and ginger biscuits. Once inside the house, none of them could hear the explosions from the battlefield -- it was as though the walls cancelled out all sounds from outside even though they must’ve been so close.

Seeing that the Baroness had no servants to help her, Carewyn insisted on taking the dishes to the kitchen and washing them, so as to thank the older woman for her hospitality. Despite being reluctant to accept the help at first, McGonagall eventually accepted it, her lips upturned in a rather dewy smile as Carewyn left the dining hall.

“Your riding companion has a very kind heart, Your Highness,” she said, once Carewyn was out of earshot.

Orion’s black eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

“...You know me.”

"Naturally,” said McGonagall. “You do very much resemble your grandfather -- and your father as well, I expect.”

“You knew my grandfather?”

“We met once, a very long time ago,” said McGonagall rather curtly. “Your name would also be Cosimo, correct?”

“I am called Orion,” said the Prince, his level voice dusted with the slightest edge. “By both my lady, and otherwise.”

McGonagall’s eyes grew a little smaller. “She comes from the Cromwell family, doesn’t she?”

Orion’s eyes narrowed that little bit more, but he did not reply.

“I suspected it due to her eyes,” said McGonagall, “but with how gentle they were, I wasn’t sure.”

Her eyebrows rose over her narrowed eyes as she leaned forward slightly and rested her elbows on the table.

“You have quite a predicament before you, Orion,” she said dryly, interlacing her fingers beside her chin.

Orion clasped his hands on the table in front of him, considering the Baroness carefully.

“Yet you decided not to approach me about it until Carewyn left the room,” he said levelly. “Is it because you suspected I knew your true identity, and why your house has been so miraculously shielded from the War raging on your doorstep?”

McGonagall peered at Orion over her hands with something like wry amusement. “Florentines are generally more favorable toward magic than Royaumanians. And considering your grandfather shielded my family after my mother accidentally killed the King and we fled across the border...well, it would be in-character for you, especially.”

“And yet you returned to the land that the King of Royaume had died trying to claim?” asked Orion. “Why?”

McGonagall gave a dismissive shrug. “It was our home. Even if we had to cast and recast illusions every day to prevent anyone else from finding it again, that was a cost we were willing to pay. And one I’m still willing to pay today, to protect those who live here.”

McGonagall’s eyes were drawn to the hallway -- a young man with tanned skin and a sharp nose had just paused in the door frame of the dining hall. His arm was in a makeshift sling and wrapped with what looked like bandages made out of petticoat fabric. When Orion turned around, the young man stared him down with just as beady of a look as the golden eagle from before had.

“The skirmish has ended, Baroness,” the man said brusquely.

“I hope you haven’t determined that by casting any more transfiguration spells, my young apprentice,” said McGonagall with a slightly reproachful look.

The apprentice’s nose wrinkled sourly. “No. The explosions have just stopped -- they probably decided it wasn’t worth trying to fire their cannons blindly in the dark.”

“Very well,” said McGonagall. “Orion, you and Carewyn may leave when you wish. Though I would recommend you steer clear of the border. The bandits in these woods are Florentines, so I doubt they will harm you...but I cannot be sure how they would respond to a Royaumanian, especially one related to one of their wealthiest noblemen.”

Orion nodded. “I understand.”

“Make sure you bring her back to the palace safely,” said the apprentice, his eagle-like eyes still rather critical upon Orion. “It’s the least you can do, considering she doesn’t know the extent of the risk she’s taking, interacting with you.”

He swept down the hallway and out of sight, still holding his arm. Orion was a bit surprised that the Baroness’s apprentice knew where Carewyn worked -- but then, he recalled, he’d seen an eagle flying over his and Carewyn’s heads once, while they were walking through the market together, hadn’t he? Might it have been this man then, as well -- as it likely had, every time he’d seen an eagle while crossing the border?

McGonagall looked back at Orion, her expression a bit more solemn. “I understand your rationale behind not telling her of your identity, Orion...but remember -- deception is just like any magical spell. Even the most powerful ones in the world don’t last long.”

Orion bowed his head. “...I know.”

He knew none of this could last. He knew that once Carewyn knew who he was, everything between them would change, whether he wanted it to or not. He did think that Carewyn would understand -- he desperately hoped so -- but even so, it was sad to him, knowing that his happy times with Carewyn were doomed to be so fleeting...

“I just...want to enjoy my time with her as long as I can,” said Orion softly. “However fleeting it might be...even when it is over...at least then I can cherish the memory of those moments forever.”

McGonagall’s face grew a bit gentler, almost sympathetic. "I see...”

Carewyn returned at that moment, wiping her bangs out of her eyes with her arm.

“Orion,” she said, “it looks like the stars have come out.”

Orion looked out the window. The sky was dark with night and shining with stars.

“So they have,” he said with a soft smile. He turned to McGonagall. “Forgive me, Baroness...but might we sit in the valley outside your home for a short while, before we leave?”

McGonagall smiled. “Of course.”

Orion and Carewyn found a grassy spot in the crest of the valley where they could sit and look up at the stars. Upon learning that Carewyn hadn’t ever gone stargazing before, Orion lay back against the grass and pointed out each constellation above them to Carewyn in turn -- the hero Perseus, his enemy the Cetus, and his future wife Andromeda -- -- the divine twins, Castor and Pollux, otherwise known as a pair as Gemini -- and the queen Cassiopeia, which made Carewyn laugh, thinking of her friend, KC. Carewyn loved listening to Orion’s stories: the way he would vividly embellish every detail and go off on philosophical tangents in the middle was oddly endearing. After he told his first tale about Perseus, Carewyn was reminded of the Song of Roland, an epic about a similarly grand hero, and soon Orion would ask her to sing something in response to every story he told, however weak the connection was. When they reached Cassiopeia’s tale, Carewyn sang one of her favorite songs, Greensleeves.

“I have been ready at your hand To grant whatever thou would’st crave; I have waged both life and land, Your love and goodwill for to have.

Greensleeves was all my joy; Greensleeves was my delight; Greensleeves was my heart of gold, And who but my lady Greensleeves...”

As before, Orion found himself closing his eyes and relishing the feeling of Carewyn’s voice washing over him. At the end of this song in particular, however, when he opened his eyes, he found himself chuckling softly.

Carewyn raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Orion’s black eyes were sparkling like two miniature night skies as they ran over Carewyn sitting just below him. “It’s a lovely song, as always...but I have not ever seen my ‘star twin,’ so to speak, wearing green -- only ever black and blue. You, however...”

He took her hand so that he could extend her arm out like they were dancing, showing off the olive green sleeves of her dress.

“So it seems you are ‘my lady Greensleeves,’” said Orion with a wry smile.

“Oh, stop it,” Carewyn huffed, her cheeks burning as she withdrew her hand.

Orion laughed fully. It was the first time Carewyn had ever heard him laugh so openly before -- it was a soft sound in the back of his throat, like a chuckle, and yet so much brighter and warmer. Despite herself, Carewyn couldn’t fight back a full smile of her own. Her shoulder brushed up against Orion’s as she reclined back onto the grass, her body tilting slightly toward him as she looked up at the sky.

“...There’s a constellation called Orion, isn’t there?”

Orion smiled and traced the stars of the constellation with his finger. “Just there. Do you see his chest? And there’s his bow.”

“I see it!” said Carewyn excitedly. “His arm is arched back, right?”

“Yes -- he’s holding a club in his other hand. He was a great hunter, you see -- the greatest hunter, they say, aside from Artemis, Goddess of the Moon and the Hunt. Some say that he hunted alongside her. Others say she was his one and only love...and that she, likewise, never loved any other man, in all her days.”

When Carewyn didn’t respond, Orion looked down at her. She was considering the constellation very carefully, looking oddly deep in thought.

Orion tilted his head to look better at her face. “Your eyes resemble a dark pool.”

Carewyn looked up, startled.

“They’re so deep and mysterious, I hardly know what is within them,” said Orion. “Yet I would dearly like to know, if you were willing to share their contents.”

Carewyn’s eyes drifted back up to the sky uncomfortably.

“It’s just...I’m realizing that I don’t even know if Orion is your real name,” she murmured. “You said I could call you it...you did not say it was your name.”

Orion’s face became grimmer. His hands clasped over his chest and he too looked back up at the sky.

“...It’s not the name I was born with,” he admitted. “I chose the name myself, when I was young.”

The memory of the older boys at the workhouse shoving him, piling extra work on him, and mockingly bowing whenever he walked by rippled over his mind.

“Clear the floor for the Prince!”

“Why thank you, Prince Cosimo -- you’re too kind!”

“Does the mud add flavor, your Royal Highness?”

“When I was at the workhouse, my name...antagonized the other boys. So, to try to preempt the reactions, I started avoiding telling anyone my name. I would dread anyone ever asking.”

“Like when I asked you?” whispered Carewyn. Even though her eyes were averted, she was clearly very ashamed and upset.

Orion leaned against her slightly, offering her a gentle, reassuring expression. “No, Carewyn. I dreaded it when I had no answer I could give at all. It made me anxious...made me feel like I didn’t know who I was supposed to be...made it difficult for me to interact with much of anyone at all.”

He closed his eyes.

“But...after hearing the tale of the great hunter whose skill put him on the same level as a goddess...I decided that was who I’d be. I’d chase my dreams with just as much single-minded focus -- be just as free and strong of a man, by fighting the monster inside of myself.”

Carewyn looked up at Orion, her eyes rippling with sadness. “The monster inside of yourself?”

“Mm,” said Orion. “Mine is a frenetic beast. It makes it hard for me to think, act, or even breathe, when it’s particularly intense. It makes me question absolutely everything, including myself. It shouts so many things in my ears so loudly that I can’t move or react properly, and I have to break away from everything and everyone, just to silence it. Sometimes it even brings back bad memories that make the experience even worse.”

Carewyn was once again avoiding his eye, but it was largely because she was having trouble keeping her face stoic.

“...It’s terrible, when you feel like you can’t do anything,” she said lowly.

Orion didn’t speak. He wanted her to feel comfortable enough to continue -- after a silence, she finally pressed on.

“When Jacob first went off to War...I felt so helpless. So...alone. And worse...I felt like that’s how I should be. Like I should be alone, and empty, and cold, and in pain, when Jacob was off at War suffering, while I’m stuck here.”

Her eyes darkened.

“There are times when...I think I still should be. Sometimes...well, it’s all the time.”

She closed her eyes, exhaled heavily through her nose, and then looked up at Orion with a firmer expression.

“...But I know I can’t afford to sit around and feel sorry for myself -- not when I need to be strong, for Jacob’s sake. So I don’t.”

Orion’s black eyes softened visibly, rippling with empathy. “No...you certainly don’t.”

He paused. His eyes ran over Carewyn’s face, trailing through her hair hesitantly.

“Carewyn...” he said at last, very softly, “may I...?”

He swallowed.

“...May I rest my head, on top of yours?”

Carewyn’s face broke into a very sweet, tender smile.

“Of course,” she murmured.

Orion shifted over and, very tentatively, leaned back against the grass so that Carewyn’s head rested in the crook of his neck and his cheek rested against the top of her head. He closed his eyes -- she felt so warm...

“I...realize that the beasts inside of us are ours alone to face,” said Orion softly, “but...should you need a hunter to help you beat yours back...I will be here.”

Carewyn’s blue eyes rippled with emotion as she stared up at Orion’s face. Her red lips slowly turned up in a smile that was full of pain, and yet also fuller still of love.

“And I will always help you fight yours,” she whispered. “If you need me...I will fight for you.”

Orion’s expression cleared, losing all tension as a smile pricked at the corners of his lips. He breathed deeply, his heart slowing to a wonderful peaceful beat as he took in the smell of her hair. Carewyn watched his serene, handsome face, and she found herself moving into him that bit more, just to get a better view. For that moment, it felt like the whole world outside wasn’t there -- that the War and the palace and the Cromwell clan and everything she was and wasn’t didn’t even exist...and in that moment, Carewyn realized...

If she was ever truly free, she would want to love the man called Orion with all of her heart.

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dolcetters · 4 years ago

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vanilla sunday .

no one asked, i just heckin’ felt like it m’dude. under readmore for length. i’ll try to keep my answers relatively to-the-point, too, since this’ll be a longer post but feel free to inquire on things or ... whatever u-u/ aye. i go sleep now.

is your muse a romantic? do they dream of love and marriage?

short answer: no.

as a teenager, dol didn’t have much interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with any of his peers around yuflam--or at all, really. by the time he got to academy things were either too busy or starting to get too tense for him to consider the idea. and shortly after that he went over a decade thinking he’d never even see sunlight again.

at this point, he just... --it’s just another thing he might want but doesn’t recognize it as something he wants. because he’s earnestly so bad at listening to his own desires and is more than willing to cast them aside if it means aiding someone he cares about achieve their own.

is your muse a deviant? are they overly flirtatious or forward?

no. there’s no real expansion on this, just no. <xD he tends to be much more bashful and sheepish, partially because of aforementioned inability to recognize he might want a relationship with someone. and even if he DOES realize this, he’s... extremely self aware. we’ll leave it at that.

is your muse good at kissing? are they experienced?

NOPE. and no. he’s never kissed anyone.

does your muse initiate a lot of physical contact?

nooooo no no no. he has an anxiety disorder (haphephobia) revolving around physical contact and even something as “small” as shaking hands or a shoulder bump can make him very nervous, uncomfortable and alert. the reaction is almost doubled if it comes with the sensation or energy of being grabbed.

it’s going to take a lot of time, patience, and trust for him to be comfortable initiating physical contact with you.

is your muse comfortable with public displays of affection?

no, for both the above reason as well as the paranoia that comes with being a fugitive/legally dead. the less attention that’s drawn to him, the better. at most, he’d hold your hand... but refer to the previous question for that.

does your muse steal clothing from their partner?

less “steal” and more borrow. due to having limited resources after escaping the labs and very few belongings he can truly call his own, dol wouldn’t/doesn’t just take or use things that belong to friends, family or potential partners (part of this spurs from his OWN resource guarding). he’d be more likely to approach you while you were brushing your teeth and be like “hey, s’it cool if i wear your hoodie today” and then respond based on that answer.

and he’s going to ask you every time. he doesn’t assume.

is your muse the big spoon or the little spoon?

varies! but most likely, when they’re facing each other, he little-spoons because pressing his face into the curve of the neck just above the collar is not only secure and comforting somehow, but he can hear your heartbeat.

when one of them is facing away, he tends to big spoon. --and obviously this is all assuming he’s at that level of comfort when it comes to physical touch + the partner.

is your muse comfortable with, or proud of their body? are they insecure?

complicated?

he’s very comfortable and proud of his body when it comes to his physical build, strength, fitness, etc. his strength and speed is something he values and keeping himself healthy and capable is very important to him. he knows he’s done a good job (those arms don’t lie) and he takes pride in that.

~however~, being a chimera... --he’s optimistic, yes. he’s just happy to be alive, of course. it’s not so bad. ...but he is fully, deeply, and painfully aware of how someone might react to witnessing some of his “quirks” when it comes to his splice or the idea of being with someone who isn’t entirely human. and the fact that he often became a target of light jabbing and jokes with the nesties, because dog behavior is much more well-known and commonly familiar than croc or snake or bull behavior, has only added to this awareness.

then, of course, there’s the added detail that he’s not even a perfected chimera. he’s just a successful one. a C- on some government biology test; barely passing.

so yeah. there’s some surface level pride, but... a lot of shame underneath.

is your muse attracted to any features in particular?

physical? no.

he has a soft spot and respect for people who refuse to give into their pain, though. where he experienced trauma and fear and let it make him hardened in a lot of ways, there are other people who have only become brighter, warmer, and do whatever they can to keep someone else from experiencing what they have.

to say he admires that trait in a person is an understatement.

have their crushes been mostly male, mostly female, or evenly split?

he’s only really had two, and they’ve both been gals, so i guess that makes it mostly female. i’ve mentioned before that he might have been uselessly in love with martel in the time before the raid (whether she felt the same is unknown) and he in default verse is lowkey sweet on rose.

have their partners been mostly male, mostly female, or evenly split?

he hasn’t had a partner.

is your muse easily flustered? do they blush, swear, etc.?

yes, yes, yes. him being flustered is usually a combo-result of: (1) not being used to that kind of attention from someone he actually likes, (2) having no idea how to respond, (3) internalized shame over what he is, and (4) he’s a fucking idiot.

where is your muse most sensitive?

his head, mostly, especially on his hair line and around the ears.

and i can 10000% promise to you that if he ever lets you comb your fingers in his hair or rub around his temples and you make some kind of dog-related-comment, you’re actually going to cause a shit-ton of psychic damage i’m gonna need you to roll like 10d6 for me.

please, please please please don’t ever refer to him as--or make jokes connecting him to--a dog in moments that are supposed to be vulnerable and/or intimate, i can’t... express this enough, it will hurt him.

is your muse more submissive or dominant in a relationship?

idk, i guess submissive but again: idk

would your muse ever tempt their partner, e.g. flirting, wearing tight/sexy clothing?

nah. not really his thing.

if he does “tempt” them it’s going to be sincerely accidental. like... yeah you walked in on me doing pull-ups i guess. would you hand me my water bottle? i’m parched.

does your muse initiate heated/sexual contact, or do they wait for their partner?

i feel like this question deserves it’s own post because i have a LOT of thoughts regarding rosecetto, specifically, on this topic.

outside of that ship, however, the answer is likely no. he’s not the initiator primarily for touch-anxiety reasons and also chimera-related-shame reasons, even if the partner has assured him there’s nothing wrong with him in the past.

does your muse leave hickies? do they ask for them?

eeehhhhh???? ... i guess accidentally sometimes?? and no.

does your muse like to be pinned down, or to pin their partner?

that’s a big NO. if you pin him down, even if he’s reached a point of security with you that he allows you to touch him, you’re going to flare up any of that anxiety that had previously subsided. he’s been physically restrained and held down far too long and all for bad/painful reasons, and he can’t associate it with anything other than “they’re going to hurt me and i need to get away, no matter what i have to do”.

as for pinning his partner, it’s likely also a no because he’d just... be too aware of his own trauma to even try doing it and he’d probably be uncomfortable being asked to do it.

has your muse reached first/second/third base? home run?

honey, he’s done nothing, he hasn’t even swung--

would your muse be interested in engaging with multiple partners?

no. he doesn’t see anything wrong with it when it comes to other people but this is definitely not for him or something he could be comfortable with.

would your muse ever send a sexual text message? would they send pictures?

n/a, but even in modern verses the answer would be no

does your muse read smut, own magazines, or watch p-rn?

nah

is your muse the type to discuss their sex life or sexual prowess with others?

abso. fucking lutely. not. no no no.

at absolute. MOST? he might open up to sakura (yinseal) about it. maybe greed (avadite). and it’d only be if he felt like he was doing something wrong or felt overwhelmed and self-conscious. but otherwise this is his and his partner’s business.

is your muse a top, a bottom, or a switch? do they have a lean?

defaults to bottom but will top if asked or in some circumstances.

crystal has confirmed that rose (forsakenflora) tops, so jfdlfjklsjkldhsd

how interested is your muse in sex and sexual activity?

he’s not.

it’s not a priority of his, and he definitely doesn’t want to hear about yours.

do they have sex frequently, occasionally, or rarely?

not at all right now jf kljdklhshf lhfklsdg

#♠: prompted headcanons .#////nsfw /// / /#////suggestive // // ///#[ and with that i bid you goodnight ]

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willowaudreykeyes · 4 years ago

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Monster AU Idea that I don’t know what to do with

Literally what the title says. Idk what to do with this, but its in my head and so i need to write it down and share it before my brain explodes. Talk about it or ask about it; whatever you want. As long as I know about it as it is still my idea, go nuts.

@ladyedwina @sparrowofsong

Warning: Does involve murder, being captured, lots of depressed Roman because I’m mean to him for no reason and it makes me sad, gory removal of fingers (not detailed but it is there), suicide mention, me swearing a lot, stabbing(not detailed), hints of Roceit; Intrulogical and qpr Pattmile

Spider Monster Who-Realises-That-His-Race-Sucks Virgil

Born like this. Was raised to be alone but he likes being around others to feel safe, so it makes him a little awkward and even anxious around others.

Hates the rest of his kind because he’s the only one who doesn’t want to eat people. So now they all wanna kill him.

He can retract his extra legs but it leaves small bumps in his back, so he likes to wear his over-sized hoodie to help hide them.

Janus saved him from one of his own kind. Travelled with him and Logan before getting separated by Monster Hunters and running into a lonely wolf-Patton.

Is now Patton’s spider child, despite the fact that said father figure is afraid of spiders. And that Virgil is technically older then him. He does try to look past the ‘too-many-eyes’ and ‘long, hairy legs’ thing; which Virgil appreciates.

The only one of the group that knows how mobiles work and he finds it funny as fuck.

Werewolf Underdog (ha) Patton

Runt of the litter.

Can shift between a humany appearance, an actual grey-brown wolf and a bipedal werewolf. He isn’t the third one often and actually enjoys being a more typical wolf as he can be passed off as a wolf-dog hybrid and has gotten free bones and pets.

Ran away from his pack as they didn’t want him to die but also didn’t want him to get stronger, then raised a bunch of homeless orphans at a young age and also defended them from a trafficking ring by ripping out a bunch of people’s throats.

Yeah... he brought them to an orphanage afterwards as it’s safer then the streets. Then he ran away again; at this point he’s only 15-16.

Lives alone and homeless for a few more years before running into Virgil and immediately adopting him.

Patton helped Virgil find Janus and Logan so now he has more children (who are all older then him but he ignores that).

No one will go hungry EVER with Patton is around. He is the caretaker of this pack and he will not let his pups feel hungry ever-

He’s not over how shitty his pack was to him and it’s very obvious.

When he meets Emile though, it lifts a lot of weight off his shoulders as he learns not to be so all-bearing of others issues. And he also feels safer talking to him about his old pack as he doesn’t want to be pitied by anyone.

Tired-As-Fuck Vampire Logan

Who’s like 600 years old and knows that a lot of History that the modern day tells everyone is wrong and HATES that he’d be found out if he started yelling at people how wrong they are.

Parents wanted him to drop science and be a farmer. They, and his younger siblings, all died when their crops were poisoned two weeks after he moved out to do his science elsewhere.

Oh and he was bit by the person who 1. Was his partner in science and 2. He was head over heels for them because they let him take risks but still made sure he was safe as he did them.

So that pissed him off quite a bit. Because he almost instantly killed the couple who took in the sickly scientist because the wife cut her finger. He managed to kill the cow instead but he ran away afterwards and never saw them again.

Ran into Janus 300 years later -after travelling a LOT and learning a LOT and nearly dying a LOT and feeling so much that he doesn’t wanna feel anymore because that’s 300yrs of friends dying- and decided to travel with the one type of guy who won’t die of old age!!!

Then Virgil appeared. Then Patton. Then the Twins. Then Remy. Then Emile. He wishes that his dead heart would stop making him want to protect them all to his last breath but what can ya do?

He will murder anyone to save the others- but much prefers to just stay inside and just experiment on the occasional new thing that he finds.

Protector. Leader. Professor. Tired. Doctor. Cantor (yes he was Jewish for a little while after the bite but now he’s Atheist). University Chancellor. Lots of titles and he got them all legit too, although some are a little out of date.

Do not ask how he feels about the others. Especially Remus. He will glare at you without a word before moving on with his life.

Naga Will-Steal-You’re-Last-$5 Janus

Age? Social construct. He hints at being around Logan’s age but that could be give or take a hundred years or so.

He can shift between having a tail and legs- but ofc much prefers the tail. But he hates that his teeth change with it as it makes him hold his ‘s’ more when he talks.

When no tail, the left side of his face is very scarred. Someone tried burning off the scales on his face but the scars only appear when he’s trying to look human. When he has his tail, his scales replace them and they look fine.

Do not touch his hands or he will strangle you with them. They’re sensitive as hell without his gloves and he doesn’t know why.

He can hypnotise you to take a fucking break and he’s not afraid to do it (except on Logan as he’s somehow almost entirely immune)

Doesn’t like hypnotising his friends unless its just to take a break or to pull them out of an anxiety/panic attack. Every other living thing isn’t off limits though.

Lived alone until he met Logan. He also liked killing everyone he met until he met Logan. The only reason he didn’t kill Logan was because the nerd almost chopped off the end of his tail. The others don’t know this and it’s staying that way.

Has a cane to walk with for days that his legs decide that they wanna be a tail but he’s in public for some reason and he can’t and it sucks.

Almost killed Remy when they first met. Literally- he stabbed him in the side. Now they’re best buds over it and it was weird how quickly it happened too.

Has stolen Roman’s last $5. He will not be returning it. He hasn’t spent it because he finds him cute funny when he’s mad.

Siren But-Flips-Off-The-Sea-And-Heights Roman

Was born a Prince! With his weirdo of a twin. They were well liked and he was next in line for the throne and he was gonna be given a wife-

He wasn’t happy that it HAD to be a wife and when he argued that he wanted a guy; everyone turned on him and threw him into the ocean. So... fuck them.

Sirens saved him by turning him into one. He hates it.

Was forced to eat kelp or people. He chose kelp. He hated it.

Was dragged out of the sea by his brother who had been thrown into the evil swamp nearby and is now a banshee. Not as bad but he’s still rather pissed.

Although he was a little sad when he heard, 100yrs later, that his entire kingdom died of the plague. He moved on quickly though.

He hates the sea and doesn’t go near it. If it all dried up one day, it’d be the happiest day of his life. He doesn’t even eat seafood anymore as it makes him upset just looking at it.

He still likes to sing. He can control if it’s going to mind-control those who hear it or not; but it’s a little annoying as he can’t get too into it without accidentally losing control. Doesn’t stop him though.

He learnt how to play multiple instruments, made anonymously published books, the money-earner of the two. Although he was jealous that Remus was better at more hands-on stuff and is slowly, but happily, learning how to craft things from wood.

He and Remus never separated. Even when Monster Hunters sprayed him with water, forced his tail to appear, and took him to a facility to be imprisoned forever. That’s another thing he was mad about since Remus refused to just fucking RUN but he was happy to see his brother be proud of him when he dug VERY sharp teeth into a mans arm.

Had to be carried out by Janus when he, Logan, Patton and Virgil decided to free everyone inside. Every other creature could run except him, which led to him and Remus staying with them.

He definitely, 100%, no-doubt-about-it got a massive gay crush on Janus when he taught him how to fight. And sword fight. And dance. And how to look after his rather pretty scales.

In the 200-300yrs since he’s had a tail, he hasn’t ONCE really looked after them. So when Janus helped him out and made his scales less gross and more gorgeous, he actually started liking his tail a bit.

The Ocean can still go fuck itself though.

Oh and the one time they visited the Seattle Space Needle? Yeah, fuck heights too.

Banshee Will-Eat-Your-Fingers-If-Given-The-Chance Remus

After Roman got thrown into the ocean, he went on a rampage. He didn’t kill anyone, but he sure as hell got close to murdering their shitty father.

They tied him up and tossed him into the nearby swamp, where he nearly died. He inhaled days worth of magical fog that eventually turned him into a banshee. Which is just the ability to scream so loud that he makes people pass out, which is useful. Oh and sharp teeth that he looks after really well.

He managed to escape the forest, he screamed at a passing merchant and took his horse, and went to the ocean where he found Roman depressingly eating kelp on a rock off in the distance.

He literally got on a boat, dragged the surprised but happy fish into it with him, and made sure that they would never be separated again.

Didn’t care about what happened to their old kingdom.

He learnt how to make weapons, how to blacksmith, how to glassmith, how to make clothes- Literally anything he could since Roman kind of sucked at making anything that wasn’t music or a story of some kind. Fine by him since he knew the quality of the weapon he was stabbing people with.

When the hunters forcefully made Roman’s tail appear, he tried to scream to make them all pass out but they were ready and punched him out. He would have found it a little funny if he didn’t wake in a jail cell with a thing over his mouth.

The two worst things about it: He couldn’t see Roman and know if he was okay and he couldn’t cuss out the guards.

When that nerdy but very murderous vampire broke in and helped him out of the prison, he returned the favour by biting off the fingers of a guard that had broken Logan’s glasses. He later on fixed said glasses as well but he thought the fingers removal was a better thank you.

Loves Logan; only Roman, Janus and Emile have figured it out. Virgil thinks he’s plotting to kill the vampire one day, Remy doesn’t pay attention and Patton thinks that Logan is a good influence on him (he’s not wrong as he slowly stops describing brutal murders and talks about gross facts that Logan does and doesn’t know)

Remy No-It-Isn’t-Short-For-Remington-Yes-I-Am-A-Dragon-Roman

Born as a shapeshifting dragon. Was supposed to live like a recluse like the rest of his kind but said ‘fuck that’ and now works at a clothing store in a town full of morons for entertainment.

His kind does get tired rather easily so he lives off coffee. He is addicted and luckily for him; his body won’t get used to it so he doesn’t have to heighten the dose of caffeine in every drink. Yay!

Two things happened when he first met Janus and Roman. The first is that he got stabbed by the Naga because he may or may not have seen him wearing some shiny rings that he REALLY wanted. He wanted it more then Janus, so he found it okay to do- but got stabbed for it.

Two; he then bit Roman (who kinda deserved it when he tried to ‘slay the dragon’ when Janus had saw his unnaturally-bright brown eyes) and was dragged to see everyone to figure out what to do with him.

He managed to talk his way out of being murdered by Remus by sheer amazing personality (he’s x5 sassy when afraid and Remus thought he was hilarious) and just decided to hang around everyone just because he could.

Being stabbed turned into a joke between him and Janus and now they’re besties who totally don’t steal from random assholes that they run into down the street. It’s a now competition to have the shiniest collection (Janus is winning but gives Remy the occasional shiny thing as he knows that dragons get very mad about hoard sizes sometimes)

When they all moved towns, he dragged them to one where his old friend Emile was. He also introduced Virgil to Starbucks and their coffee and is still getting berated for it to this day.

Oh and when he does manage to let himself be a dragon, he’s about as large as a horse and has really pretty black scales with a light brown underbelly. His eyes turn bright green too. Virgil calls him Starbucks’s best mascot.

Emile Is-A-Disney-Fairy-Stereotype

Can grow and shrink on command; can also make his wings appear and disappear although it does hurt not to have them out almost daily.

Pink wings and pink hair. Very popular fairy attributes (for both fairies and Monster Hunters)

Can see aura’s of humans and monsters. They look very different depending on species but he LOVES seeing human ones the most as they are often filled with more colours.

Is a therapist, is a cartoon nerd, is able to make you a dress that disappears at midnight

... Can also see your dreams but doesn’t like doing it as its intrusive and it feels like he’s breaking some kind of human Confidentiality agreement

Being a therapist has changed a lot of his views on personal space (like the whole dream thing he has). He’s very in-your-face when excited, but as a kid he would CLING to people at every chance he had. Even strangers. It wasn’t a good habit.

Became a therapist, an independent one too, because a human friend of his died of suicide and he blamed his therapist who was telling him a lot of bad advice. And said therapist wasn’t supportive of his friends gender-identity crisis as he was very strict on ‘born a boy is a boy’ kind of thinking.

Now Emile takes in teenagers for free and adults at a lower price then a normal therapist. He doesn’t have a great living space (upstairs from his office don’t tell anyone) but he doesn’t care!

Met Remy as he was one of his patients once. He can tell when someone isn’t human due to their aura’s and nearly fell out of his chair when a FUCKING DRAGON walked in.

After Remy finished his sessions, he still visited occasionally and always remembered his favourite drink (chocolate smoothie with whipped cream and caramel shavings and a chocolate stick or five sticking out- and Remy thought his coffee addiction was bad)

And after not seeing Remy after six months, only to find that he has made friends with a lot of other creatures made him so happy.

Then confused when they all dragged in this fairy therapist into their group. Where Logan asked for the occasional emotional advice (not at ALL related to Remus-), Janus made sure he got a better living space, Remus and Virgil gave him someone to talk to about darker cartoon ideas, Roman (after the 18 times he asked for a magical dress) started making cartoon-stuffs for him, and Patton...

Patton helped him realise that he was still very gay despite the AroAce that he was. He gave him head scritches when stressed, the help he needed trauma-wise, the cartoon marathons with the doggo using his legs as a pillow-

And Patton gave him someone to talk to about all his feelings about his clients (without breaking any rules ofc). And about his old friend and the terrible therapists that he’s met.

He will admit to anyone that he squealed when Janus told him that Patton was pan aroace. Seriously, just ask. He is not ashamed of his excitement of the fact that he has a CHANCE WITH THE CUTE WOLF DAD.

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