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fluxweeed · 11 months

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Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

i've had so much fun reading other answers to these questions over the last few weeks!! thank you @nv-md and @sweet-s0rr0w for mentioning me in your posts!! i fear my answers drifted much too far into self-indulgence, but what's new for this blog eh??

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

22, but one of them is 11 separate drabbles/microfics in a 2k-word jacket

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

293,865

3. What fandoms do you write for?

i'll only ever write hp on this username!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

all drarry:

the four doors (legilimency healer draco + memory loss)

adventures in truth and texting (advent texting fic)

all i have to do (draco thinks harry is a magical fantasy but whoops he's real)

eight o'clock, tomorrow evening (four doors sequel)

two to lie and one to listen (8th year fake dating, sort of)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i respond to everything on the final chapter of a fic! sometimes very kind commenters will say something at the end of every single chapter, which is SUCH a joy to receive, but i haven't yet figured out a way of saying "thank you!" 26 times over without sounding insincere

(i also don't usually respond to comments on fics i've co-written bc i don't feel like i have? the right? feels like i'm taking credit for something i did not really do!)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

also drarry: for lack of wanting, wherein harry thinks it's sexy when draco acts like an evil dick again, and draco is too in love with harry to tell him that makes him feel weird

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

man i think all the rest are pretty happy, all things considered? tho i guess two to lie and wrapped are the only ones that end with explicit i-love-yous?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i've been quite lucky, actually! i've had the occasional demand to change an angsty ending, or comments that have been quite mean about a character who isn't supportive of drarry. oh and i've had a couple of people get suuuper mad when draco malfoy, death eater and snotty spoilt brat, makes mildly immoral decisions. i've found all of those quite funny tho, which i'm sure i wouldn't if they were legitimate hate, so i don't think they count!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

yep! the vibe of two characters wanting to fuck but knowing they shouldn't for some reason (uneven dynamic, magic stuff, they simply haven't had a fucking conversation about it) is my absolute favourite. will read it every time, will write it pretty much every time too 😅

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

the closest i've come to writing a crossover is say no to this, a fic vaguely based off the storyline of the song from hamilton. it was the first drarry fic i'd written in about 10 years!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

yep! not any under this username (that i know of), but someone re-uploaded an old drarry fic of mine to wattpad – and honestly, i don't mind at all. i don't think the fic is very good lmao, if someone else wants to take the blame for it, that's totally fine by me

(the wildest thing about it is the combined ff.net + wattpad views of that fic now top 2 million i think?! but despite that u have almost definitely not heard of it!! i've only seen it mentioned, like, maybe 3 times since i properly re-joined fandom spaces in 2020)

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes!!!! it's SUCH an honour!!! the four doors is in german, chinese, russian and spanish; thirst (drarry vampire fic) is in chinese; and all i have to do (the not-fantasy-harry fic) is in russian 🥰

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes!!! well, sort of – officially, i co-wrote per my last letter (i hope you choke on it) with @lastontheboat, but i really do think i was more like an alpha reader with knobs on. the workload split was at least 25/75, with j shouldering a great deal of the burden (and all of the brilliance)!

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

this is going to sound silly given that i'm definitely a drarry writer and only really hang out in the drarry sphere – but i don't have one! for hp, i gravitate towards ships with harry in them, but even that isn't a hard and fast rule for me

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

nothing that i've posted! but i have tons that are never going to see the light of day. three recent-ish hp ones i've written the most for:

a fic i call The Opus, which is a drarry auror partners fic – i have 16k words written; it was going to end up a solid 100k. i love the concept i have for this fic so, so dearly, but a 100k casefic is not happening.

a harry/ginny established relationship smutty oneshot that is really nothing more than ginny being fun and sexy and harry being horny but, like, self-deprecating about it.

a drarry little mermaid au that i wrote for nanowrimo in 2019. like i MIGHT come back to this one day? but it's unlikely. pros: i do have 50k of it written already and the first draft isn't too far off being complete. cons: i have almost exactly 50k words of it written bc i hit the nano goal and stopped in the middle of a sentence bc writing it was SO stressful (that november i had two jobs + one volunteering role, and also i was moving house, so. a lot going on.)

16. What are your writing strengths?

god knows. dialogue and characters come easiest to me, ig? and i tend to cut a lot in editing, so i don't think my stuff is? overly wordy? so it doesn't require much brainpower to read? that could be a positive or a negative, depending on how you look at it!

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i suck at caring about anything other than character dynamics, so my fics never have plot outside of something vague to put the main pairing in the same room

similarly, i'm not very good at describing locations – describing anything, really

bc i tend to focus on the "oh we want to but we shouldn't!" moment, i'm pretty bad at actually developing feelings in longer fics – that part always feels too rushed to me, but fuck if i know a way of fixing it that isn't just, like, write another 20k

i think my endings usually feel like a bit of an afterthought and often quite forced

the more i write, the more i realise i know, like, 5 ways of phrasing anything, and i just repeat the same things over and over

i'm trying to fix my lack of skills with plotting + pacing by planning extensively before i start drafting, but i think that takes a bit of the spark out of the final version? it becomes a bit predictable and samey?

em dashes every tenth word

i'm convinced ppl i respect are in group chats talking abt how annoying and bad at writing i am, and also lowkey (…highkey) i agree with them – so actually getting myself to write anything is super hard!!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

yeah man! i mean, i personally am not sufficiently confident in my skills in any other language to do it without help (and i'm not sufficiently confident in my skills in asking for help to do that), but it's fun to read imo

19. First fandom you wrote for?

i've dabbled in a few over the years, but the first was hp – it was a marauders era snape/lily/james love triangle fic that i posted on a forum on a hp roleplaying site – this was before deathly hallows came out, so i was very smug when my pairing theory (that i undoubtedly stole from someone cleverer than me, because i was 13 years old) turned out to be true

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

god. @decaflondonfog recently told me that drabbles don't really count, so i? don't know? perhaps still the pine-woods scent the moon (guilty remus/harry) or taste of țuică (established drarry bringing ron in as a third) are the ones i like best, but i don't love either of them enough to be able to confidently declare them my favourite!

u know the drill: i got too sad and anxious and unfollowed everyone so i have no idea who to tag. if u made it this far please know i do love you very much, i want to kiss u on the cheek at LEAST, and would love to know any thoughts u have about the things u make ❤️

#as if i said 'a strength of mine is that i'm not too wordy' in this post #have u SEEN the length #fluxweed shut the fuck up challenge #my fic #tag game

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because-its-eurovision · 1 year

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Hi friends🖤

The week after the Esc final was pretty horrible for me mentally. For the first time ever I was physically ill and actually cried because of the results. The result might have been what I expected, but wasn’t expecting to feel so betrayed and let down. I was really worried I’d start spiraling, but I am lucky enough to have you all here, which really helped. I want to say how sorry I am.

I’m sorry that the televoters didn’t get the winner they wanted. I’m sorry for all of you who used their money to vote in vain. I’m sorry for my country not getting the opportunity to host the contest next year, celebrate and show our culture and I’m sorry that I don’t get the opportunity to welcome my mutuals to Finland. I’m so, so sorry for Yle who put up the best national selection of the year and did everything they could to get the best possible result, and it still wasn’t enough. Most of all I’m sorry for Käärijä who gave his all and damn near burned himself out to reach his dream to win Eurovision and then felt like he had failed us.

As the last seven days have gone by, I’ve slowly gone through the stages of grief. Denial that the results can’t be true and believing that they must be rigged. Anger at the nepotism and favouritism. Bargaining, thinking that maybe the Swedish delegation feels bad and lets Finland co-host next year or even gives us the trophy. Depression and fear that we are never going to get this close to winning ever again and this was our only shot. Finally, acceptance that everyone played by the contest’s rules and the end result is what it is.

Yle made a great choice of showing Käärijä’s Ice Hall show live and making it available all around the world. It was the marketplace celebration he wanted and deserved, but even better. Every single person in that audience was there for him and only him, as was every viewer wherever in the world they might be. Käärijä got the main character moment he deserved and that really warms my heart. The show also gave a closure to the after-Eurovision week and the post Eurovision depression and the new national trauma that all of Finland was starting to experience. It kinda ended this season on a high note for us.

Last night I unpacked the last stuff from my suitcase, put my bolero away, folded my Käärijä shirts to the closet. Then I went for a walk by the seashore, just to clean my thoughts from all the literal and figurative noise. And I remembered how small we are, and how unsignificant everything really is. And after a while, the numb grief was repleced by gratefulness. So I wanted to say thank you.

Thank you to every single one of you. Thank you for all the love you have shown to Finland and Käärijä this year. Thank you for the comments and likes, thank you for making art and memes, thank you for streaming and voting and supporting us. Finland, Finnish artists and Finnish language are so often forgotten and being in the spotlight of the whole world right now feels unreal and incredible. Thank you for watching our silly little national selection and their content, thank you for following Käärijä’s journey.

Thank you to everyone in Liverpool and all over the world who was rooting for Finland this year. I’ll never forget the German journalist who told me off the record that she wanted Finland to win, or the half dozen Spanish guys in green boleros, or the local volunteer who sang cha cha cha with me in the middle of the street, or the people who chanted for Käärijä at the arena, or the Brits next to us who came to give us comforting hugs when the result was clear. I’ve never seen my nation supporting something or someone in such a unison. The green colour, the outfits, the haircuts; cakes, drinks, decorations, celebrations all over. I’m thankful that people showed up at the airport and made clear to Käärijä how proud we are of him and how much everyone loves him. Not only did he reach a result most of couldn’t have even hoped for a few years back, he did it in our own language. He put Finland on a pedestal for the world to see and united this whole country in a way I’ve never seen before. He showed us how important it is to be yourself, be kind, accept your flaws and laugh at them, just believe in yourself and always do your best. Thank you, Jere from Vantaa. You deserve the world.

#content: thoughts I just had to get out #thank you for not abandoning me when I was devastated and angry and bitter #I don't deserve you

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fandomcrazy6226 · 5 months

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Liveblogging Dracula Daily - May 5

Brought to you on May 7 because tech week is k i l l i n g me

I'm actually skipping my 7th period class cause I was gonna take a nap and I may still do that but I'm gonna get through these two posts first, cause technically I'm already late on the May 5 catchup. Whoopsie. Anyway, there'll be two posts today, more or less back-to-back, so enjoy the double feature!

Ooh, we're finally getting to the castle! More sleeping problems, trust me that's very relatable atm. I'm so exhausted after rehearsal every night and then it's impossible to actually fall asleep when I get home.

OK that 'robber steak' actually sounds really good. Love me some bacon.

"A name meaning 'word-bearer'"... huh? Like they call the door by a name? They call him a name? That structure is a bit confusing.

Oh joy, Satan, hell, witch, and *gasp* vampire! Hmm... something tells me this Count won't be the most transparent about these rumors. (Also as someone who watched the Sam and Colby video where they went to Dracula's Castle I wonder if there's a reason "strigoi" wasn't listed here. I do see "stregoica" though, which does look similar)

I think this is where someone who knew nothing about Dracula would definitely figure out something is wrong. Like, the last chapter with the old woman and the innkeeper suddenly not speaking German were definitely a tip-off but an entire crowd of people doing a gesture to ward off the evil eye? Yeah that's a big ol' flashing red light

Honestly I'd get super emotional too if a huge crowd of people I didn't even know did some kind of big protective gesture for me. Also, I'm sorry, the driver's pants are how big??

Again, the way this scenery is described is just so beautiful. And I definitely appreciate the translations here otherwise I'd spend way too much time on Google Translate

Okay... this driver seems odd. "The dogs are too vicious to walk", sure, thanks for the warning. "You'll probably have enough problems tonight", um. Get off my lawn you creepy thing with huge pants. And now I feel bad for the horses.

Okay they're going real fast now, and the other people are offering Jonathan gifts? Strange... but alright then. Oh and they're also doing the evil-eye-protection thing. Yeah does Jonathan realize he's probably walking into a blanket-fort-sized red flag with this trip yet?

Wait, what? What does he mean "not expected"? Are they really gonna take him all the way back to the inn and make him wait for however long just to bring him back? What the hell?

Ummmmmm red eyes you say? And black horses? And hiding his face? Is this a disguise? And the red lips and sharp teeth, yeah calling it now this guy is actually Dracula.

OK as someone who doesn't drink, why would the brandy help? Like is is just a courage thing? Or maybe for sleep?

Oh, midnight, all the evil things come out at midnight. According to the old lady from before, I think. Good thing he's got that cross, and like a million villagers helping him out.

Hm... methinks this driver has superstrength and can talk to animals. Wouldn't you guess what two more vampire powers are?

Is he... are they following a Will-o-Wisp? Is that was the blue flame is? Cause the popping around magical blue fire floating in the air sounds a lot like a Will-o-Wisp

OK that sounds terrifying, surrounded by wolves. But hey, I'm pretty sure wild wolves don't actually attack humans, since humans aren't prey. Or at least that's what Wild Kratts taught me. OK Google is backing me up here. I think wolves are generally pretty chill with humans, although the horses would definitely have a reason to freak out, considering wolves can take down moose.

Oh, so the driver basically waves his arms and the wolves go away? Not suspicious at all...

Oh jeez, this just keeps on going. Hang on, how much is left of this entry? OK I shouldn't have to split the chapter. I'm just gonna keep going, hopefully I'm done before the bell rings.

Um, no, Jonathan, I don't think this is a common occurrence for most realtors. Aww, Mina mention again! Oh, this poor boy seriously needs to sleep. (Me too, buddy)

That's definitely a perfectly normal way to invite someone in. "Enter freely and of your own will" Hand of a dead man hmmmmmmmm?

Ha! Even he thinks it's the driver.

I assume Mr. Hawkins is his boss? And that's a really sweet thing to say. Mmmmm chimcken. I'm very hungry the lunch at my school is not great on Tuesdays, especially when it's flavorless pasta with flavorless tomato sauce. Like somehow the lack of flavor is it's own flavor.

Hair on palms isn't actually... possible. The only two places your body doesn't grow hair at all are your palms and the soles of your feet. So that's extra strange.

This chapter definitely makes things a lot more tense, and I'm very excited to see how that build in the next one!

PREVIOUS / NEXT

#dracula #dracula daily #jonathan harker #mina murray #thank you for that one #liveblogging

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sandinthemachine · 2 years

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Living w/ König

just something fun to get me through 9 hours of presentations hehe...I'm dying. will probably make more posts as I think of them

Making him fit no not like that these are sfw

when you first move in together your place is of course made for a normally-sized person, but König doesn't complain. He's happy to be living with you and doesn't want to ruin it

but you notice the way his shoulders slump every time he has to take a shower. He's used to it to the point where he's just accepted that this is a part of living his life

but you haven't

so you make some calls. If you're living in a house it's a bit easier. If you're living in an apartment you have to do some bullying convincing with the landlord

And when he's off on a longer assignment you bring in builders and put your plan into motion

Expanding the doorways

Bringing in the biggest mattress and bedframe you can find

And the grand finale

Redoing your bathroom with a wider, taller shower, the showerhead plenty high enough that he can stretch all he wants

And as a little treat for you, too, a massive bath tub, the kind with jets and a nice counter along one side looking out the window at a lovely view of nature

He is always sore, so the jets will be perfect for massaging his muscles

And if the tub is big enough for both of you, well, of course you'll have to join him

Sleeping together yes, just sleeping

Most nights the two of you are together you're in the same bed. You never know how long you'll get together, even if you're both deployed together, so you absorb all the affection and cuddling you can

Even if you aren't falling asleep in each other's arms, he's always touching you. Maybe a leg flung over your knees, maybe he rolls over and rests his head on your chest (it's a massive bed so he actually can do this without dangling off it or twisting weirdly), or maybe he holds your hand as he sleeps

All of this being said

You definitely each have your own bedroom

You use it less for sleeping separately, although there's no hard feelings when one of you needs a night alone

You both use it more as a private space

König especially needs to be alone with his thoughts sometimes, it's just part of who he is, and him having his little cave to retreat to has made your dynamic and communication even better than it had been before

You've both gotten pretty good at going to your separate corners and taking a breath before coming back together and talking things through

It took him awhile to figure out how to verbalize his feelings but then you suggested writing them down, and he has a stack of messy journals to word-vomit into now

He writes things out in German and then goes back through and translates the important stuff into English once he's calmed down if you can't speak German

A lot of times he will write out notes for himself to read off of while you guys are talking things through, and it really helps him to explain everything without forgetting anything important

It's also helped you understand him a lot more as the two of you learn how to navigate being around each other and taking care of all your little idiosyncrasies together

Seeing how far he's come makes you so unbelievably proud of him that you tear up a little sometimes and have to reassure him that it's nothing he said, you're just really happy he's yours

#könig #könig headcanons

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astoundingbeyondbelief · 2 years

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Kaiju Week in Review (October 23-29, 2022)

Marvel published Ultraman: The Mystery of Ultraseven #3 (of 5) on Wednesday. Kaiju-Ultra combat dominates this one, with Hayata and Ultraman debating how to handle the out-of-control Ultraseven as well. I've fallen off with a lot of Ultra Series stuff, including the post-Z shows (hence Decker's absence from these reviews), but this reimagining of the classics continues to impress. Watch for the Pestar cameo!

Rumble has finally come to Blu-ray and DVD in the U.S. Made for theaters (the first trailer played before Sonic the Hedgehog) but banished to Paramount+ last December, this kaiju wrestling comedy went completely overlooked by genre fans. Maybe now it'll get its due. I quite enjoyed it—as a sports movie, it's pure formula, but as a monster movie it's something new. And yes, the wrestling organization has the same name as the old fanfic series on Godzilla Tower. I actually bought the artbook as prep for a podcast episode I recorded last year that never aired, so expect more posts on this one soon.

By the way, this is actually last week's news—I just didn't know about it until I found the DVD on a cart of new materials at my library.

Godzilla vs. Kong won the Saturn Award for Best Film Visual Effects, beating out a crowded field thanks to an almost two-year eligibility period. This is familiar territory for both monsters: Godzilla (1998) and King Kong (2005) were among the previous victors. Deserved over Top Gun: Maverick? Probably not, but I dunno why Maverick was one of the nominees to begin with. It was also nominated for Best Science Fiction Film, losing to Nope.

Varan won a remarkably intensive Godzilla Store poll earlier this year to become the next Movie Monster Series figure (Super Mechagodzilla placed second again after losing to Gorosaurus last year), and said figure has finally been revealed. It'll go on sale November 3. Other Godzilla Store-exclusive vinyls can be ordered through Buyee, so I expect this one will be too.

The upcoming CG short Godzilla vs. Gigan Rex is also getting MMS figures. No details yet that I could find, but since the film premieres November 3rd, I wouldn't be surprised if they dropped that day too.

Godzilla Battle Line is teasing Evangelion Unit 01 as the next new Battle Piece, a rare EvaGoji collaboration that won't require traveling to or importing from Japan to experience. That would cover three of the four films in the Shin series... can a giant Kamen Rider be far behind?

Godzilla's 68th birthday is next Thursday, and since reporting on all the U.S. tie-in screenings after the fact won't do anyone any good, I'm going to list them all now:

Godzilla Against Mechagodzilla - Limited release nationwide through Fathom Events; check if it's playing near you here

Godzilla (1954) - Alamo Drafthouse locations; will use Toho's 4K restoration

Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla (1974) - Roxy Cinema in NYC; 35mm print

Godzilla (1954); Rodan; Ghidorah, the Three-Headed Monster; The War of the Gargantuas - hosted by John Carpenter on various digital channels from November 3 to 6

Licensing International also has a list of all the non-film collaborations planned for that day. Nothing jumps out, to be honest, but I figured I'd include it.

But if you're like me and already have commitments that evening, why not check out @spacehunter-m's reconstruction of the 1956 German theatrical version of Godzilla instead? It premiered in West Germany just a few months after Godzilla, King of the Monsters! opened in the States, but it's actually based on the Japanese cut (just 13 minutes shorter). English subtitles are included.

#ultraman #godzilla #king kong #gigan #gigan rex #godzilla 1954 #rumble #neon genesis evangelion #godzilla vs. gigan rex #godzilla vs. kong #the mystery of ultraseven #home video #toys #kaiju week in review

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bookfanfic · 5 months

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Letter from 1914 (world war 1 - imagine scenario)

Summary: Felix is a 25 year old, German soldier from 1914. He's never done anything in his life, for his mom to be proud of. And since his dad died (9 years ago), his mom have treated him even worse. He has an 11 year old sister (Lily), and a 32 year old aunt, Elise. When the war comes up it's super obvious for Heidi (Felix's mom) to send him to the war "to have something to be proud of for once". Little did he know that he would meet the love of his life during his time there.

About 1700 words.

Author's note: I had a school assignment where we were supposed to write like we were any person from 1914, from their POV, and I thought it would be fun to post it here. Btw, it is a gay couple in the story fyi (I can write both gay and straight couples so you know).

Hope you like it <33

Hello, Aunt Elise.

It's me, Felix. The war isn't like we thought at all.

You know Mother Heidi wanted me to participate in the war so badly, so she could finally have something to be proud of. And since it was obvious to everyone we would win.

But it wasn't that simple...

We are at war on both the Eastern and Western fronts now, which is where I am right now (The western front to avoid any confusion).

War is not what we thought it was.

It's bloody and cold. And I nearly died once. But a French man saved me.

His name is Nestor and he is only a year older than me.

He has dark hair and a mixture of blue and gray eyes. He could have chosen not to save me, since he could have received huge punishment for it.

When he bumped into that soldier who was about to shoot me.

The trenches were cold. Especially now during the winter.

It's so sad that everyone has to be here during Christmas. Think of all the families waiting for their father, or brother, or husband to come home again.

But anyway.

This Christmas was not as bloody as the rest of the war.

We in the German army started singing Christmas carols.

And despite the cold.

The bloody, silent cold. It felt like home in Germany for a moment.

After a while the French- and Englishmen started singing along.

It was a man from each camp who met up in the middle, between the trenches, and decided that we should have peace. At least during the Christmas night.

We all gathered in the middle after a while, and some people even played soccer. But not me though. I've never been much for soccer, as you know.

And then I met him again.

Nestor.

He also sat on the sidelines, while the others played soccer. And I sat next to him.

It was a little awkward at first. Because I didn't know how to thank him, or because of all the fine details in his face that I couldn't notice from such a distance before and that made me a little nervous now, I couldn't say.

I saw more detail now up close.

His hair was dark, like a crow's feathers. And his eyes, like two storms out at sea.

He seemed so brave and mature in the way he observed everyone during the soccer game. As if he had been through a lot, even though he's lived barely a year longer than myself.

But he also looked a little lost. As if confused. Or perhaps miserable.

He was also quite thin. From the slender shoulders to his slim stomach, and legs. It didn't look like he was sick, but..

It just felt like it wasn't enough, in a way.

When I realized that I had been staring at his figure a second longer than I should have, I cleared my throat and looked at the ground.

I was a little ashamed. But he didn't seem to notice. Or care maybe.

We talked for a while and he was actually very nice.

He told me about his family. About being an only child, and all the pressure that came with it.

After he finished talking, I told him about mine.

He felt oddly relatable though he's in the opposite family situation compared to me.

But it felt like he understood.

All the pressure that came with this particular war. What would happen if we didn't win? And what would happen if we did?

I got a strange feeling of nausea when we talked about who would win the war.

What if we won, and he died? Or vice versa?

The thoughts were too much at that moment, so I chose to push them away for the time being.

As the soccer game was coming to an end, Nestor looked much happier.

I told him some of your infamous jokes, and he loved them.

His laugh sounded so genuine. So inviting and warm, despite the cold night that surrounded us.

There was something about him that felt different.

Like home. But different from back in Germany. Like another kind of home. A kind I never knew existed before.

Like he filled a void in me I didn't even know I had. A void I didn't know needed to be filled. (please don't do me dirty here)

When the soccer game was over, everyone gathered in the middle of the field again, including me and Nestor.

I met some of Nestor's friends. He had to translate, though, since his friends and I didn't fully understand each other. But it went well.

Then we saw a cat pass by.

It was apparently a cat that had been in the trenches. The other German soldiers had named it "Felix" because they thought it looked like me (the same green eyes and blonde hair). But those in the French army had named it Nestor because apparently he was the one who found the cat in their trench.

Neither I nor Nestor thought it had to be named after ourselves. Nor that it had to be such a big deal.

We were a little embarrassed by their quarrel, to be honest.

So in the end Nestor and I decided to name the cat Felix as it's first name, and Nestor as it's last name. I actually wanted Nestor's name before mine since it sounded much more proper than mine. But Nestor insisted, and I couldn't deny that.

Besides, he looked so pleased after we decided the order of the names.

And he smiled that smile that spread a warm, slightly tickling feeling in my stomach.

The Christmas celebrations eventually ended and everyone would go back to their trenches.

I could see large masses of soldiers disappearing in three different directions, heading back to their camp. I looked at the German camp, and then at the French. But couldn't find Nestor.

I was afraid that I wouldn't have the time to say goodbye before the war would begin again. But then I found him.

He was standing a few meters away, and I got that feeling in my stomach again.

There he was, his head looking in every direction in a matter of seconds. Almost as if he was looking for something.

I walked up to him before he could notice me, and gave his back a hug. He was taller than me so my arms were under his.

He made a surprised squeak as he turned around to stare at me.

At first he was a little confused, but it only took a few seconds before he looked more comfortable and hugged back. He was so warm. A contrast to the winter air.

I told him how much he mean to me and how happy I am that I have met him. Despite the short time we spent together, it felt like we'd known each other our entire lives. And everything about him just felt…

Right.

He was quiet for a while. And I don't know if it was a trick from the night, or if his usually pale cheeks got a little color. But the red shade suited him. It complimented his features.

And then. He closed the distance between us, his lips on mine.

They were soft and gentle. It felt like he kissed me for an eternity, until the second it ended.

When he backed up a little, the red color had traveled all the way to his ears.

Almost as if he had been slapped hard across the face. Or as if his cheeks got so cold because of the temperature, and that that would be the reason for his cheeks to turn into this hue of dark red.

But it wasn't.

I knew that. Because his cheeks were warm.

He said he hopes we win the war and that he hopes I'll be fine when I get back home afterwards.

He hugged me one last time, extra tight. And that was when I realized how strong he actually was, though he was pretty skinny.

He almost crushed me. But it felt good in a way.

Like a proper "goodbye", unlike the one I got from my mother when I left. The look she gave me. The disgusted look. And at the same time a warning that if I screw this up, it's over for me.

He then hurried to his friends in the French camp, and I felt the warmth disappear with him as he left.

When I went back to the trenches that night, I couldn't stop thinking about him.

How he hugged me. Kissed me.

And how I would never get to experience that warmth again.

A week later, when the war was on again, I saw Nestor. But it wasn't the same warm and tickling feeling that I had experienced before, that now filled my body.

Now it was pure panic.

I made eye contact with him for a few seconds. But then he was shot by someone from the German army.

He looked into my eyes as he fell dead to the ground.

I couldn't help the tears that flooded my eyes, down my cheeks the second his eyes closed.

His soft cheeks against the hard, dirty ground.

I hid my head behind the path of the trenches and wept as I had never done before.

It hurts so bad.

And not like a wound that goes away after a while. Not like the wounds mother gave me every time she got ashamed of me.

This was something much deeper, and that hurt a thousand times more.

This was an indescribable pain.

The reason I'm now writing to you Elise is because I don't know if I'll live another month, another week, or even another day here.

You're the one who's been there for me the most during my time in Germany after father died. And the one who understands me.

I don't want to die without you knowing what happened. And I want you to be able to explain all of this to Lily one day if I don't come back.

I wish for you to say hello to Mother and Lily, and for you to tell them that I love them.

So much. And that I always did.

Even though she hasn't treated me very well, I will never stop loving Mother Heidi.

Nor you.

Thank you for always being there when I needed you. Take good care of yourself and the rest of the family.

Be well, much love

// Felix

Author's note: This is my first story and I hope you all like it. Idk if it's good or not. I tried to have some facts in it like the peace during Christmas and the cat, but idk.

Lmk if you'd like it from Nestor's POV or if you want me to write it as if they are living it, and not as it was written now (like a letter).

Thanks <33

#fanfiction #stories #ww1 #WW1 #romance #lgbtq #gay #mlm #man loving man #felix x nestor #nestor x felix #fanfic #first post #i tried #lmk if you'd like this story as nestor's pov or not like a letter #hope you like <3 #bookfanfic

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letstalkwhump · 1 year

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Let's Talk Whump

Welcome to Let’s Talk Whump, a series of interviews that spotlight the amazing people in our whump community! I’m Malice and I’ll be your host today.

Here today to talk all things whumpy is the fabulous @experi-sketches!

Thanks for joining us today, @experi-sketches! Do you mind kicking us off today with some facts about youself?

Hi, I'm Katie! I'm a 30-something with a pretty boring day-job in bank operations. I've always loved all things creative - as a kid that meant drawing and playing the viola, but as an adult I've found that what I really love is writing! When I'm not writing, though, I enjoy cooking, reading, spending time with my partner & loving on my pup, a 12-year-old pit bull/german shepherd mutt named Cleo who is an absolute doofus. I am, in fact, a lover of all dogs and will happily smoosh any pup's face or give them belly rubs. I tend to be quite shy, and I'm a bit of a clueless geezer when it comes to social media (I'm really not very good at it lol) but I love getting a chance to meet new folks in creative communities!

What does whump mean to you?

I enjoy the versatility of whump; to me it's any story centered around a character who endures intense struggle or suffering - be that emotional/psychological/physical, or maybe all three - and is changed in some way by that experience. I've always loved stories where the protag has to fight tooth and nail to survive, like *really* fight, and whump tends to have that in spades. The drama of it is just *chef's kiss* so choice!

And how did you find the whump community? What made you want to join?

So, to be honest, I kind of fell into whump by accident? When I started posting my current project on AO3, "An Iron Blood Tale: Iron and Gold," I was feeling anxious because it dealt with some very dark/violent themes that I'd never written before, so I wanted to try and make sure that I included enough relevant tags so people knew what they were getting into. One day I was perusing other stories on AO3 in the master/slave tag, trying to see what types of tags similar authors were using, and this word 'whump' kept coming up. I had no idea what it meant so finally I googled it. When I found out what it was I had this lightbulb moment like "Omg, this is exactly what I'm writing!" Whump was the tag I'd been searching for without knowing it, and once I started using it, I not only started to reach folks who enjoy the same kinds of stories I do, but I also realized that there was a whole community of them! I suddenly didn't have to feel self-conscious about the dark content of my story, because I could serve it to people who actually wanted to see it. It made me feel like I'd finally found a home for "An Iron Blood Tale."

Finding the whump community really feels like coming home, doesn't it? Do you think your view on whump changed since you joined?

Well as mentioned this is all pretty much a new world for me! So I'd say no, still kind of figuring things out lol. I will say that my perception of the community has changed, though. Like many newcomers to a community, at first I was afraid to engage because I was constantly worried that I might say something silly or post something that could offend or upset someone, so I tended to just lurk quietly in the background. But I've since come to see that most folks here are actually quite sensitive and accepting! For a genre that deals so many with dark themes, I've found the people here very kind and welcoming.

Do you have a favourite whump trope? Or more than one, it's so hard to choose sometimes!

I enjoy anything that includes power dynamics, particularly unbalanced power dynamics, although I feel that's sort of a given for whump. Since I've started writing "An Iron Blood Tale" I find myself more drawn to slavery tropes & also dub/non-con, mostly because I like seeing how other people handle those topics and again, power dynamics lol. I also tend to lean more towards emotional/psychological whump - give me a character who has to battle internal demons along with external ones!!

Now you have to hype yourself up! What's one of your favorite pieces you've written?

Well literally the only other complete work I have posted on the internet is "Wham, Bam!" (NSFW) which is slice-of-life m/m erotica. It's about a fellow in rural Texas who grew up closeted and bullied, and who gets his world turned upside down by an attractive and selfish stranger.

I wouldn't say it's whump, or at least not very much so, but the protag in that story, Harvey, is definitely fighting through some emotional and psychological hangups that were beaten into him during his childhood. It's on my AO3 if you're interested!

Otherwise my big project at the moment is a fantasy novel called "An Iron Blood Tale" - very whumpy long-format story about a young man named Jerre whose village is raided by elven invaders, and as a result he becomes enslaved to a disgraced nobleman named Arna Sindri. It's also very much NSFW, (deals with slavery & NON-CON, PTSD & physical, emotional and psychological torture so please be warned) but I would say the predominant focus is on Jerre's struggle to cling to his humanity while he fights to find a way to escape a world that is very strange and dangerous to him!

I do like some good emotional and psychological whump! Would you mind sharing what your writing routine looks like?

Oh I'm definitely more productive in the morning. I get the bulk of my writing done on the weekends - maybe I'll do a *little* writing during the week, but usually after a long day at work all I have the mental energy for is some editing/revision. On saturday and sunday I like to get out of bed around 6 AM or so, (partner & dog are still asleep at that point so I have the whole house to myself, which is a rare delight,) make some coffee, and just write as much as I can. I tend to write long-format things and I've found a few tricks that work well for me - admittedly none of them are very unique but hey, they do work!

First, I've got to have the right soundtrack while I'm writing. Music is so helpful, it puts me in the right mood & gets the creative juices flowing, and it literally helps me visualize scenes better. In particular I love 'movie trailer music' - artists who write orchestral music used for trailers and stuff. It's great because it's not associated with an *actual* movie so I can use all those epic vibes I feel while listening to it to manifest my own characters and stories. In particular I like Kevin Graham's music, and there's this youtube channel called Really Slow Motion that's also great. Highly recommend if you're looking for some epic music to write to!

Second, I don't write chronologically. I tend to write stories/chapters completely out of order. I already know all the Big Stuff that happens b/c I like to plan the plot in advance, so I'll just write whatever scene I feel inspired to write that day. Over time the gaps between those scenes shrink and then eventually all I have to do is fill in the blank spaces between scenes and boom! I have a completed draft.

Last: I don't worry about what I write being good. It's a thing I hear a lot of writers say, but it's so, so true. I tell myself that the point of a first draft is simply to *exist*, and then I just slap whatever garbage leaves my brain onto the page. I don't judge myself if it's awful because I can always go back later and revise revise revise to make it better. Letting go of the need to make everything perfect on the first try has made my writing time so much more productive and fulfilling.

Sounds like you've got a strong routine. Is there an easy thing for you to write? What do the words usually flow for? Is there something you struggle with writing?

I always feel like action sequences or Big Dramatic Events flow the best for me. If Jerre is getting attacked or experiencing some kind of trauma or torture, or if there's a battle, or a fist fight, or an argument - you know, big, action-y things. Where I tend to struggle more are those quieter, more intimate scenes between characters. Soft, tender dialog, or a moment where a character is alone with their thoughts, or struggling with their inner demons, stuff like that. It's so hard to make those scenes land correctly and not seem tacky!

And is there anything you're working on at the moment?

So my big project right now is "An Iron Blood Tale" over on AO3 It's kind of taken over my life. There's going to be two books, "Iron and Gold" and "Soot and Blood." I kinda mentioned the set-up for the first book "Iron and Gold" above - Jerre's village is raided and he's enslaved to Arna Sindri, and with the help of his fellow prisoner Emrik he tries to find some way to escape. The second book, "Soot and Blood," continues Jerre and Emrik's story as they struggle to navigate the traumas of their pasts while also tying to save the continent from the elven invaders who destroyed their lives. I'm currently drafting the very last chapter of book one, and doing *tons* of revisions on the chapters I've already written. But I…I cannot even wait for book two. I've written some of it already, but I'm actually crying inside to devote 100% of my attention to it - book two is where shit really gets real!

That sounds son awesome and I can't wait to read them! IS there any writing advice that you'd like to share?

Write whatever you want and whatever makes you happy - write for yourself. If you love what you write, chances are other people will sense that and love it too.

And also give yourself the freedom to be a bad writer! Seriously. The hardest part of writing is just making that *very* first draft, so just slam out whatever rubbish comes out of your brain, and who cares if it makes sense or not? Once it exists, you can go back and make things 'good.' And what even is 'good' anyways? It's all subjective! If you just remove the pressure of trying to make things perfect on your first try, it frees you, and you become so much more productive!

Oh, and find some good music to listen to while you write. Feel like most people know that one already, but it's so true haha

Finally a shout out to your favourite writing/whump blogs, bffs or people who've inspired you.

I'm kind of embarrassed to admit that I'm still so new here that I'm kind of trying to find my sea legs! Like I said, I'm pretty shy, so I've mostly just been lurking and poking around through the whump tags here on Tumblr and also on AO3…there's so much that it's kind of overwhelming! I do want to give a little shout to @burntcoffeewhump, though. They've been super amazing and supportive of my story, and they've even pointed me towards some other whumpy blogs & stories that I've been checking out! You're a true hero haha

Anything you'd like to add?

Please feel free to say hi! Drop something in my asks, leave a comment on AO3, @ me on twitter - I'm trying to get over my nerves and get more involved in the community, but I'm always excited to say hi and meet new folks!

Thank you so much for joining us today! It was great to have you on the show!

And to all you folks at home, have a whump-derful day!

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tay0la · 3 years

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💫germans final national finalists in a nutshell💫

Eros Atomus — “alive”: it's great to be alive. BUT INTERESTING VOICE. 4/5

Felicia Lu — “anxiety”: okay-ish. Catchy. 2,5/5

Maël & Jonas — “I swear to god”: they are so sympathetic. 3/5

Emily Roberts — “soap”: I like her but I am not a huge fan of the song. 2/5

NKSN, Team Liebe, Buket, EMY, Nico Suave — “Hallo Welt”: Well, it's German, which would be great, because it's not in English (there is minor part, where they sing the chorus in English but that's fine by me.) 4.5/5

Malik Harris — “Rockstars”: calm. probably a song I can vibe with. 3,5/5

★ MY TOP 3 ★

1. “Hallo Welt” (first language bonus)

2. “alive” (interesting voice)

3. “Rockstars” (just vibing)

★ opinion part ★

It's safe to say that all songs are very mainstream but -I have to defend Germany now- many of last year's entries [that had been voted from the semifinals to the grand final] had a mainstream sound. So it is the logical conclusion to send a mainstream entry this year. *But* if I was allowed to vote for the german act, I would vote for the German song because a) it's mainstream but at least German and the message is acceptable👍 and b) if they end up last then they aren't alone, because they are many. :)

Yeah, so I am interested in the result of the national final on the 4th of March with 💫Babara💫. [If you are German, you can vote for your favorite act from the 28th of February on the radio websites? Until the national final, I guess?]

But if Germany is lucky enough, they might get EC to Eurovision. [Who haven't been nominated/listed but there is a petition going on.]

‘i also said in my last year's Eurovision post that I start listening to the songs after the semifinals and I have to correct this because I have a soft spot for pre-last placed Germany. Therefore, I always check them out earlier & also to warm up with their entry because some of Germany's entries are actually nice sometimes when you had time to listen to them more often.😅’ please don't judge me for this.

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wowbright · 2 years

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Fic: Vibes

@klaine-word-scramble: vacated

Words: ~2000 words

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Kurt panics. And then he doesn’t.

This is part of my Mormon!Klaine universe. It takes place directly after Licked Cupcake and before The Luckiest.

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost. (More recent posts are in bold.)

Thanks @kriskubed!

I picture the presenter as Bryan Ryan, but German (or maybe Austrian) and LDS. Also, I didn’t have a native German speaker check my grammar—feel free to if you are one.

––––

“Tada! I present to you the Kit Kat. You see a mere candy bar. But this lowly confection can also be used to serve God's Kingdom. How, you ask? Because these two syllables, Kat and Kit, can be used to remind investigators and inactive members about the steps they can take to grow closer to God.”

The presenter was really hamming it up. It was cheesy, but it was also a nice break from the quiet, plodding tone most speakers used in an effort to exemplify reverence.

Plus, he didn't lick or spit on a single Kit Kat.

Bishop Ryan proceeded to explain how Kit Kats could help families with kids—and adults with a good sense of humor—more easily remember the role baptism and confirmation played in the Plan of Salvation. The name of the candy was supposed to remind them of the mnemonic KAT KIT, which stood for:

Kinder Gottes sind wir (We are God’s children)

Alle Menschen hat Jesus Christus vom Tod erlösen (Jesus saved all people from death)

Taufe ist für die Erlösung unerlässlich (Baptism is necessary for salvation)

Konfirmierung brauchen wir auch, damit wir empfängen die Gabe des Heiligen Geistes (Confirmation is also necessary, so we can receive the gift of the Holy Ghost)

Immer sei treu (Always be faithful)

Tun, was wir tun müssen, um Gott zu gehorchen und die Gebote zu halten (We do what we must to obey God and keep the commandments)

“Now go! Practice and enjoy some sugar!”

They broke into groups of four to roleplay the lesson, with one pair of missionaries teaching while the other acted the part of investigators. Kurt and Elder Saint James were grouped with some sister missionaries they didn't know.

“Finally, an opportunity to really act!” Elder Saint James clapped his hands and then, as if he had overlooked something, turned to the sisters. “Because I'm an actor, you see. Professional. Left my career for this mission. But I don't think the break will hurt me. God rewards the faithful. Also, I'm extremely talented.”

Kurt might have thought Elder Saint James was flirting if he hadn’t known him. But that was how Elder Saint James talked to everybody.

“You're just a tad vain, aren't you?” said one of the sisters—her name was Schwester Pepper. “Have you talked to President Steele about fixing that problem?”

Elder Saint James’s eyes lit up. “I have, actually. He's been super patient and supportive in trying to help me with it. How did you figure out I struggle with vanity? You're very perceptive.”

“Um, you bragging about your acting career?”

“Oh. That? That wasn't vanity. That's just true.”

Schwester Pepper and her companion gave each other scandalized looks.

But it turned out Elder Saint James was extremely talented. Kurt had done these kinds of role plays with him back in the MTC, but either had forgotten how good he was in them, or Elder Saint James had somehow managed to get better at acting during his two years of proselytizing.

Actually, that sort of made sense.

They were having so much fun, Kurt should have been utterly indistractable. But at some point during their role play, Elder Anderson entered his line of sight, halfway across the room. And Elder Anderson was gently unwrapping a Kit Kat.

It shouldn't have reminded Kurt of the act of disrobing. But somehow it did.

Images plucked from memories and dreams flickered through Kurt’s mind: Blaine’s body behind Kurt’s, his hands warm on Kurt’s shoulders as he helped him remove his coat; Kurt loosening his tie, and Blaine stepping closer, so very very close, to unknot it and free it from Kurt’s collar; the two of them in bed, Blaine unbuttoning the top buttons of Kurt’s pajama top and leaning in to kiss the exposed skin of his collarbone.

Then Blaine began to eat the Kit Kat, and that was Kurt’s undoing.

Blaine ate it slowly, first sucking the chocolate off its tip, like it was a finger that needed to be licked clean. He nibbled it millimeter by millimeter, and Kurt tried not to look, but every time he glanced away his eyes dragged themselves back, watching to see the Kit Kat disappear into Blaine’s mouth the same way those bananas had that one time—the way other, unthinkable things could disappear into a warm, wet mouth.

Every thought vacated Kurt’s brain. He knew the people around him were talking. He knew he was supposed to say something comprehensible soon.

But desire flooded him, washing everything else away.

“Excuse me.” He stood up so fast, he almost knocked his chair over. “I need to use the bathroom.” He stumbled toward the door.

The bathroom was empty when he got there. A window high up on the wall, just above his shoulder height, was propped open. He leaned against the sill and took a deep breath. He smelled concrete and some sort of flower and the faint odor of car exhaust. He heard a cat meowing in one of the apartments across the street.

The door swung open behind him. “Oh.” It was Elder Saint James’s voice. “I thought you had to use the bathroom? That was fast.”

“I do. But I need to breathe first.” Kurt needed to breathe and to think unsexy thoughts and … actually, getting Elder Saint James to talk to him would probably help. Without the visual stimulus of Blaine Anderson seducing a Kit Kat, he should be able to focus on his friend’s words.

Elder Saint James sidled up next to him at the window. “Are you having a panic attack?”

“No.”

“Because I've had enough companions with panic attacks to learn how to talk people through them, if you want me to.”

“It's not a panic attack. I just needed a break.”

“From me?”

“No.”

“Did something the speaker said upset you? Are you having a crisis of faith?”

“What? No.” Or maybe Kurt was, but that was more of an ongoing thing and not the problem of the moment. In any case, it wasn't something he wanted to discuss with Elder Saint James.

“Sick of your mission?”

“No.”

“Thinking sexy thoughts?”

Kurt wished there was a cave somewhere he could disappear into. “Excuse me?”

Elder Saint James shrugged. “You look a little panicked, but you say you're not having a panic attack. If it's not a panic attack, in my experience, there are only a few things that make a missionary look that way: a crisis of faith, realizing that you still have time left on your mission, and sexy thoughts. So which one is it?”

“I'm pretty sure there are other options.”

“Like what?”

Kurt couldn't think of any.

“It's OK if you have sexy thoughts, Elder Hummel. We all do.”

Kurt stared out the window. “Thanks for your support.”

“Was it me? I wasn't trying to be sexy, but I know I just had this natural kind of magnetism and I don't always know how to turn it off.”

“No, Elder Saint James. It was definitely not you.”

“That's good, I guess. Who was it, then?”

“You know what, Elder Saint James ? I think I'm ready to go back to the chapel.” Kurt pushed against the sill to propel himself backward toward the door.

But Elder Saint James didn't move. “Is it me, or does Elder Anderson really like you?”

Kurt’s skin, from the back of his neck around to his nipples and down to his toes, went cold. “Elder Anderson’s not gay.”

“That's not what I meant. I mean, if he is or if he isn't, it's not of my business. What I meant was, I wondered what that might be like for you. Because even though he's sort of quiet, I can tell that you two have this vibe. Like, the one that all companions strive for. And you know how they say companionship is preparation for marriage? It teaches us that we can love someone even when we live close enough to learn all their flaws, and to be patient, and all that stuff? Well, you guys have that vibe like you’ve actually learned it. And I just thought … I don’t know.”

“You thought I’m being inappropriate with my companion?”

Elder Saint James guffawed. “No way. Not you. You’re too rule-abiding. I just thought it would be nice if you found that vibe with someone who was like you. But also supremely inconvenient to find it while you were on a mission. And I never really had to worry about that because I'm not gay, and that doesn't seem fair. I guess that's what I was thinking.” Elder Saint James sighed. “Because that vibe, I think that's what a good marriage is based on.”

Kurt’s heart was pounding, pounding. “Are there rumors? Because he's not gay, and it's not fair for people to spread rumors just because—”

“There aren't any rumors. Everyone knows how upstanding you are, Elder Hummel.” Elder Saint James turned away from the window to look at Kurt. Really look at him. Kurt stared at the wall. “And Elder Anderson flirts with the sisters too much for anyone to spread rumors about him. I mean, he doesn't say much, but whatever it is that he says, they just melt for him like a vat of fondue.”

Kurt relaxed. He even felt a smile turning the corners of his mouth. “I keep telling him that, but he denies it. He says he's just friendly and has no improper intentions.”

Elder Saint James raised his eyebrows. “Huh. Maybe he's like me. The kind of guy who just can't help but attract attention.”

Kurt outright laughed at that. He stepped forward and rejoined Elder Saint James at the window. It was getting late, the sun lighting the street orange as the first lamps flickered on. “Have you ever had a special vibe with somebody?”

“I'm not sure. I've had some pretty cool companions. But maybe I'm still too self-centered for it to really happen.”

“I meant with a girl.”

“Oh, yeah … No. Despite appearances, I'm a good Mormon boy. I never let myself date anyone seriously before I left on my mission. And I don't think you can really develop that kind of chemistry until you've spent a lot of time with someone. But I'd like to have that someday. I'd like to find a girl who really gets me, and I get her just as much. And sometimes I wonder if I can get that in the church. Because in the church, I'm supposed to be priesthood authority, and she's supposed to be my helpmeet and, sure, we're both helping each other but … I'm just not sure how we can really connect like best friends should if I technically preside over her. I want to be equals.”

“The roles are equal, just different.” The words felt hollow in Kurt’s mouth.

Elder Saint James didn't answer. Across the way, a cat appeared in an apartment window. Kurt wondered if it was the same cat he’d heard meowing earlier. It didn't look anything like Stürmchen, and yet he thought of her, which made him think of Blaine.

The thoughts weren't so troubling now. They were thoughts of warmth and closeness. Blaine was a good person. He loved that cat the same way he loved everyone, unreservedly and without judgment.

Elder Saint James was right. Kurt’s feelings for Blaine were inconvenient. But they also gave Kurt a window into what marriage might be like, what it felt to be truly loved.

And that was a good thing.

#mormon!klaine #wowbright writes fic #klaine-word-scramble #klaine fanfic #mormon stuff #kit kats #vacated vat cat tad date ate eat cave act acted tada #missed vet vac cad caved data

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viking-raider · 4 years

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Southern Generation - Part I

Summary: After more than a decade of service, Captain Syverson as retired from the military, but now that he is retired, he still needs to find a job.

Pairing: Syverson/OFC

Word Count: 6,214

Rating: PG - Quasi-Slow Burn, Language, PTSD, Fluff, Angst, Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, Reclusive Behavior

Inspiration: I wrote a similar story for another fandom and I’ve wanted to finally write a Sy story, since I don’t have one.

Author’s Note: I wasn’t going to post this til I was done, but thought what the hell. Thanks to @wondersofdreaming of for her help with it.

He was home, finally and for good.

After more than ten years of service in the U.S Army and retiring as a Captain, Austin Wyatt Syverson was no longer a soldier. It felt amazing to be back on southern soil again, home sweet home; back in the city he was named after.

Austin, Texas.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Syverson found his way back home, to his flat in central Austin. He didn't expect a huge welcome back, unlike the first time he came back home from overseas, years before. His parents had decorated his apartment with streamers, a 'welcome back' sign and balloons. They had cake and noise makers as he entered, surprising him. But, this time, there was none of that, just bare gray walls, covered in band posters and other things Syverson liked.

His father had died of a heart attack two years into his second deployment and his mother had passed from breast cancer a year before. He was an only child and he wasn't close to his other relatives, so he would have hit the floor if any of them had even sent him a 'welcome back' text.

No, Austin Syverson was on his own, and he was more than all right with that. One thing he wasn't all right with was not having a job. So, after settling in, getting into his civilian clothing and cooking a good home cooked lunch, he picked up a newspaper and perused the job section. He preferred a job that he could do with his hands, he had always liked working with his hands, even as a kid, tinkering in the garage with his dad. Several advertisements caught his attention and he saved the numbers in his phone, planning on calling them to inquire about the job, but for now, Syverson just wanted to relax and settle in as a newly-minted civilian.

The one thing he did miss was Aika, the German Shepherd he befriended back in Baghdad. He had started the process of having Aika sent over from Iraq, but she was stuck in a month-long quarantine, before she would be cleared to be with him again, in Austin.

“She's all the family I need.” Sy said, popping the cap off a cold one.

Bright and early the next morning, Sy started calling the numbers in the advertisements and discovered to his disgruntled annoyance, that the paper he picked up was nearly a week old. He made a mental note to give the clerk at the corner store a piece of his mind, the next time he saw him.

“I'm really sorry, Mr. Syverson.” the owner of a construction company sighed, feeling bad that he didn't have room on his current job for him.

“It's fine, I'll find something.” Sy frowned, rubbing the side of his face. “Thanks though.” He sighed, and started to hang up.

“Wait!”

Sy paused, his finger almost pressed to his screen to hang up the call, and put it back to his ear. “Yeah?” He replied, biting his lip.

“I just remembered, it's a private contract, I got it a couple days ago.” He explained, fumbling through several stacks of papers and files he had strewn across his desk. “It's out in Celina, I know that's a bit of a drive from where you are in Austin.”

“That's fine.” Sy answered, relieved. “A job is a job.”

He figured if he could do a job overseas, he could do a job three hours outside of Austin.

“Well, if you want it, it's yours.” He told Sy, finally finding the paper he was looking for.

“Of course!”

He gave Sy the details of the contract, it was a private contract, sent into his company by a young lady, who lived just outside of Celina, Texas, on a small farm. Apparently the house and the barn on the property were in disrepair and she wanted them repaired. So, Sy took the contract and the information, then hung up with him, immediately calling the number he had given him for the young lady.

“Hello?” A soft, almost meek, voice answered.

“Hi, I'm Cap-” Sy cleared his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, it was going to be a while, before he broke himself out of the habit of introducing himself as Captain Syverson. “I'm Austin Syverson. I know you don't know me, but I got your contract from Mr. McJames, the owner of Diamond Ridge Constructions, in Austin.” He explained to her, sure it sounded a bit crazy.

“Oh.” She replied, unconsciously brushing her hair out of her face. “Right. The contract.”

“Is it still available?” He asked, feeling a small tingle of apprehension in the pit of his stomach.

“Yes!” She answered, hastily, worried she had given him the wrong impression. “Yes, the contract is still available. You're actually my only inquirer for it.” She told him, honestly.

“I would love to meet up with you and talk about it.” Sy said, letting out a relieved sigh and felt his massive shoulders relax.

“Um,” She gulped, licking her lips and felt her hands shake.

“I could meet you in Celina, take you for coffee?” He suggested, hoping to make her more comfortable with meeting him in a public place. “My treat.” He added, with a sweet tone.

“No, no.” She squeaked, fidgeting in her chair. “That's all right, if you want to take the contract it's yours, Mr. Syverson. It's seventeen an hour, with everything provided.” She explained to him, taking deep breaths, to calm down her nerves.

Sy was a little surprised by how easy it was, but he was willing to do the job, either way. “Of course, I would gladly take the job for you.” He agreed.

“Excellent.” She smiled, bouncing on her toes. “You can start at your earliest convenience.” She told him.

“I can come by tomorrow morning, if that's all right with you.” He replied, looking around his kitchen for something to write with and on, so he could take down her address.

“That's splendid.” She assured him, then rattled off her address for him. “If you have any issues finding the place, just call.” She told him, before they hung up.

Sy woke up early, for the three hour drive from Austin to Celina.

It was a nice drive, watching the bustling city of Austin slowly melt away to the rural landscape of the countryside, endless farmlands of varying crops. Sy found it rather soothing, after seeing nothing but sand, rubble and burned out buildings for so long. He felt like he was getting back to his roots again, his southern heritage. His GPS chimed into his thoughts, announcing he was within a mile of her home. So, he turned off the music he was playing and rolled down the window of his truck, squinting at the mailboxes that dotted the few dirt driveways along the long country road.

“You've passed your destination.”

“Fuck.” Sy grunted, tires screeching as he turned around.

He stopped his truck by the side of the road and got out, looking up and down the empty road, frowning. He pulled his GPS device off its holder and started walking in the direction it indicated her house was in, pausing, as it told him he was standing exactly where he needed to be. Turning in a circle, he noticed the sun baked, wooden gate, that was slightly hidden by weeds and had no mailbox. Frowning, Sy locked up his truck, pushed open the gate that almost fell over in the process, before walking up the driveway.

The simple, two story farmhouse slowly came into view. The roof of the farm porch was dilapidated and sagging, there were shingles missing on both roofs, the paint of the house was faded and peeling, chipping away from the warped and cracked boards, a couple of them were missing.

“It definitely needs work.” Sy said, stopping to look the house over, then noticed the barn a couple of yards away, in even worse condition. “Looks like I got my work cut out for me.” He sighed, but wasn't daunted by any of it.

His eyes moved away from the barn and back to the house as the screen door opened and a woman stepped out onto the porch; Sy could practically hear the high-pitch creak of the screen door from where he stood. She was a teeny little thing, maybe five foot, and looked timid, by the way she hugged the screen door, using it to hide behind as she watched him finish approaching the house.

“Mr. Syverson?” She called out to him, biting her bottom lip.

“Yes, ma'am.” Sy answered, stopping at the bottom of the warped steps leading up to her on the porch.

“I hope you didn't have too much trouble finding the place?”

“Not at all.” He smiled at her, shaking his head. “I don't lose my way often.” He assured him, teasingly.

“Good.” She chuckled, nervousness. “I suppose you'd like a closer look at the place?” She asked, glancing around the porch.

“If you don't mind.” Sy nodded, glancing around as well.

Biting her lip, she stepped out onto the porch, the screen door closing with a soft bang. “I'm sure you saw a lot of the issues on your way up.” She explained, slowly stepping off the porch.

“I have.” Sy nodded, looking down and smirking at her bare feet. “Seems a lot of the boards are rotted and the house, and barn, could use a good fresh coat of paint.”

“That's the least of the problems.” She replied, looking at the side of the house as they rounded its corner, heading towards the barn. “There's several weak points in the roof, on both the barn and the house.”

“When was the place built?” He asked, touching the side of the house, flecks of paint brushing off under his fingertips.

“1921.” She answered, looking up to the top of the house, squinting in the bright sunlight. “I bought the place four years ago.” She explained, turning towards the barn.

“I can understand you wanting to fix up the house, being you live in it.” Sy commented, checking out the barn. “But, what do you want the barn with? If you don't mind me asking.”

“I'm considering turning it into my studio.” She answered, trying to push open the barn door.

“What do you do?” Sy asked, helping her push open the door; one handed, while she leaned her body into it.

“I'm a graphic designer and a photographer.” She explained to him, stepping inside the barn with him.

“That's cool.” He smiled at the back of her head.

“Thanks.” She replied, smiling at him over her shoulder. “So,” She gulped and glanced around the barn. “Do you think you can do the job?” She asked, regarding him.

Sy heaved a sigh and roamed around the barn for a moment, checking things out. “I'm more than sure I could.” He finally said, stopping in front of her and crossed his arms. “It might take a couple of weeks to finish. But, I can do it.”

“Great.” She smiled, relieved and excited to hear that he could.

“I can start right away, if you want.” He added, resolute.

“Sounds excellent.” She nodded, fidgeting and nervously twisting the hem of her tank top with her fingers. “I can get the tools for you.” She turned and left the barn, heading back towards her house.

Sy followed after her, staying on the top step of the porch, while she disappeared inside. “Here.” He smiled as she came back, carrying a heavy red and rushed toolbox; stepping forward to take it from her.

“If you need anything else, more tools or supplies, like, I don't know, lumber or whatever.” She mumbled, staring down at her bare feet, shyly. “Just ask.”

“I will.” Sy grinned down at her, hefting the toolbox and making the tools inside of it rattle.

With that, Sy gave her a gentlemanly nod of his head and stepped off the porch. He carried the heavy box of tools down the long driveway, back to his truck, still parked on the side of the road, where he left it. Opening the back hatch, he set the tool box down in the truck bed and opened it, checking out all the tools that were stored inside it.

“Not too bad.” He nodded, approving of the selection that was inside, then turned towards his first project for the place, the pathetic excuse and falling over the gate.

Digging his phone out of his pocket, Sy googled the closet hardware store, secured the toolbox in the back of his truck and hopped in behind the wheel and followed the directions into the town of Celina. He knew she told him to tell her if he needed anything while working on her property, but Sy had a sound enough savings, that he didn't mind spending his own money on bits and bobs. He browsed the aisles of the hardware store, picking up a couple of tools he would need and weren't in the box, then several boards of wood, to build a new gate.

“Thanks.” Sy muttered, nodding his head at the hardware store owner, collecting his things and packing them back into his truck.

Getting back to the farm, Sy parked close to the head of the driveway and got to work, tearing down the old gate and piled up the lumber to the side, out of the way. Without a power source, this far out, Sy relied on a trusty hand saw and the thick muscle of his arms to cut the fresh boards, still strongly smelling of the pine tree they were hewn from. He measured everything out, tucking the pencil behind his ear, as he leaned into the saw as he cut them to length and nailed them together, forming the new gate.

She watched him the whole time, from the upstairs window of her office. He was a hard and diligent worker. Taking painstaking time to double, or even triple, his measuring of the boards, before finally cutting them with a manual saw. In a matter of hours, he had the new gate made and started putting it up. Biting her lip and saving her work on her laptop, she went downstairs into her humble little kitchen, whipped up a couple of things, making some food and drinks, before texting him.

» If you're hungry, I made lunch.

Sy smiled at her text, putting the last screw into the gate and pushed it open with two fingers. Grinning and proud of his work, then turning back to his truck, he put all the tools away and cleaned up the rest of the mess he made, then drove through the gate, stopping long enough to get out and close the gate behind him, then went up and parked beside her own little car. She came out onto the porch, holding a plate of food and a tall glass of cold lemonade.

“Thank you.” He grinned at her, taking the plate and glass, and sitting down on the rickety porch swing, balancing the plate in his lap.

“You're welcome.” She mumbled back, so shy that she didn't meet his blue eyes.

Chuckling, Sy took a deep gulp of the lemonade, parched beyond belief after all the work he had done. He moaned as the cold tang washed over his tongue, refreshing him tremendously. “That is delicious, thank you.” He complimented her.

“Thank you.” She smiled, still fidgeting beside the swing. “I'll be inside, if you need me.” She said in a rush, and scuttled inside.

Sy tilted his head as the screen door slammed shut behind her. She was a curious person, always so nervous and shy, fidgeting and never meeting his eye. He wondered if his presence made her feel uncomfortable, he was wearing a red, DILLIGAF t-shirt, a tight pair of black jeans and boots. He was an imposing guy, with stacked muscle, which made his job in the Special Forces easier, and his head was shaved, while sporting a beard. Sy's whole presence came off as authoritative and commanding, it was a natural effect he had, it was one of the reasons he had advanced in the military and succeeded as a leader so well.

Sighing, he finished off his food and gulped down the rest of his lemonade, before getting up and carefully knocking on the wood of the door frame, peeking inside. The main door was half open and he could see into the foyer and the living room beyond that, the large rug on the hardwood floors and the mismatched couch and furniture of the living room, a flat screen tv mounted above the fireplace. He could just see around the corner into what looked like a dining room, seeing the edge of a table and a couple of chairs. She appeared from the other side of the door, looking up into his eyes for a moment, before dropping them down again.

“All finished?” She asked, quietly.

“I am, thank you.” Sy smiled at her, pressing his lips together. “It was really good, the best I've had so far, since coming home.” He told her, taking a step back as she opened the screen door, taking the dishes from him, their fingers brushing.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” He asked, gulping at the soft touch of her fingers.

“No, thank you.” She squeaked, drawing away from him. “I appreciate you fixing the gate.” She added, breathlessly.

“Of course, ma'am.” Sy smiled, chuckling softly. “I'll be back tomorrow and I'll have a look around the house and see what projects need more direct attention.” He explained to her, glancing around the porch.

“That sounds great.” She mumbled back, clearing her throat.

“I'll take my leave then.” Sy said, bowing his head to her, and heading back to his truck.

There was an infernal banging coming from outside, with a loud clattering that followed, all of it in a steady rhythm that was driving her crazy.

She was nuzzled into the warmth of her thick down blankets, in that heavenly position, where you found the perfect spot on the mattress to lay, and even the slightest movement will ruin it, in a millisecond. She growled into her pillow, still reluctant to move even the tiniest bit, but she couldn't take it anymore, and thrashed out of bed, in a fling of arms, legs, pillows and blankets.

“What in the world?” She huffed, pulling on an oversized hoodie and scrambled downstairs.

She froze, catching a glimpse out of the large bay window in her den, a huge male with a shaved head, and realized it was Sy. Gulping, she moved closer and watched him through the window. He wasn't in his red shirt and jeans this morning, but wore a blue tank top and a pair of basketball shorts, but still sporting his combat boots. He also had wireless earbuds in, head bumping to whatever he was listening to. Mustering some early morning courage and stepped over to the front door, pulling it open.

“Careful!” Sy called out, appearing from the other side of the house.

She looked down and saw a good amount of the boards of the porch were gone, and looked back up at him.

“Morning.” He smiled, one corner a bit higher in an amused way.

“Morning.” She squeaked back, burrowing into her hoodie a little bit.

“I thought I would start on the porch.” Sy said, looking over what he had already torn up.

“I-I can see..that.” She stammered, biting the inside corner of her lip, then looked behind her, to the coo-coo clock on the foyer wall.

It was seven in the morning, and Sy had already been on the farm for an hour and pulled up just about half of the wrap around porch. She looked back at him and was rather impressed by it, with a shy nod of her head, she went back inside and into the kitchen, setting up the coffee maker and got breakfast going. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, she glanced in the direction of the noise and followed it again.

“Would you like some breakfast or coffee?” She asked as Sy yanked up another warmed porch board, with his gloved hands, biceps bulging as he got it loose with a grunt.

Tossing the board into the growing pile, Sy wiped his sweaty face on his arms and turned to look up at her. “I would love some, if that's all right with you.” He answered, he only had a liquid breakfast of a tall black coffee from Starbucks as he left Austin for Celina.

“Pancakes, eggs and bacon, okay with you?” She asked, fidgeting.

“Yes, ma'am.” Sy nodded, smiling sweetly at her.

A smile twitched on her lips, before she turned on her bare feet and went back into the kitchen. She pulled open the refrigerator, pulling out the milk, eggs and bacon, before going into the pantry to grab the dry pancake ingredients. The coffee maker beeps as she whipped up the pancake batter and turned, pulling out two cups from the cabinet and setting up her own cup, before going back to the front porch.

“Coffee is ready, if you want to—come in—and get your cup ready.” She told him, shyly.

“Thank you.” Sy smiled at her, wiping his face again.

Pulling off his gloves, stuffing them into his back pocket, Sy entered the house, glancing around as he followed her into the kitchen. He found his cup by the coffee maker and smirked at it, it was a Texas Rodeo cup, a picture of a bucking horse on the background of the shape of Texas.

“I wasn't sure what you took in your coffee.” She commented as he stirred a single sugar into the cup and took a seat at the breakfast nook table.

“Either straight black, or with one sugar.” He replied, taking a sip of the steaming brown liquid, while he watched her finish mixing the pancake batter. “Depends on my mood.” He added, as she poured a bit of the thick batter into the sizzling hot skillet on the very old, blue and gas stove, that had to be made in the 1940's.

Easily. Sy thought, taking a deep gulp of his coffee.

“So, you live here alone?” He asked, lifting a brow at her and set it cup down on the table in front of him.

“I do.” She nodded, brushing her hair behind her ear, and flipped a couple of the pancakes.

“Does your family live nearby?”

She paused for a moment, her back stiffening at the mention of her family. “My mother passed away, when I was born.” She said, her voice strained. “I don't have any siblings and I don't know where my father is.” She explained, flipping the finished pancakes onto a plate by the stove and turned to the cardboard carton of eggs.

“How many would you like?” She asked, holding up a sooth, brown shelled egg.

“Three, please.” Sy replied, nodding his head to her. “Sunny side up.”

“What about your family?” She asked, cracking his eggs into the pan.

“No siblings and both of my parents are dead.” He answered her, leaning back in his chair. “My dad died of a heart attack, during my second deployment and my mom died of cancer, little over a year ago.” He explained, watching her baby his eggs.

“I'm so sorry.” She frowned, looking over her shoulder at him, with a look of pure sympathy, but no pity.

“It's all right.” Sy told her, his voice soft.

She fried the bacon with the eggs, then set the hot stack of pancakes and bacon on the table, setting Sy's plate of sunny side up eggs in front of him, with a container of syrup and a dish of butter, before handing him his fork. She sat down at the table, across from him, with her plate of two scrambled eggs, then took two pancakes and three pieces of bacon for herself, drizzling her pancakes with the maple syrup.

“Thank you, ma'am.” Sy smiled, before digging into his food.

“Lily.” She mumbled, staring at her untouched plate.

“Excuse me?” Sy frowned, looking up at her, fork posed at his mouth.

“Lily.” She replied, a little bit louder. “My name is Lily. You can call me, Lily.” She told him, meeting his eyes.

Sy grinned at her, lowering his fork and sitting up straighter. “All right then, Lily.” He nodded, loving the roll of her name off his tongue. “I'm Austin. But, everyone just calls me, Sy.”

Lily held her free hand out over their plates. “It's a pleasure.” She smiled at him, sweetly.

“Same.” Sy replied, gently taking her smooth and dainty hand in his big and calloused one.

Both of their faces warmed, before their hands pulled apart and they went back to finishing up their breakfast, having a polite and casual conversation as they did. With breakfast finished, Lily cleared away the plates and silverware, setting them in the sink to be washed later on, while Sy pulled his gloves back on and headed back out to finish pulling up the rest of the porch boards.

“Now that all the boards are pried up,” Sy explained as they ate lunch together in the kitchen. “I'll be able to start nailing down the new ones.” He told her, gulping down his glass of iced tea. “I'll put down the boards in front of the main door, so you can actually get out of the house, without having to be a hurdle jumper.” He laughed, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Sy was true to his word, as he always was, he had all of the boards of the porch along the front of the house down, even though it took him until after sundown to pull it off. He sighed, as he drove the last nail in flush to the board. He stood with a groan, his knees and shoulders stiff and screaming from the hard work of the day. Gathering the strewn about tools, Sy put them back into the tool box and lugged that into the back of his truck.

“Lily.” He called out through the open screen door of the house, knocking gently on the door frame.

“Yes?” She called back, then appeared a moment later.

“I'm done for the day.” He told her, rubbing a hand over his bald head. “I'll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Bright and early, I'm sure, Captain.” She smiled at him.

Sy chuckled, he had told her a teeny bit about his career in the military, how he was a Captain and had spent more than ten years in the service, right out of high school, much to his parents' disappointment, since they wanted him to go to college. But, Sy wanted to serve his country, especially after the attacks in New York, causing him to enlist in early 2002.

“As always.” He grinned back, rubbing his palms on the thighs of his jeans. “Good night, Ms. Lily.” He bowed his head to her and stepped back.

“Good night, Sy.” She nodded back to him.

Sy got into his truck and sighed heavily, as he started the engine. He was exhausted beyond belief, he scrubbed at his face as he drove down the long driveway, stopping to open and close the gate as he left the property. He only got a couple miles from Lily's, when he decided he was just too exhausted to drive the three hours to Austin. So, he turned around and headed for Celina, knowing there was a small motel there that he could rent a room from for the night. There was also the upside of staying in the motel, it was only thirty minutes away from Lily's place, which meant he could get there earlier and could work for a few more hours.

Lily came out onto the porch, when she heard the hammering on the east side of the house stop. Her bare feet gliding over the smooth new boards on the porch. Rounding the corner, she found Sy with his back against the side of the house, where he was currently prying the warped siding off of. She chuckled, realizing he had apparently stopped for a short break and fallen asleep. She moved closer to him, watching his face pinch and his head shake, like he was trying to wake himself up, but couldn't.

“Sy?” She called to him, softly, kneeling down beside him. “Hey, Sy.” She reached out to touch his shoulder. “Austin.” She said his name, gently.

She had no sooner touched his shoulder, than he jerked violently and lunged towards her. Lily yelped and scrambled backwards, away from him. Sy shook his head several times and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard, his entire body rigged.

“I'm sorry.” Sy pushed the words out of his throat. “I am so sorry, I didn't realize I fell asleep.” He said, sitting back where he had been. “I didn't hurt you, did I?” He looked over at her, his intense blue eyes scanning her for anything out of place, but only found her frightened and shaking.

“Lily.” He choked.

He had episodes like this, on and off over the last thirteen years, he had decked more than one of his men, who tried shaking him awake. He had even ended up choking one of his commanding officers, and needed his squad to pull him off and slap him back into consciousness. Sy had lost more than one friend and girlfriend over his episodes, nightmares and PTSD, he really didn't want to lose Lily over them.

“I'm-I'm f-fine.” She gulped, biting her lip and tried to calm herself down. “Are you?” She asked, pressing her back to the post that supported the porch roof.

Sy let out a hard breath, pressing a hand to his face and took a moment to settle his nerves, relieved that he hadn't hurt her. “I'm fine. I just didn't realize I fell asleep. I've been really tired lately.” He paused and dropped his hand.

“I've been tired for years.” He admitted out loud.

“You've been working from sun up to sun down, here for a month. That's without a day off, Sy.” She said, drawing her knees up to her chest. “You really should take a day off. When was the last time you had an actual day off?” She asked, studying him.

“What year is it?” He asked, chuckling at her.

“That's not good.” Lily said, shaking her head at him, then stood up. “All right, Syverson. You're officially off duty, effective now.”

“But, the siding?” He said, waving his hand over the unfinished siding on that side of the house.

“It can wait.” She told him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, what am I supposed to do then?” He asked, heaving a sigh and standing up.

“Whatever you like, Sy.” She said, turning back towards the house.

“What if I'd like to finish the siding?” He asked, smirking at her, impishly.

Lily turned, lifting a brow at him and narrowing her eyes, making him chuckle at her, throwing his hands up in defeat. He followed her into the house and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. In the month since Sy had taken the job on Lily's property, they had gotten close and she had made him feel more at home than he had ever felt, anywhere in the world. Now, that she had made him take the day off, Sy had no idea what to do with it. Since he was a little boy, he was working hard, either on his parents' small farm or dealing with his deployment in the middle east.

He stepped back out on the porch, smirking to himself as he stood on solid porch boards that didn't squeak and creak under his weight. He still needed to stain the boards, but he planned on doing that after he removed all the siding from the house and put up fresh ones. His only missing plan with the siding was finding out if Lily wanted him to stain those too or if she wanted the house painted a particular color. But, he'd figure that out tomorrow, for now, he started out over the slice of land out front of the house. The grass was almost as tall as he was and he knew she didn't have a mower, not even an ancient push mower, so it would be something else he'd need to get his hands on to tame the wild jungle of sun bleached grass and weeds.

Humming to himself and taking a sip of his coffee, Sy walked around the porch, surveying the work he had done on that side, with two thirds of the siding pulled off, then continued to the back of the porch. The backyard was just as vast and wild as the front and sides of the house. Her land butted up against another farm that looked like they grew wheat. He noticed a slight movement on the thin trail that cut through the overgrowth and stepped off the porch to follow it, stopping several yards away from the boundary line that divided the two properties, finding Lily leaning on the rusted metal gate, her arm held out above it as a dapple-gray horse came trotting up to her, taking the apple out of her outstretched hand. She rubbed the mare's nose, smiling softly at it, and pulled out another apple out of the pouch of her hoodie.

Sy smiled as he watched her feed and pet that magnificent creature. “A friend of yours?” He asked, alerting her to his presence.

Lily blushed at him, trying to bite back her smile. “You can say that.” She replied, feeling the horse nudge her gently, and produced another apple. “Her name is Juniper.” She explained, patting the side of the horse's neck.

“She's beautiful.” Sy replied, but his eyes were on her.

“Isn't she.” Lily agreed, grinning at the horse, oblivious.

Sy moved closer to them, his shoulder brushing Lily's as he reached out to pet the mare, chuckling at Juniper's snort and head shake. “She hasn't been a mare for very long.” He pointed out.

“Nope.” Lily shook her head. “She was born a little more than three years ago. My neighbor, her owner, mostly deals in wheat and corn, but his daughter is working on becoming a champion barrel racer. So, he bought Juniper, when she was about a year old.”

“She looks in good shape for it.” He commented, checking out the rest of the horse. “Have you seen any of her shows?” He asked, looking back at Lily.

“Sadly, no.” She shook her head, shyly. “I do know she won her last one.” She added, smiling up at him. “It was her first win, in the ten or so shows she's competed in.”

Sy smiled at her, she seemed and sounded so proud of the horse's owner winning the competition. “We should go to her next one.” He suggested, lifting his brows at her.

“What?” Lily squeaked, looking at Sy like a frightened doe.

“Yeah, it will be a great day off for me.” He grinned at her, liking the idea. “I've never seen you leave the property, either.” He added, his brow creasing as he thought about it. “I've only seen you go far enough to get the mail, come to think of it.”

“I don't know.” She gulped, licking her lips nervously. “I've had a lot of work lately.” She stammered, fidgeting and rubbing her hands on her thighs.

“You give me guff for not taken a day off, and won't take one yourself.” He teased her, lightheartedly. “What's the worst that can happen?” He asked, leaning against the gate. “It's not like the world will blow up.”

“It might.” She mumbled, toeing at the sparse gravel under her feet.

Sy could tell she was anxious about leaving the house, he could understand that, the world was a shitty place, and he had seen a lot of that first hand. But, he blew it off, figuring it was just the stress of getting all her work done on time.

“I'll think about it.” Lily said, biting her lip and shyly scrunching up her body.

“Good.” He smiled, hopeful.

PART II

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy

Summary: Spencer's gay. He joins the BAU and befriends the team, but it is 2003. It's a secret he has to keep. He just didn't expect it to be this hard.

Tags: gay!spencer, coming out, hurt/comfort, insecure!spencer, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, dad hotch, protective!hotch, protective!derek, childhood trauma TW: one instance of explicit homophobia, but it is referenced a lot, as is Spencer's internalised homophobia at the start of this fic. A shit ton of heteronormativity but tbh that's just canon lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid/OMC, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Consider this my contribution to pride month 😌 I've waited so long to post it and I'm so glad I'm finally doing it because it's definitely one of my all time favourites <3 Gideon is here somewhere but just like with all my early season fics he's not really part of the plot I combined my moreid and gen taglists bc it was hard to know the audience for this, but just ignore it if you're not interested!

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. — richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

His mother guessed. For as long as he can remember, she’s used gender neutral pronouns when talking about his future partner, read him all the gay literature she could find, promised him that he’s perfect just the way he is.

The trouble is that Spencer only believes her until the first grade, when Ryan Sampson shoves him over in the playground and calls him gay. His mom had only ever used that term in a sweet, loving way, taking care to associate such words with positivity, as long as his dad wasn’t around to hear. When that word comes out of Ryan Sampson’s mouth, it is not said with sweetness and love; it is said with venom, and Spencer learns quickly that his mom is wrong. He is not perfect just the way he is.

And so, he keeps it a secret. When his mom notices him getting uncomfortable at the mention of future partners, she stops bringing it up, though she refuses to give up the diverse education she provides for him outside of school. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be a strapping young man and marry a nice girl in a church, and Spencer nods along. He ignores the way his stomach turns with anxiety at the thought. Ignores the screaming match his parents have that night. Ignores the fact that it started because Diana chipped in with ‘or boy’.

He’s in high school by the time he’s twelve, and the only part he’s grateful for is the absence of pressure to get a girlfriend. His dad’s out of the picture now, and Spencer tries not to let himself think that maybe if he wasn’t like this he might have stayed. Diana’s so out of it most days that she doesn’t remember what she noticed about him when he was a child, only recalling the last few years of shoving himself so far back in the closet he can hardly see the door anymore.

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

(He hates that a small part of him feels relieved she doesn’t remember; that he almost feels assured by the fact that the last person to know who he really is has forgotten. There is only this version of Spencer Reid now. No other exists.)

He makes the mistake during his second undergraduate degree. He’s just turned eighteen but he is already a doctor and, fortunately, this alienates him from most of his peers, but someone manages to slide past his defences. Ethan Miller is twenty, in the second year of his (first) undergraduate degree in Chemical Engineering, and he’s nice. Spencer doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but they get on well and Ethan makes him laugh. For the first time, he feels comfortable in the presence of anyone other than his mother.

They slip into an easy friendship: waiting for each other after class — Spencer back in the undergraduate buildings now he has his first PhD under his belt — and going out for ice cream and pizza and Thai food. Ethan goes to parties while Spencer studies, and then they reconvene to watch Doctor Who and play cards.

For almost a year, Spencer keeps his secret carefully locked up, hidden behind the mask he’s perfected after so many years. Even though he’s eighteen, nearly nineteen now, he doesn’t try and explore that side of himself. No, that’s far too risky. He doesn’t try and pretend any other way either, he just stays silent and lets people’s assumptions lie for him, but he can’t help the longing that claws up his throat when he locks eyes with a passing guy on campus. One time, he’d seen two men kiss on a bench in the city, and he’d run back to his dorm and had a panic attack. Why couldn’t he have that?

The feelings don’t stop, and he doesn’t know how to make them. He hates that he isn’t normal, but still longs for the touch of a man, the feeling of being wrapped up in strong arms, of being kissed by dry, chapped lips, and falling asleep to a heartbeat approximately 11% slower than that of a woman’s.

It’s a constant battle inside him, emotions raging, and he struggles to control it, suppress it, tame it.

He pays a sorry price.

Ethan makes him feel comfortable, and that turns out to be a detriment. He relaxes around the other boy: he tells him about growing up as a pre-teen in a high school, about how a child feels living 260 miles away from home, even about his mother’s illness.

And one day, it slips out. They’re on the beach, lying on towels as they look up at the blue sky, talking about what their futures will look like: Ethan will be a successful chemical engineer in Berlin, and Spencer will work for the FBI, profiling serial killers.

“You’ll have to marry a German girl,” he tells Ethan. “It’ll be tough to convince an American girl to move all the way to Germany as soon as you graduate.”

“Yeah, and what about you? You’ll be off fighting crime around the country, not much of a life for a family.”

“Oh, I imagine my husband will be the type to—”

“Husband?”

Spencer freezes. It shocks him as much as it shocks Ethan. He doesn’t even pay much attention to Ethan’s disgusted face and his outraged tirade. He hears slurs and insults, hears him say that he can’t believe Spencer tricked him like this, that he was probably waiting to make a move on him, that he was never to look in Ethan’s direction again, but Spencer is frozen in time.

He’s never allowed him to think much about what his personal life might look like in the future, but he’d said ‘husband’ on instinct, without thinking, and it’s clearly something he actually wants. Ethan’s words sting, but the moment brings about a realisation Spencer is thankful for; it instigates a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, of the joy of living as your true self.

He loses his first and only friend, but he gains something much more valuable. He visits gay bars — nervously sipping a non-alcoholic drink in the corner at first, before soon becoming confident enough to respond to the men who sidle up to him and ask for his name. He lets go and dances the night away, sometimes going home with one of the many dance partners he acquires during the night, sometimes heading back to his own dorm happily alone.

Makeup and dresses and skirts and heels make their way into his wardrobe, and he befriends girls and drag queens and other gay men who encourage him to be exactly the way he is. And the best part is, he never has to come out to any of them. All of them know, and that’s good enough for everyone.

The fun comes to a sad sort of slow, however, when he joins the BAU. Everyone knows law enforcement’s relationship with the LGBT community is less than adequate — Spencer’s seen it with his own eyes: butch lesbians and men in dresses getting roughed up by angry police officers for ‘lewd behaviour’ or ‘drunkenness’ when they’re just being themselves. It’s not safe for him to tell anyone, so he doesn’t.

He still goes out with his friends when he’s in town and wears makeup and dresses and crop tops when he’s at home, but presents as rigidly straight Dr Spencer Reid to his team at the BAU.

The hardest part about it is that he loves his team. He’s known Gideon for years — and he wouldn’t be surprised if he suspects something after coming over to his house unannounced one night, only to have a man other than Spencer open the door — but he settles into a comforting dynamic with Hotch. He can’t help but see him as something of a father figure, and he knows Hotch has a soft spot for him, always looking out for him and taking him under his wing without a moment’s hesitation.

Elle, JJ, and Penelope all take a shine to him, too, teasing him without a hint of malice in their tones, only the kind of playful kindness that reminds him of his mother. He forms a special bond with Penelope and they spend hours watching Doctor Who together and geeking out on all the areas their interests overlap, and the comfort he feels with her matches the comfort he’s found with his new group of queer friends.

(She doesn’t hold a candle to Ethan, he decides one night, after he’d cried at a movie she’d made him watch and she felt so bad she made him hot chocolate and jam toast and cuddled him until he felt better.)

Derek becomes a brother to him. He puts him in a headlock at least once a day — which Spencer has been reliably informed by multiple sources is a very brotherly thing to do — and teases him relentlessly, while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. Enough so, that Spencer sometimes wonders if he even has Hotch beat in that department.

He loves his team and his team loves him. It should be simple. It is still 2003.

He comes in one morning late for a briefing, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair is a mess, and he’s fairly sure that his attempt to cover the hickey at the base of his neck with concealer has been ultimately unsuccessful. It’s obvious why he’s late. Gideon is too engrossed in the case file to notice, but Hotch raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face as everyone else immediately takes to teasing him.

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

Elle raises an eyebrow to match Derek’s shit-eating grin, “Someone definitely got some strange last night.”

“When do we get to meet her, Spence?” JJ asks, smirking as he takes a seat.

He’s bright red — as if he needed to look any more debauched — and Spencer tries to ignore the hurt that seizes his chest at the reminder of his need to stay quiet. This team respects him, and he can’t throw that away just because Spencer gets too comfortable.

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

“None of your business,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Naturally, Hotch notices and swiftly moves the briefing on, and Spencer keeps his gaze locked on the case file, not missing the absence of a reprimand from his superior. He’s constantly thankful for the older man, but in this moment, he wishes he could hug him.

(A voice that sounds dangerously close to Ethan’s rises up and taunts him in his ear: he wouldn’t want a dirty homo like you anywhere near him—)

Derek doesn’t let up on the case, continuing to bug him about the special lady in his life. He does concede that it could’ve been a one night stand, which is one front he’s right on, but a couple more concessions are necessary before Derek comes close to the truth of last night.

Eventually, Derek stops, and Spencer notes that the cessation of comments comes suspiciously close to the last time Derek and Hotch were alone together. He doesn’t have it in him to feel angry at Hotch for stepping in when he had it handled; doesn’t have the energy to act as though his pride is wounded, because really, neither of those things are true, and he doesn’t need to add another item to ‘Spencer Reid’s List of Things He Pretends to Be.’

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

Things change when he finds his first proper boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the giddying rush of emotions it turns out to be, and Spencer spends his days smiling as he daydreams his time away.

His name is Oscar Wilkins, a History professor at Georgetown University, and Spencer falls quickly in love with him. Ever since their mutual friend had introduced them at a gay bar one evening, they’d spent all their free time together. He’s kind and gentle and understanding of Spencer’s hectic and unpredictable job, and he finally has the chance to experience everything he quietly and shamefully longed for as a teenager.

The only downside is the silent breaking of Spencer’s heart that the most important people in his life can’t meet his boyfriend. He longs to show Oscar off, to hold hands in front of his team, lean up to press a tender kiss to Oscar’s lips. He wants to put a framed picture of the two of them at the Washington Monument on his desk to remind him of why he needs to get through the hard days; he doesn’t want to have to sneak out of the hotel room he shares with Derek to whisper hushed, loving goodnights over the phone.

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

It’s different being who he is with his gay group of friends littered with wlws and drag queens and other gay and bisexual guys. They understand.

But Derek and Hotch are two extremely masculine, alpha men: Derek’s a ladies’ man and Hotch is married to a woman he met in college with a baby on the way and both have a strong and dominant energy that still sometimes manages to intimidate Spencer even after all these years. And Elle and JJ are lovely — some of his closest friends, really — but sometimes they remind him a little too much of the mean girls he went to high school with.

The hardest person to keep his secret from, though, is Penelope. She’s his best friend and he desperately wants to give her all of him, but he’s so scared. He’s lost a best friend to this secret before, and even though he’s certain she’d be fine with it, what if she accidentally let it slip to Derek? What if Hotch found out and didn’t see him in the same light anymore? What if the girls started teasing him? What if Gideon didn’t want to mentor him anymore?

The fear paralyses him. And it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to break.

Fear, though, doesn't stop everyone from noticing his daydreaming, his dopey smile when he checks his messages, his urgency to get home where he would’ve stayed until the small hours of the morning before. As excellent as he is at hiding his sexuality, he’s fucking terrible at hiding the fact that he’s in love: it was easy enough to pretend he was straight, but hiding something this all-consuming is an impossible ask.

Derek comes over to perch on the edge of his desk one afternoon, sighing as he sits down. “Pretty boy, this is getting ridiculous,” he says, snatching Spencer’s attention away from his phone. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last twenty minutes as you’ve texted Future Mrs Reid. When are we going to meet her?”

(He hates the new nickname the team has given his mystery significant other, although Oscar had found it hilarious. “It’s funny because when we get married, we’ll hardly be able to tell,” he’d argued through his laughter. “Neither of us will change our name because of our academic profiles, and we’ll both still be ‘Dr’. Our wedding rings will be the only indicator.”

Spencer hadn’t argued back, because he’d been too tongue-tied and flushed pink at Oscar’s use of ‘when’ in regards to their hypothetical nuptials. It was only made bearable by Oscar kissing him gently and tucking him under his arm, not embarrassing him any further as Spencer had sort of anticipated, warmth settling over his chest at the thought of their future together.)

“You won’t,” he replies, perhaps a little too curtly.

Derek starts at that, clearly not expecting it. He definitely should’ve tried to play it off as a joke. “What— should I be offended, pretty boy?”

You wouldn’t call me that if you knew who I really am.

“That’s up to you, Derek,” he says calmly, although he still can’t meet his eyes, “but you won’t meet the ‘Future Mrs Reid, so I think it would probably be best if you left it alone.”

“Damn,” Derek mutters under his breath, clearly pissed off and probably more hurt than Spencer ever intended. “Suit yourself.”

And with that, he gets up and leaves his desk. Spencer’s only solace is the text message he sees on his phone when he picks it back up: I love you so much. You know that, right?

The light-hearted ridicule comes to an abrupt halt after the incident with Derek, and it’s clear that he had been the biggest contributor to the teasing. He’s thankful that the jokes have stopped, but he wishes desperately that it didn’t come with the growing distance between him and his team. Loneliness takes the place of his previous irritated anxiety, and he isn’t sure what’s worse.

It all comes to a head at the end of a case in Michigan. They’re stuck in the lounge of the small inn they’d stayed in the last few days, a snowstorm having blocked them in and grounded the jet, although Gideon had long since retreated to his room. The fire’s going and they’re the only guests around, so it’s cosy enough, but Spencer can’t help but feel sick at the idea of another night away from home.

It’s only been two weeks since he’d snapped at Derek, but the chasm between him and the team is only widening with each passing day. He knows it’s not a case of ‘pick a side’, but the team’s morale relies on light-hearted banter and teasing, and him not being a part of that anymore has only brewed awkwardness. Everyone’s trying to give him space when space is the last thing he wants.

Oscar’s keeping him company over the phone at least, but it’s not quite enough to quell the loneliness swimming around his stomach, and the 'discrete' sideways looks he gets from the team only make him feel worse.

“At least it’s nice and toasty in here,” JJ sighs as she takes a sip of the hot chocolate the kindly inn owner had made for them all.

Elle hums in agreement. “There are worse places to be grounded.”

“I dunno, man, I just wanna get home,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the fire. Spencer can’t help but agree.

“Oh, come on,” Hotch muses, considerably more jovial now the case is over, “we’re here, and that’s not going to change any time soon. We should make the most of it.”

“It’s at least nice to be somewhere sort-of Christmassy now it’s December,” Elle points out. “We could be stuck in a dingy police station like we probably will be next week.”

“Ooh, I noticed that Jemimah and Kiran started planning the Christmas party last week,” JJ says, smiling at them. “I offered my help, but they seem to have it covered.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow“That’s probably a good thing. You don’t need more work on your plate.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” she murmurs, smiling as she brings her mug to her lips again.

Spencer doesn’t miss that Derek is still stewing on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you looking forward to the Christmas party, Spencer? Will you come?” Hotch asks, clearly trying to rope him into the conversation, which he appreciates. He’s been making a lot of effort with him the past few weeks, and it’s just about the only thing that’s getting him through each day.

Before he can reply, though, Derek erupts from the other side of the room; an already pissed-off man being pushed over the edge. “He won’t even let us meet his fucking girlfriend, Hotch, he’s not gonna want to come to the Christmas party!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air as he glares at Spencer with a stormy expression raging across his face.

Suddenly, Spencer can’t stay silent anymore, and his retort shocks himself just as much as it does everyone else. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

It might be the loudest he’s ever shouted in his whole life. He’s always been quiet and restrained, the type to state his feelings as calmly as possible no matter how he’s feeling on the inside. Even in the biggest fight he’s had with Oscar, his voice was barely loud enough to qualify as a shout.

There’s a brief stunned silence, but Derek quickly slices his way through it, voice raising to meet Spencer’s fiery emotion, fierce and loud. “Oh, don’t even go there, Reid, you’re really gonna try and argue that? You’re gonna lie about her as well as not let us meet her? What a boyfriend you are.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a girlfriend!” he repeats, voice catching this time as tears rise unbidden to the backs of his eyes and all the emotions of the journey he’s taken with his sexuality over the years flood him in a wave of intensity he’s not prepared for.

“You’re fucking lying��!”

“I have a boyfriend!” he yells. “Alright? I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”

The anger and emotion quickly dissipates, and he’s left standing alone in front of the team he’s put so much effort into hiding this from, watching shock spell out across everyone’s expressions. He’s never felt smaller than he does in that moment, and he quickly grabs his phone before running upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him.

“Oh God, Oscar, I fucked up so bad,” he cries over the phone as soon as his boyfriend picks up.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby,” Oscar says gently, but Spencer can hear the anxious concern in his voice, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just— Oh God, I just told the team.” A new wave of horror rolls over him as he realises what he’s done. Times might be changing, but it’s still only 2006, and he doesn’t know each and every nuance of his team members’ political positions and, fuck, he hates that his existence is a fucking political position.

Oscar’s been so understanding of his reluctance to not tell the team, even though Spencer’s met pretty much everyone in his life. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such a gracious and understanding boyfriend, but he’s not about to question it.

“Baby, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re really worked up right now,” he counsels, voice soft and reassuring, using the nickname he knows Spencer loves the most to make him feel as safe as he can from 700 miles away, “but it’s probably not as bad as you think. From what you’ve told me about the team, they love you so much, and even in the case that in the past they've had some issue with gay people, I can't imagine they’d ever actually think of you any differently when it comes down to it, Spencer.”

He’s crying too hard to reply, and Oscar understands immediately, gently transitioning into a story about his day that slowly starts to calm him down, and by the time he’s wrapping it up, his tears are starting to subside.

“Thank you, Ozzy,” he whispers into the phone, lifting himself up off the floor and making his way to sit on the bed instead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly. “Do you want me to stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” he whispers again, holding it as close to himself as possible, drawing all the comfort he can from his boyfriend’s voice.

He lies there listening to Oscar’s voice and trying not to think about the disaster downstairs for a good ten minutes before there’s a tap at the door.

“Oz, there’s someone here,” he says, voice panicked.

“I think you should probably speak to them, baby,” he urges. “I’ll stay on the phone with you while you do, if you like?”

“Please.” He gets up from the bed gingerly, keeping his phone tightly gripped in his right hand as he slowly unlocks the door with his left, revealing Hotch on the other side.

“Hey, Spencer. Do you mind if I come in?”

He’s riddled with nerves, but Hotch is smiling warmly, and he’s never said a harsh word to Spencer, so he steps aside and lets him into his room.

Hotch quickly notices the phone in his hand, visibly still on a call. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

His brows knit in confusion and his lips part slightly in surprise, but it’s all he can do to hand the phone over, watching Hotch carefully.

“Hi, Spencer tells me this is his boyfriend?” Hotch inquires politely into the phone, his tone still warm. “I’m Hotch, Spencer’s boss.”

He can vaguely hear Oscar speaking on the other end of the line, and he worries slightly that Oscar will somehow give away the familial feelings he holds for Hotch, but the conversation doesn’t last long enough for the anxiety to really take over.

“Everything’s fine here, I just want to have a conversation with Spencer, so is it alright if we hang up and I talk to him alone for a minute? He can call you straight back afterwards.” After a brief pause in which Oscar says something, Hotch looks back up at him. “Are you okay with that, Spencer?”

He nods hesitantly, and Hotch says a quick goodbye to Oscar before surging forwards and wrapping Spencer in a hug. It catches him off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time in burying his face into Hotch’s neck and soaking in the comfort and warmth that always radiates from his father figure.

“Come on,” Hotch says softly as they pull away a good minute or so later, “let’s sit down, shall we?”

“You’re not mad?” Spencer can’t help but ask, the question burning his tongue as anxiety — however quietened from Hotch’s hug — still swims around in his stomach.

“There are many things that could make me mad, Spencer,” he says earnestly, “but this is not one of them. I would never be angry at you for being who you are, okay? I might… I might be overstepping here, and if I am, then tell me and I’ll back off, but I’ve always seen you as a mentee, and over the years that’s developed— well, I see you more as a son these days. And part of that is wanting to protect and support you no matter what you do or say or who you are.”

Spencer wastes no time in diving back in for a hug, clinging onto Hotch for dear life as he hugs back, rubbing his back gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner, Spencer,” he says in a voice soft with affection and regret. “But I’m so glad you’ve told us now.”

He only presses closer at that, tears springing back to his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He knows what he’s implying, and even in a roundabout way, he’s glad he’s telling Hotch.

“Oh, Spence,” he sighs sadly, “you couldn’t do a single thing to lose me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

“Really,” Hotch promises, pulling away as Spencer does. “Now, you have a whole team of agents downstairs who are feeling very sorry for themselves and really want to see you.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach and panic springs back up as he looks at Hotch, desperate for some sort of grounding. “Are they angry at me? Do they hate me now?”

“No one hates you, Spencer,” he says firmly. “I promise you that. Everyone just wishes that they’d made you feel more welcome and comfortable. We all hate that you felt you had to lock up something so integral to who you are, and we can’t help but feel we played a part in it.”

“No,” he protests — the last thing he wants is family blaming themselves when it has nothing to do with them, “it’s not your fault, it’s just…”

Hotch nods. “I understand, it’s okay. Now, do you want to go down and see them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it might help ease your mind to see that they really don’t hate you.”

Spencer pauses, taking a moment to think. “Can I see Derek first?”

“Of course,” Hotch says understandingly, and the comforting smile that crosses his face makes Spencer feel safe and taken care of. “I’ll send him up?”

Spencer nods and Hotch hugs him once more before leaving the room almost reluctantly. He wastes no time in picking up his phone and sending a text to Oscar. You were right. Hotch is fine. He’s just sending Derek up before I go and see the team but he says that no one’s angry and I think I believe him. Thank you, Oscar. I love you.

Not even half a minute goes past before his phone lights up with a text back. I’m so glad, baby. Call me later, okay? I want to make sure you’re okay before I go to bed. I love you more.

Before Spencer can argue that actually, he is the one more in love with the other, a hesitant knock sounds on his door. Nerves suddenly flip his stomach, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before forcing himself to cross the room, revealing a very worried and regretful-looking Derek.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he says sadly, before crushing Spencer in a warm and tender hug. Immediately, he relaxes into the arms of one of his best friends, and relief courses through his blood at Derek’s reaction. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were gay or had a boyfriend. That’s completely on me. I don’t care who you love, Spencer, I just want you to be happy, okay? And if this guy makes you happy, then that’s fine by me. But if he ever lays a hand on you or—”

“Derek, Derek,” he laughs, “it’s fine I get it. Thank you, though, I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier and for snapping at you in the bullpen that time…”

“I understand, Spence,” he promises. “It’s in the past, okay? And I’m sorry for pushing so hard. I mean, I’d love to meet him but if you don’t feel comfortable or you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. It’s your life, man.”

“No, I… I think I want you guys to meet him. It’s been so hard to keep him away from the people I consider my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe after Christmas, we can all have dinner or something.”

Spencer smiles shyly. “Well, Oscar’s a great cook, so I reckon we could work something out.”

Derek grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders as he immediately jumps back into teasing him as they make their way to the door to go downstairs and see the rest of the team. “Ooh, lover boy’s got him a chef, hey? What else does this Oscar have going for him?”

Spencer chatters eagerly about his boyfriend to Derek, barely skipping a beat when he joins everyone downstairs, his friends taking his cues and joining in with the conversation seamlessly. He’s had enough fuss for one night, and the warmth and understanding on everyone’s faces tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow with eager expectancy as they all settle back into their seats by the fire, a warm and unbelievably happy feeling settling in Spencer’s stomach.

He blushes, digging out his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “More than a few, I think.”

He finds the most recent picture of his boyfriend — a candid shot of him cooking in the kitchen, spatula aloft, and a huge grin on his face — and hands the phone around.

“Oh wow, you like them buff, huh, pretty boy?” Derek teases as soon as he gets his hands on it, and Spencer’s stomach twists in a sudden bout of fear, expecting to see some hesitancy or even disgust on his friend’s face. What if he thinks that Spencer has a crush on him? What if he’s uncomfortable around him now?

But if Derek’s having any of those thoughts, they don’t show on his face. He’s smiling widely and openly, all the pent-up anxiety and frustration borne from hurt gone from his body language, and he looks completely comfortable sat next to Spencer, his arm stretched out behind him on the back of the sofa.

They sit happily around the fire for a couple of hours, settling into a happy, intimate familiarity Spencer hadn’t realised was missing when he was hiding something so integral to his being from his family, and he’s still smiling when they finally part ways to head to bed, the clock ticking closer and closer to 1 am.

He gets ready for bed quickly, brushing his teeth and throwing on the top he’d stolen from Oscar the first time he’d stayed at his place; a welcome change from his worn and wrinkled suit. As soon as his teeth are brushed and the lights are all off except for his bedside lamp, he pulls out his phone, knowing there’s one more thing he has to do before he goes to sleep.

“Spencer?” Penelope’s voice sounds down the line, clearly concerned. “It’s almost 2 am here, are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” he says, getting straight to the point. The main reason he ever kept it from her was because of his fear of it accidentally getting out to the team rather than fear over her reaction. After all, multiple of his drag queen friends are also hers.

“Oh my God,” she says in that small voice she uses when she’s not actually talking to you, before finally actually replying to me. “Spencer, I’m so happy you told me!”

He doesn’t miss her choice of words, or the way she says them and he tilts his head suspiciously. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, a couple of months ago I saw a text from Oscar on your phone when you went to the bathroom during one of our Doctor Who marathons, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the relationship.”

“And… wait, you’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?”

“Spencer! Of course not. I was waiting for you to be comfortable enough to share it with me. I felt awful that I knew without your consent but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to catch you off guard or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s fine that you waited, baby genius, I’m just so happy you told me now. What finally gave you the courage?”

“Well, it might have slipped out in front of the team this evening,” he admits sheepishly, “and the only reason I never told you was because I was scared that it would slip out somehow — accidentally, of course, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone on purpose — and now everyone knows. It’s been killing me not to tell you, Penelope, it really has because I love you so much and you’re my best friend and I trust you with my life, it’s just…”

“Whoa, slow down, Spence,” she laughs fondly, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I understand. But I’m glad you finally told everyone and you can be yourself completely with us, now. We all love you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. You should get some sleep, baby boy, it’s late and you’ve had an emotional evening.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I know. You should, too, Pen. I’ll see you when we can finally make it home, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too, 187,” she says softly, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight.”

As soon as he hangs up, he settles down into the bed, turning off the light and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders before dialling one more number.

“Hey, baby,” Oscar says, voice as gentle and caring as it always is, although thicker with tiredness now. “I take it everything went okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, already feeling tired as the safety he always feels at the sound of Oscar’s voice settles into the fibres of his being. “It went so well. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

“I can’t wait either, sweetheart. Are you in bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Can you talk to me as I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, Spence,” he says softly, before transitioning seamlessly into a story about the professors on campus, and his gentle comfort and the knowledge of the unconditional love his family has for him finally lulls Spencer into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

taglist : @criminalmindsvibez @moreidstrobed @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @temily @enbyspencer @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids (add yourself to my taglist via this form!!)

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dreaming-about-fanfictions · 4 years

Text

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 19 of 27: Cursed

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHOOSE ME INSTEAD MASTERLIST CHOOSE ME INSTEAD PLAYLIST

A/N: Better late than never lol! Here it is! Thank you for being patient though! ilysm <3 This was a difficult one, I hope you like it! Btw, I recently found out that Dracos mum is called “Narcissa” and not “Narzissa” in the english version. She’s called “Narzissa” in the German Books. However, I’ll keep calling her Narzissa in this story (because I’m lazy and don’t want to change it). Enjoy!

Words: 3.4k Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader, post war Warnings: tw eating disorder (mentions of it) --> please be aware that the way eating disorders are approached by the purebloods in this story is not something i (the author) approves of. I just thought it’d be a more realistic way for them to act like this.

It felt wrong.

Draco only used the Room of Requirements to be with you. He never went here on his own. Not that he would ever admit it – but the room scared him. The last time he’d been here alone was at the beginning of this school year. He found out then that it didn’t change for him anymore. All he saw when he walked in were the dirty, cracked windows and the flies and spiders that died in front of them. Old furniture, forgotten books and dirt was scattered around, piling up and towering over him.

As he stood there, his gaze was drawn to the end of the room. Hiding behind the corners, buried under black linen, there it was. The vanishing cabinet. He felt its presence. Looming, waiting, calling for him. Alright, to be fair, the last part was probably only in his imagination. It didn’t change his feelings towards this particular room of Hogwarts though.

It was different when you were with him. It changed for you and turned the monster that it was for Draco into a purring housecat. With you, it felt like a vacation. As if he had travelled to a small cottage, far away from roaring cities or ancient castles.

However tonight, you were not here. Astoria Greengrass had taken your place. She sat on a couch across from Draco, back straight, hands neatly folded in her lap. Her black hair was tied up in a bun and not a single strand of hair was out of place. The spitting image of her mother, Draco thought. He had always wondered about how different the Greengrass sisters looked. Astoria inherited the sharp features, thin lips, and slim figure of her mother. Daphne resembled their father a lot more with her round face, long blonde hair, and the doe-like eyes. The both of them were like night and day. Yin and Yang.

Draco looked around the room which had turned into a smaller version of the Slytherin common room. All the important details where there – from the green colors to the Slytherin emblems on the pillows and carpet. Only the windows were out of place. They didn’t offer him a view inside of the lake but were the same cracked ones, he had seen one too many times in his life. It reminded him that he wasn’t here with you.

It felt wrong.

***

Draco leaned back against the chair. He crossed his leg and his fingertips tapped a non-recognizable rhythm on his right upper thigh. Astoria didn’t look up at him when she spoke. He could tell that the words had been carefully chosen in advance. Remembered and recited in front of a mirror. Yet she couldn’t meet his eyes. Draco noticed the way she plucked at the skin on her thumb.

When you’d ask him tomorrow for how long the conversation went on, he wouldn’t have an answer. Time seemed to stand still the moment Astoria opened her mouth for the first time.

“Say something,” she whispered when she finished, and the silence became unbearable.

Draco noticed that there wasn’t a fireplace. Another thing that the Room of Requirement had gotten wrong.

“Say something,” Astoria repeated herself, her voice shaking a little more this time.

Draco stopped the tapping. “Is that why?”, he finally asked.

She hesitated and then nodded. Draco sighed and looked out of the window.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a while.

Astoria scoffed. “Me too.”

“I am,” he looked back at her.

For the first time since he had entered the room, Astoria lifted her head. When her eyes met his, he saw the anger in them. “I’m dying and all you have to say is ‘Sorry’?”, she spat out.

“You don’t know that,” Draco said matter-of-factly.

Astoria raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“That you’re dying.”

She looked at him as if he was a little slow in his head. “I … I just told you.”

“You told me about the family curse,” Draco corrected her. “No one can say if it will happen to you.”

She let out a huff, stunned by his reaction. Had he not listened to a word she said? “I told you about the clairvoyant at Knockturn Alley!”

“Seers say a lot of shit.” He shrugged and added: “Especially when you pay them.”

Astoria lost her posture – with wide eyes and a shake of her head, she let herself slump back against the pillows. “I can’t believe you’re not taking me seriously.”

Draco sighed and began tapping on his thigh again. The same rhythm from before. “I am, Astoria. I believe you.”

But I don’t want to, he added in his mind. He had heard rumors of the Greengrass curse before – only once, when he was maybe eight or nine years old and while he pretended to be asleep on an armchair, he listened to his mother and her friend.

“The poor woman,” Narzissa had said. “And those girls …”

“We don’t know if it will happen to them,” her friend replied softly.

“Why risk it though?”, he remembered his mother ask. “And decide to give birth to not only one but two girls?”

“Well, if one dies, she will still have the other.”

Looking back, the joke was tasteless and not the least bit funny. He didn’t remember how his mother responded to it. Back then, Draco didn’t understand what the women were talking about. So he had shoved the memory back and forgot – until tonight.

When Astoria came up to him at the Winter Dance, she was more … vague. Talking about how something had changed in her life, how decisions were made for her and that she was left with no option but to finally confine in him. Merlin, Draco had thought she was pregnant. This was worse – for obvious reasons.

“If you believe me, why are you like this?”, her voice ripped him from his thoughts. Draco hadn’t notice that he was staring out of the window again.

He cleared his throat and focused back on the Slytherin girl. “I believe you’re overexaggerating.” It was the truth. Or better – it was a truth. The one he was able to share with her.

“I’m dying.”

“You’re not!”, he replied with a sharp voice.

Astoria flinched.

Draco sighed and leaned forward. “Look,” he continued, much softer now. “I’m sorry. You’re obviously very scared of this – and honestly, who wouldn’t be after receiving such news.” He paused. “But didn’t you just say you never experienced any symptoms?”

She looked to the ground. “Yes.”

“See?”, a smile played around the corners of his lips. “Stop beating yourself up about it.”

Astorias gaze stuck to the ground. His words didn’t ease her pain, he saw that. “I … Look at me, Draco,” she then mumbled.

Draco tilted his head. “I am.”

“No, truly look at me!” She lifted her head. “What do you see?”

He stared at her for a while. What do you want me to say? He refrained himself from asking that. Instead, for the first time in years, he truly looked at her. Her school uniform was in perfect condition, no spot or loose thread in sight. The diamond earrings sparkled in the soft light and around her neck hung a delicate golden necklace. Her outer appearance was perfect. As always. The only thing that was different were her eyes. He frowned when he saw it. The fire in them. Gone. The arrogant spark, challenging every Ravenclaw and Gryffindor that didn’t get out of her way fast enough. He wondered when it had left her.

“I resemble a corpse! I swear, my grandmother had a better complexion than me on the day she died!”, Astoria continued after another minute of silence.

Oh. Draco blinked. She meant that? He wouldn’t have noticed that in a hundred years.

“And I’m so thin and –”

“Because you’re starving yourself,” Draco interrupted her and immediately scolded himself for it.

Astoria, who was in the middle of shifting to a different position, stopped, and stared at him. “What?”

Draco pondered for a moment about his next words. Astoria and her fucked up relationship towards food wasn’t a secret. Well, not since fourth grade when rumors started spreading about the true reasons of why she was always so eager to get to the nearest bathroom after meals. And then her bones began to stick out underneath her school uniform. Everyone noticed it. Everyone looked the other way. Problems like hers … they weren’t uncommon among their circles. Yet, they were problems to keep to behind closed doors. They were private. Nothing to talk about.

“Everyone needs an outlet for the stress that comes with living like we do,” his father had once said. “Women are just worse in finding the right one.”

Oh, how he hated his father.

Draco smiled sadly at Astoria. “Everybody knows, Astoria.”

“Knows what?”, she asked sharply.

“That you have issues with food.”

Astoria blinked. “I … you’re such an asshole,” she then exclaimed. “You’re an asshole, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco sighed and shifted positions. “Anyways,” he tried to change the subject. “You’re scared, I get it. But so far, you don’t have any symptoms. In fact, you started feeling ill once your mother went with you to see the seer, right? It frightened you and now you can’t stop focusing on that fear.”

Astoria scoffed. “Thanks, Mr. Therapist. You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m just guessing. It doesn’t make sense to care so much about something that might not even happen to you.”

“Doesn’t make sense to you, you mean”, Astoria corrected him.

Draco frowned.

“Because your problems are much more important.”

“My problems are real.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say in this situation. Even Draco realized that. The words had just slipped out. He hated to admit it but the egocentric, narcissistic part of himself believed them.

Astoria stood up abruptly. She smoothed over the fabric of her skirt and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear. She then looked at him, no expression on her face. When she spoke, her voice was calm and quiet: “Fuck you.”

With long steps Astoria made her way towards the door.

“Shit,” Draco mumbled under his breath and got up as well. “Astoria!”

She didn’t turn around.

“Astoria, wait! Please!”

The last word made her stop, hand already reaching for the doorknob. As she turned around, there was a bitter smile playing around her dark red lips. “Why?”, she asked him. “I trusted you with something and all you’re giving me is shit.”

Draco looked down to the ground and then back up. “I don’t know how to respond to this.”

“With empathy, Draco,” she folded her arms in front of her chest. “You might want to look that word up.”

Draco let out another deep sigh. A part of him secretly wished she would ignore him and just leave. It would be easier for him. Knowing this wasn’t an option for her, he finally walked towards Astoria. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. His words had failed him, they had made everything worse for her and he hoped from the bottom of his heart that this would ease her pain just a little. Astorias body went stiff at first – only after a few seconds did she let her body relax. She leaned into his embrace as if someone took a weight off her shoulders.

“You know I’m here for you,” Draco whispered. “And I will be there in case …”

“In case, I’m dying after all.”

When Draco breathed in, he could smell her lavender shampoo. “Yes.”

Suddenly, her petite body began to tremble. At first Draco mistook it for giggling, then he heard the soft whimpers against his shoulder.

“It’ll be fine. I promise.” He hugged her tighter.

“You can’t promise me that,” she sniffed.

Draco let go of her and took a step back. He put a hand to her cheek, making her look at him. “The curse hasn’t been around for decades. It might skip your generation again.”

Her eyes were red and her cheeks puffy, silent tears running down them. “I’m so scared.”

“I know.”

“Please marry me.”

Draco closed his eyes at her plea. His head suddenly hurt and he wished you were here. You’d know how to handle situations like this.

“Astoria …”

“I know you don’t love me,” she interrupted him, her voice still trembling. “You couldn’t.”

He opened his eyes, looking at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You love her.”

Her. You. Draco blinked. “What? No, I –”

“I realized it on New Years Eve.” She wiped the tears from her cheek, still holding on to him with her other hand. Astoria cleared her throat. “I didn’t believe it in the beginning but … it’s so obvious. You love her so much, how could I ever expect you to look at me the same way you look at her?”

Draco shook her head. “Astoria –”

“But you know the relationship has no future. Neither of your families would ever agree to it. You know it. You know it in your heart.”

The piercing pain in his forehead grew stronger. When he’d remember this moment, Draco wouldn’t be able to describe his feelings. Her words barely managed to get through to him. You love her, he heard her say over and over again. You love her.

No. He didn’t love you.

He couldn’t.

“Marry me,” Astoria repeated herself and took a step closer again. She had to lift her head to look into his eyes. “My family will secure the future of the Malfoys.”

“I …”

You love her. You love her. You love her.

“What do you get out of it?”, he finally managed to get out and tried to focus back on her, feeling weirdly out of breath.

Another tear rolled down her cheek. No sobs this time. “Once people will be able to see the sickness …”, she hesitated. “I won’t be looked at as the second daughter who’s living in her sister’s shadows.”

You love her.

Draco furrowed his brows at her words, utterly irritated by them. “Nobody thinks that, Astoria.”

She laughed. “Yes, they do! Daphne has always been prettier, smarter, more desired. I can’t compete with her. I am the leftover Greengrass that no one wants and that’s now dying from a family curse. Because of fucking course it would hit me and not my picture perfect sister!”

Draco stared at Astoria.

“But with you,” she continued. “With you people would see that I’m more than that. That I’m worthy of attention and of love despite … being me.”

This is wrong on so many levels, he could hear your voice in his head, clear as day.

“Have you met with the therapist yet?”, Draco suddenly asked out of the blue.

“What?” The Slytherin was thrown off by his question. “Yes.”

“Did you talk to her about this?”

Hearing this made her drop his hands, taking a few steps back. She buried her face in her hands, taking a deep breath. “Oh, fuck you, Draco!”, Astoria muttered. “Stop trying to analyze me!”

“I’m not!”, he assured her. “But … Astoria, this is so fucked up what you just said to me.”

She looked back up at him. “You’re such a hypocrite.”

“Excuse me?”

She chuckled. “You spent a few months with a Gryffindor and now you act like our values mean nothing to you when you are the one who used to scream ‘mudblood’ the loudest.”

Draco swallowed.

“Merlin, what is wrong with me,” Astoria sighed. “After everything I just confessed, you don’t find it in you to show me a little mercy and change your mind?” She smiled at him sadly. “Do you want to marry me?”

“No.”

You love her.

***

The talk with Astoria left him feeling uneasy.

It handed after she asked Draco to marry her a second time and he declined. She nodded when she heard his answer, sniffled, wiped the remaining tears away and left. Not without saying “You’ll change your mind sooner or later”. When she was gone, she didn’t take the anxiety with her. Draco had to deal with that on his own. Now, as he walked through the halls of the old castle, his steps were stiff, and he had deep lines between his eyebrows.

“Calm down, she has no symptoms,” he mumbled to himself as he turned another corner.

Yet.

What if he would be wrong after all? What if the curse wouldn’t skip another generation of Greengrass women and fall upon her? What if she would die and he made her last remaining years even more miserable in her eyes because he turned down the proposal?

What if, what if, what if.

He wanted to talk to you about all of it. You’d tell him he didn’t have to feel bad. He didn’t owe Astoria. He shouldn’t be put in this position in the first place. You would find the right words. To be honest, Draco knew all of this himself. He just wanted to hear you say it out loud. Hear the words from another person to ensure that he was right. That he wasn’t crazy or selfish for not sacrificing his life, his future, for a dying girl.

“She’s not dying,” he reminded himself. A Hufflepuff boy passed him and frowned.

“My family will secure the future of the Malfoys.” It was the argument his mother had used against him countless times. He was certain that he’d hear it a lot more often soon. He was aware of how strong the argument truly was. His family could return to their former glory with all the luxury that came along with it. Fancy parties, status, high-paying careers – something he had been promised his whole life and that was stripped away the moment he was forced to become a Death Eater. The promise of a good life. An easy life.

Maybe life shouldn’t be easy for them. At least not so fast. Maybe his father shouldn’t come home from Azkaban one day to live like nothing ever happened. No, Lucius Malfoy deserved to suffer longer than his time in prison. And ultimately, so did his mother and Draco.

Draco gritted his teeth at his thoughts. He couldn’t marry Astoria. Not for that reason. Not to make the life of his family easier. His parents needed to work and plea for their redemption. Just like he did.

“Watch it, Malfoy!”, Seamus Finnigan hissed when he bumped into him. He came out of the library, a stack of books in his arms.

Draco didn’t look at him. Until now, he hadn’t even noticed that he was walking towards the library. It made sense though. The bag that hung from his shoulder seemed to become heavier with every step. The black notebook. He needed to write.

***

You sat alone on a table, hunched over a book. More of them piled up next to you, accompanied by an overused quill and bottle of ink.

Exams, Draco remembered. How easy it was to forget those mundane things in the midst of all the sadness. Exams, followed by entrance tests to become an Auror. Draco smiled at the thought of you fighting evil. He was certain that you’d excel at it.

He stopped in the middle of the corridor, not caring about the annoyed huffs and curses from students who almost ran into him. He watched you. The way you sometimes licked the tip of your finger before turning a page. How you sighed and frowned when you didn’t understand a passage.

You love her. The words shot through his mind.

It was different to the scenes he had read in books when he finally saw it. When he blinked and it was suddenly so clear to him. His heart didn’t stop, his knees didn’t become weak, he didn’t hear violins around him. No, a ray of sunlight that fell through the window and hit your face, caused you to lift your head. In that moment, your eyes found his. A smile played around your lips as you waved at him and pointed at the seat next to you. And it was so clear to him, that he wanted this all along: to be with you. To come home to you.

You love her, Astoria had said.

And he knew she was right.

***

A/N: How did you like it?? I’m so excited to hear from you!! <33

CHAPTER 20

HP Masterlist General Masterlist

Tag List: @writerdee1701, @youareinllve, @sjmahoney, @detroitobsessed, @takura-rin, @jadam268, @wynterwind, @renaissance-confiance, @doitforthevine67, @ilovemollyweasley, @flowerpowerpixie, @gold-flowing, @starkssnarks, @bookcornerkins, @harpersmariano, @markedsweetly, @iraniq, @pointlesscoconut, @hvrcruxes, @pillowjj, @idkatee, @magicwithaknife, @graystherapy, @scoote-rankle, @nxstalgicnxbxdy, @sunsetsofanemoia, @tommy-holland, @lordfxxker, @streetfighterrichie, @awaken-the-sirens, @destiels-assbutt13, @pockitparks, @just-addicted-to-bangtan, @cuddlykoala101, @zpandaqueen , @natsiboo, @jjjmaybank, @justmesadgirl, @books-and-tings, @slytherinprincedracom , @katiaw2, @saintkore, @nctnight, @lifestragedy, @obxmxybxnk, @spideydobik , @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @aspiring-ginger, @dracomalfoyswifey, @jpow345, @realistic-breadstick, @abbs-is-tired, @alwaysbeanunknownfan, @niallsarmveinstho, @is-this-a-febreze-commercial, @acciowilltolive, , @sexytholland, @faangirl101, @donttellany1iusetumbler, @mendesmuffinsss, @lilxnvm, @kill-the-teen-memories, @darkusangelus, @itsbebeyyy, @hesaidimcrazy, @jenniweaslee, @hpxpjo, @brisbubble, @xomaymay, @shitnstuffillregret, @serialkillme, @angel-tears15, @panicattheeverywherekid, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @nobleking, @tashii-blr, @ddaeing, @randogirlo-fando-main, @sadgirlnumber92899, @captivateing, @bitchyegirl, @smiithys, @ninipoo1, @intheawks, @nothanksnyla, @calpal-4ever, @dracosathenaeum, @belsandthings, , @kiwi-sloan, @xdmx, @lexi-ravenclawdracomalfoy, @kvyenxay, @live-awkward, @babebenhardy, @bitchysweets-blog, @cravingmusic, @frau-moon, @ohissandhalasta, @broken-but-beautiful-cassie, @lil-black-heart, @vminenthusiastt, @dracos-sluts, @mrmoonyy, @saucysuazo, @fuzzzwald, @matsuno-nadeshiko, @amber-arsenault , @loveableasshole, @spideycures, @echpr, @shiningstar-byulxx, @twinklebug2282, @bloodiedroses, @klthmef, @ostorian , @bi-chai-tea, @maddieisnotok, @amandaluvssupernatural, @makeoutwithstiles, @i-am-addicted-to-tea, @tenclouds, @lovingdracomalfoy, @lannaax, @dr-bitch-bby, @fallinallinmendes, @suckerforparker, @runninglownad, @piercinghorizons, @dosicas, @yanaaaaaaa, @akzer300500 @hoseokslily, @dracofeltonmalfoy, @emilianamason, @tothemoonwithclifford, @gcldreinhart , @angelofthorr, @k-k0129, @musicalmuffindog1410, @andydre4m, @mxl-foyrecs, @seeinorange, @vlgsqd , @justmimithings, @allthevoicesinmyhead, @pipppaaaaalouisee, @yessirrz, @2think2twice2 @spencerreidisbootiful, @find-a-little-faith, @thatguppienamedbae, @emmamarie7708, @dontpanicitsdan @jordaangx, @ceeellewrites, @drxcomvlfx, @7minutes-tomidnight, @coldheartedslytherin, @wingardiumdepressionosa, @perfect-storm95, @danisaur1324, @unlikely-y-bliss, @trentdijklfc66, @saptediavoli, @treestarrrrrrrr, @aangsupremacy @yaanasluv, @megamihatake, @lavenderblossom12, @bimbelle, @beiahadid, @weasleytwinswheezes, @bogikrmn, @gublerslut, @prongsandprancer, @superkawaiicandyfloss , @instantllamaruins

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scarletwitching · 4 years

Note

Hello! Do you have any "real world" timeline of Wanda's backstories (particularly her origins). I know she was created in the 60s, and her first origin seems to have her as the biological daughter of two golden age American heroes. However most wiki pages only describe her latest "in-universe" history. Im curious to know how many actual real-world years she spent as a White American, German Jew, Serbian Romani, Mutant, Witch, Avenger, etc. Thanks!

I’m choosing to do this as a chronicling of backstory retcons (plus a couple of important firsts) because it would be too much to do the whole thing, and I’m going to include the various changes to Magneto’s backstory because they’re kind of necessary. The dates listed are release date, not cover date.

March 1964 (X-Men vol. 1 #4) -- It’s Wanda, no last name. She’s a mutant, part of the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. She’s from Central Europe. She has an older brother named Pietro, and he promised their parents that he would take care of her.

March 1965 (Avengers vol. 1 #16) -- Wanda’s an Avenger now.

November 1966 (Thor vol. 1 #134) -- We learn that Wanda and Pietro, who are now twins, are connected to Wundagore Mountain and that there was a massive “blinding light” on the night they were born. This was maybe an aborted attempt to retcon them into not being mutants (their powers are referred to as “mutant-type” for some reason), but it goes nowhere.

May 1974 (Giant Size Avengers #1) -- Wanda and Pietro finally have a backstory. They are the children of US-American superheroes Madeline and Robert Frank (aka Miss America and The Whizzer). They were born on Wundagore Mountain, but their mother died and their father abandoned them. They were subsequently raised in the High Evolutionary’s citadel, but they ran away because it was weird being around all those talking animals.

June 1974 - February 1975 (Avengers vol. 1 #127-134; Giant Size Avengers #2 & 4) -- Agatha’s here, and she’s teaching Wanda magic. Wanda is now a mutant AND a witch.

December 1977 - September 1979 (Avengers vol. 1 #166 & 181-187; X-Men vol. 1 #125) -- Origin Story: The Good One. Wanda and Pietro are not the Franks’ kids and were not raised in the High Evolutionary’s citadel. They were raised by Django and Marya Maximoff, a Roma couple from Bulgaria (Transia, the town they’re from, will later become a country of its own), and it is implied that they don’t remember this because they suppressed their own memories. However, Django and Marya are not their birth parents. Their birth mother came to Wundagore Mountain, heavily pregnant, fleeing their father. She gave birth in the citadel, then left because she did not want to be alive anymore.

Meanwhile, Chris Claremont comes up with the idea for Magda, Magneto’s mysterious dead wife, but before the issue introducing her can even come out, John Byrne and some other guys go behind Claremont’s back and make Magda Wanda and Pietro’s mother. Which makes Magneto the husband their mother was running from and thus... None of the living characters know they are related, and it is editorial’s intention that they will never find out, though the connection is acknowledged openly in the letters column.

August 1981 (Uncanny X-Men vol. 1 #150) -- Claremont begins the long process of turning Magneto into a hero, and with that, we learn Magneto’s backstory as a Holocaust survivor. Claremont continues to add to this for the rest of his initial X-Men tenure (through 1991), but crucially, he never has him say that he’s Jewish. You’re supposed to understand that he is, and most of the audience does understand. It is very, very obvious (we even get a trip to Israel), BUT he does not say the exact words, “I am Jewish.”

November 1982 (Vision & the Scarlet Witch vol. 1 #4) -- The characters aren’t supposed to find out they’re related? Forget that. They all know now. I would argue that this issue also makes it obvious that Magneto is Jewish, but whatever, he doesn’t say, “I am Jewish.”

October 1985 (Vision & the Scarlet Witch vol. 2 #5) -- This is the earliest reference I can find to Magda being Romani. It feels like that can’t be the first time that was confirmed, but this post needs to get done some time.

October 1987 (New Mutants vol. 1 #61) -- Another “earliest reference I can find” scenario. I think this is the first time Magneto mentions being from Poland. At any rate, it is a time he mentions being from Poland, and it gets retconned anyway.

July 1993 (X-Men Unlimited vol. 1 #2) -- Due to editorial meddling, Magneto became a villain again in 1991, and according to comic book legend, editor-in-chief Bob Harras thought that Magneto being Jewish and a supervillain was proooooooblemaaaaaaatic. And if he can’t be both at the same time, one’s gotta go. Enter Gabrielle Haller, who is here to give a Ted Talk explaining Magneto’s new backstory. He’s Sinti Romani. That’s the change.

December 1997 (X-Men vol. 2 #72) -- It is revealed that the Erik Lensherr identity was an alias created by document forger Georg Odekirk in order to help Magneto hide from the authorities and find Magda... by pretending to be Sinti. Which, to me, implies that Magda herself was Sinti specifically, not Roma. Either way, Magneto says he’s not Romani, but once again does not say he’s Jewish.

September 2008 - January 2009 (X-Men: Magneto Testament #1-5) -- Magneto is officially, definitely Jewish. For real this time. No more ambiguity. He’s also German now, instead of Polish, and his name is Max Eisenhardt.

December 2014 (Avengers & X-Men: AXIS #7) -- Rick Remender, who is clearly invested in Wanda and Magneto’s relationship, is forced, possibly at gunpoint, to make them not related. This is revealed via a spell going wrong and not affecting Magneto when it’s supposed to affect Wanda’s family, which is the dictionary definition of “plausible deniability.”

January 2015 - June 2015 (Uncanny Avengers vol. 2 #1-5) -- Wanda and Pietro go to the High Evolutionary to figure out what their brand new backstory is. Turns out that, according to the High Evolutionary, they are not mutants and got their powers from being experimented on by him as babies. Their birth parents were their adoptive parents Django and Marya all along, which would make them Roma (not Sinti)... but something is weird about this reveal because Vision finds out there is more to the story and refuses to tell Wanda what it is or that he discovered any information at all.

March 2016 - January 2017 (Scarlet Witch vol. 2 #4-14) -- Nevermind, Django and Marya weren’t Wanda’s biological parents. Django is her uncle. His sister Natalya is her birth mother and a witch, and “the Scarlet Witch” is now a legacy title. Wanda was born in Serbia, but how that intersects with the Chthon thing is not explained. And Wanda’s dad is... the guy who murdered her mother. Who? Doesn’t say.

December 2017 - July 2019 -- A bonus! Marvel gives up on pretending Wanda and Magneto are not related... but mostly outside of comics. The official Marvel website runs articles just... saying they’re related. Official merchandise says they’re related. The mainline comics don’t touch it, but things are very suspicious.

#scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #magneto #continuity #origin #meta #written by me #anonymous #answered

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worldsover · 4 years

Text

Judgement to the Desiccated ft. Karina

length ✦ 5573

genres ✧ sm type future; asphyxiation; blackmail; virtual_servant!Karina;

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Air did a poor job of not being polluted so Lee Soo Man flooded the world instead. The man himself certainly must be long gone and could not have been in charge of that decision but the legacy of his company far exceeds the legacy of any other human collective in history. Once on this planet, gas was the fluid of choice for respiration and breathing was an unconscious reflex. Now there’s Aether by SM. How very on-brand of them to have the liquid air you breathe follow perfume naming conventions.

Open your eyes and exit the sleeping chamber. Aether has you work for each inhalation, it desaturates the color of the bedroom—maybe there’s a subtle but uncomfortable tinge of yellow—and it makes your nose itch. Your muscles wield much less force than they used to because of the lack of resistance the fluid provides. Moreover, it smells like hairspray as though the ozone layer is taking sardonic revenge.

Screens impersonating windows track your eyes to ensure realistic parallax, playing the scene of divine blue heavens that could not exist. An azure sky is a reward for those planets that have an atmosphere and a sun for light to scatter. Your walls are either chrome or drywall white and your whole bedroom is plainly decorated just like the day you moved in.

“Etymology of bedroom,” you think out loud, though it falls on no ears.

“Bedroom is a compound noun consisting of bed and room. Bed goes back to Old English bedd ‘sleeping place, plot of ground prepared for plants,’ which goes back to the Germanic-”

Plants and sleep are both strong words to use nowadays. The former doesn’t exist in nature and it seems you’re the only one who bothers with the latter. Faint buzzing distracts you from the AI’s response and signals you to the nano drones that swim throughout the liquid to process carbon dioxide from your lungs. This whole ordeal could’ve been much worse if you didn’t have brain interfaces doing the hard part of controlling your diaphragm. The most you need is a purposeful thought. Still, it gets tiring having to think the same thought every three seconds. In. Out.

Was the metaphorical Soo Man teaching a lesson in perseverance? You love K-pop and imagine it’s how trainees used to practice dancing, singing, being charismatic. Being an idol had to be as natural as breathing air. Inhale and exhale. Right now with any antiquated programming language you clung on to, you could write a single for loop that did the same job. For every three seconds: breathe in, breathe out.

“What’s for breakfast today?” Not loud enough. “What’s for breakfast?” you think it louder.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready for service.” It’s quite a kindness for SM to blur the bland dystopia you live in by augmenting reality through your neural device. A bosomy woman in a gold-lined but otherwise modest maid outfit appears from the corner of your eye and she bows. Ae-Karina is bewitching and almost becoming of her basis as its graphics have gradually upgraded over the rotations but you wouldn’t misconstrue the avatar as human.

“I said, what’s for breakfast!” It feels impolite to scream in your head, there’s other residents there, but finally the fridge lights up.

“Of course master. May I remind you eating is unnecessary?”

In. Out. Every day, she does remind you, yes. How kind of the company to put all your nutritional requirements in the new air. Aether goes in then Aether goes out. You wish the thoughts of breathing could fade into the background but they’re just like your cravings for food. Always hungry but never starving, whole though not once satisfied. Your eyes pause at her gorgeous face and she tells you there’s bacon. Take it from your fridge. Bacon goes in. Well, the drones take care of the out.

Your assigned living space is the entire 207th floor of a tower. Two hundred and seven floors below the surface. The neighbor a few floors upstairs says that he thinks living deeper is a sign of status. What a luxury. That guy should check the status of his facial muscles, maybe improve his code that lets him tell lies while he’s at it. A couple hundred flights of stairs to swim up is a useless skeuomorphism of skyscrapers in the days of the sun. In fact they were more than useless, you would've preferred a single vertical hallway as it would have let you propel upwards unimpeded. Each floor is the exact same, a glass door that affords no privacy for its residence, a false tree on each side. At the upper levels, malls, convenience stores and other gaudy retail, but it’s the gyms that mock you that you mock in return. They’re always empty.

Finally reaching the top is no true break even if it is a change in scenery. Inhale. Aether tastes a little different up here. Exhale. Can’t say you like it.

Countless satellites form a parody of the star from which the planet flew away, the false image refracted by the upper boundary of Aether. They can’t take away your memories of this star. Looking up at the sky once blinded you with ultraviolet radiation, burning your cornea. It was beautiful. Now everyone’s decided that if they’re playing the part of corporate dystopia, they might as well fit the aesthetic. In a way, it’s self-fulfilling. They wouldn’t have chosen a neon pink sun to compliment the blue and metallic gloom of the cityscape if it weren’t so ingrained in popular media already.

Still, you would’ve expected Google or Walmart to become the megacorp responsible for the state of the world, not a Korean entertainment company. Must’ve been quite the red paperclip scenario. Instead of material design or utilitarian architecture, tacky artistic structures line the streets. The same advertisements for albums that they’ve been selling for the past however long. It's all so obvious, the city could've been designed from scratch to accommodate new forms of travel and goddamn liquid air but instead they went with futuristic Tokyo.

Dubstep permeates your inner ear implants. A notification informs your thoughts that it’s “Hip-hop EDM dance pop with a strong jungle house groove and urban influences.” It’s dubstep. Liquid carries barely any sound so SM affords the option for implants if you're nostalgic for one of the senses. Even though it’s a slower form of communication than direct neural transfer, the noise comforts you. Of course the company would choose dubstep as their background music, but maybe they make money off refunds somehow. It switches to Ice Cream Cake. Much better.

You walk the not so busy roads towards a short brick warehouse in the distance and heavy rain soaks your clothes. No such thing as weather without the sun and water but it’s all simulated anyway.

A warm Seulgi adlib and you know it’s Psycho that starts playing. No, none of your senses are real. The most you could trust is your vision but even that’s being lied to. You could be living in a vat and fed all these thoughts, but then why make it so mediocre? Not paradise, nor torture but a lukewarm in-between. Guess that's what happens when SM Entertainment manages the post-apocalypse. Good on them for trying. The alternative would be a frozen hellscape without solar radiation. Can’t deny their work with geothermal and nuclear energy to keep the Aether warm so that you didn’t have to live underground for the rest of human history. It’s quite great PR to save humanity.

“Hey now, we’ll be okay,” repeats a few more times than you remember.

The Idea Factory Alpha White Delta Green says the neon tubes lighting the front of the brick and mortar building. Your ID card bears a name but it’s not yours, not until they approve your name change. Those usually get processed faster with how often people liked changing their names.

Sit at a desk with a sterile white keyboard and slick new monitor. Type and empty words appear on the screen: “Think for the many, not for the one. We need to think ahead.” A thumbs up. The company appreciates the input. That’s probably enough work for one day. Some SNSD live stages help the time pass, SM certainly appreciated the streaming numbers and it would net you some social points.

It’s hard to say what comes to mind when they ask you to envision a world without the sun and air, especially since it’s what you’ve known for... Two hundred years? There’s no frame of reference, that much you can tell from when you counted seconds to see how often the satellites completed their orbit. SM really took time to have them propel at random speeds, they love withholding sensitive information like that from citizens. To be fair, time is sensitive. Guess the meaning of that phrase changes like all parts of language.

Look around. Dozens of employees at identical workspaces all try to answer the same questions. Naturally, there’s no need for manual labor anymore but there will never be a replacement for human ingenuity. Nice slogan but you know you’re only here for data. Can’t see a need for customer retention though—what’s the alternative, skip Earth? See you on another planet?

“Hey bro, you come up with anything new?” Dave says. Two desks away, you see the enthusiastic, surprisingly spry man play around with a Newton’s cradle. The balls at each end bounce back and forth, not slowing down their rhythm any time soon.

“I think I got something,” you say, “Earth is not the answer. It can’t be, long term.”

“Ooh, I like that. Actually, I really like that.”

“What are you gonna do, copy me?”

“Of course not. You know how much SM hates plagiarism.” Click. Clack.

“Ha. As if there’s a single original thought left in the world.” Click. Clack. The imaginary sounds of metal spheres bouncing play in your mind. They got the volume wrong, no way it’d sound that loud from that distance. “You’d think with all their resources, they’d have figured out space travel by now.”

“I don’t think they want to leave, bro. Wouldn’t be great for profits.”

Your mouth opens to laugh and causes laugh8942.mp3 to play in Dave’s head. “I love it. SM probably hates that sass too,” you say.

“Oh no, they’re gonna arrest me for thoughtcrimes. Nah, they love creativity, just when it suits them. Also, if they actually did bust you for wrongthink like rumors say, I wouldn’t have this on me.” Dave twirls a finger and points at you and you thank his absurd flair for the histrionic that keeps you amused with such drab work.

“NewDrug.mp6. Would you like to play it?” the dry system voice notifies you.

“Woah woah there tiger, hold on.” Dave must’ve noticed your intrigued eyes and holds his hands up. “You might wanna experience that at home. But if you’re interested in more, ask for chicken parm at the vegan place. You know the one.”

Dave leaves his desk. He doesn’t return. You finish your work. Inspire. Expire. You’d rather not.

In contrast to your commute to work, the roads fill with others on your way home. You have to know. Take solace in the comfort of a bench where a huge McDonald’s arch bathes the surroundings and its people with a yellow glow. Really shouldn’t watch it now, especially if Dave says it’s a home type of watch but you have to know. A family of five watches you pass out. They, along with every other passerby, ignore your still body draped over the chrome outdoor seating as you look like yet another junkie. The title is correct after a fashion, the simulation is some sort of new drug. The details of the exploits that happen in the immersive replay wash over you but you don’t need them to know that it’s the sort of lewd that SM would not allow—at least not publicly and not without the right exorbitant payment.

Suit pants and underwear go straight to the laundry. That must’ve been an embarrassing sight but no one bothered to stop you, so it doesn’t matter. Look up where this vegan place was that Dave so presumptuously assumed you knew about and you find that it’s about four Avengers’ stores down from work. He must’ve eaten there before.

“Yo Dave, just wanna make sure, what’s the name of the vegan place called?”

“What are you talking about, man? You telling me there’s some secret underground farms that SM wouldn’t know about?”

You can’t tell when you got to work, a lack of standardized timing would help as well the haze of living in a monotonous dark. “Nah, I mean, for the-”

“I have no idea,” Dave emphasizes each word, “what you’re talking about.”

“I see.”

Work flies by, unusually.

“Hey, can I get a chicken-”

“Uh, this is Maron’s Veggies Only, it clearly says on the sign.”

Clear your throat. “Parm.”

The shifty part-time worker looks around and rubs his fingers gesturing for money. “No digital.”

Over the counter, you pass him a gold coin stamped with a holographic 1 and he hands you a USB stick and a laptop in return. How old-fashioned.

“It’ll sync with whoever you have set as your avatar experience aspect,” the worker says.

“Thanks.”

Ever vigilant as the patrol is, the alleys are the last place you want to go to hide with the obvious criminal element within them all but you head to one anyway. Dump the anachronistic technology in your storage pocket dimensions. Looking at its contents, you’d have to clean that mess up later, but the more you look like an average slob the better. The biggest problem with the inventories is all the people squatting in them. Inspectors wouldn’t care about the archaic ruins you left in yours.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready to service.”

“I’d like to go on a date. A special date.” You highlight the key word special and sit on your living room couch. No one’s going to look in your glass door and regardless, you wouldn’t be the pervert for glimpsing into someone’s home.

“Ah yes, master. Ae-Karina is ready to fully service,” she says with a provocative tint in her tone, her sclera disperses to black to match. A pole drops from the ceiling while parts of her maid outfit dissolve which reveals more of the silky skin of her thighs, her lissom arms and most importantly her overflowing breasts. Ae-Karina wraps her legs around the pole and spins around, teasing fingers trace curves on her body to harden you. Her dance is precise but sultry regardless. She pulls up her short skirt to flaunt more of her ass beneath white panties and then pulls down to flourish her cleavage, not trapped by a bra. “Are you enjoying your maid’s show?”

“Very much so, yes,” you say.

Half of a smile forms before a glitch occurs and she teleports next to you, fully nude. It doesn’t pull you out of the illusion however. You just stare and drink in the splendor of her created body.

“You’re not going to touch?” Ae-Karina says.

A feel of her tits and you find it softer than pillows you used to rest on. Soft isn’t much of a character that exists anymore when the whole world is engulfed in liquid. No one has beds, especially with the rarity of sleep. Therefore, her mounds are a consummate dedication to the texture as you squeeze and pinch at her cute nipples.

Her maid outfit rematerializes as she straddles you. It provides more friction to your pants as she begins her lap dance. The weight of her body dragging across your legs and clothed erection induces your carnal impulses further. If only you could fuck the virtual idol. You have to make do with the imprint of her pussy lips on your bulge sliding up and down. Breath in. Breath out.

Ae-Karina pulls down your boxers and spits on your erection. It's not real but her hands so slick on your cock and you let reality slip. Real is for the past, you have desires gratified in the present. There is no real person nibbling at your neck but your nerves activate in sexual desire without discernment for truth. No, she doesn't love you, but when the voracious mass of ones and zeroes says it loves its master, you say it back.

"I love you."

ILOVEYOU infected ten million computers in 2000. An explosion. Calibration engaging. It’s 1:21 PM, Sunday, July 18, 2286 and hypothetically the sun would be out in its full rage. At this latitude and longitude, you’re at what was once the epicenter of all—Seoul, where a fountain caused a chain reaction allowing the hopeful remnant of a world to exist. It lasted a surprisingly long time without the sun and without Aether but the dying planet would succumb inevitably to the ever-increasing contamination so SM of all corporations took charge. A different kind of chain reaction occurred when they acquired a restaurant chain that discovered the recipe for liquid air. The law is on its way and prepared to punish you to its full extent.

You reel while your ears ring. An even sexier version of the woman you already fantasized about appears from your peripheral vision in the crater of your floor. A skimpy cop outfit, striated with reflective material that seems to wane black at different angles, outlines Karina’s curves. She has a tool belt with absurd gadgets, such as a knife baton hybrid, a taser combined with a spray bottle and a Tamagotchi. None of this is necessary. They could just immediately arrest you, impose limitations on your devices. Sure, SM cloned people to deal with underpopulation, but why Karina would be the enforcer is a whole nother issue. Maybe the entertainment company loves their irony?

“Halt. You’re under arrest. Any resistance will be penalized according to the combined Terms of Service of all SM and SM associated products.”

Fucked anyway, you figure you might as well go for it. Escape into your inventory and only seconds later you’re forced out. You manage to get what you need regardless.

“Violation of access rights will be charged to your account.”

It’s so obvious but there’s a reason you kept so much gold in physical storage. As you swim away, the sides of your apartment start to bubble. Bubbles? Already, your limbs feel unsteady. Something’s wrong in the Aether.

“This is standard procedure for escaping suspects that are indoors. Again, this is all agreed to under the Terms of Service.”

“When the fuck did I ever click accept to that shit?”

“When you were born in this world and decided you want to stay in it,” Karina says out loud. You hear her say it. Your physical ears process the vibrations in the air that come from her mouth. Gravity thwarts your desperate escape as your limp body floats on the limit between liquid and air. The atrophy of your muscles becomes apparent within the gaseous atmosphere. She watches you sink down as the room drains of all the false air though her eyebrows crease when she inspects you closer. Your breaths are involuntary. Despite your muscles shorting out, the force of gravity and the pressure of the gas bearing down on you, you’re breathing and you don’t mean to. Her eyes wander farther down. On your pants, a concrete rod stamps the fabric.

“Oh, you like what you see?”

“Shut up, criminal. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Your pussy,” you say and she scoffs.

“Original.” Karina bites her lip as your erection continues to grow behind its prison. You use all effort to put your hands up.

“Please, miss Karina. I’ve been bad.”

“I could punish you even more for sexual assault.”

“Then do it.”

Heat radiates the room in a way you haven’t felt in a while and droplets of sweat form on each of your bodies, especially on the thighs that her revealing outfit parades. Her facial features contort in deliberation and the wait kills you. You bat your eyes at her before Karina takes off her tight shorts and drops herself into your anticipatory face. This makes no sense but none of this life made any sense so you decide to go with the tides.

Centuries of training your respiration has led to this moment, but when you finally have real air to breathe, you spit at the opportunity and choose to suffocate. Then you spit at her pussy and lap it up. Karina’s nectar transfixes your olfactory glands, for once a smell that isn’t the sterile Aether. Your eyes are mesmerized in parallel because of the perfect design of her pussy, a single crease that leads into her hole that your tongue emphatically explores. Karina spreads her thighs wide to reveal a small nub that craves attention. So give it. Suck and swirl and flick your tongue, and the woman provides you the tight clench of her legs as a gift. And the sounds, rediscovered glorious noise. Loud, almost too loud, and clear is how they assault your ears, even surrounded by the flesh of her thighs. Muffled by the weight of her legs, you hear Karina moan in approval but she’s still clearly in charge with how she chokes you with her legs. This is not about your pleasure but hers, and any satisfaction that you derive is not only incidental but probably punishable by SM copyright law.

Karina squirms her hips subtly on your mouth. Her eyes are sharp and she’s just about to stop your hands from moving but she notices them clasp together.

“I’ll do anything to make you cum, please.” you say sloppily as her pussy juices fill your cheeks and drip down your chin.

“God. I can’t.” She takes deep, contemplative breaths. ”That’s more time added on for inappropriate behavior.” Her groaning and brief squeals make her words sound incogent.

You give her a concluding lick and a kiss on her slit. “So what have you been doing right now then?”

Point to a corner of the room and a subtle red light indicates a recording camera. At once, she pulls out a hose from a pocket that could not fit it and the vacuum submerges the room with noise. Her expression shifts quickly to serious.

“We don’t play games here in SMTOWN unless it’s SuperStar so don’t fuck with me.”

“Look who's trying to be a comedian. How about you fuck with me any further and the video gets released.”

“That’s funny, you think you have any sort of power-”

“Yoo Jimin, I suggest you don’t push me more.”

“Where do you know that name from? Right now.” She weighs herself down on your neck.

“You think I don’t have contingencies for if I die too? Karina, we can make this a win-win scenario. We both get to cum, we both get to walk away unscathed.”

“Fuck you.”

Your weak arms wander between her thighs. At any moment, a feeble punch towards your face or another ten seconds of asphyxiation and she could call your bluff. Even if you did have the ability to expose her perversions in any way, there would be no permanent recourse, not as long SM was in charge. So it surprises you when Karina takes off her shorts.

“Goddammit. Your cock just looks too good. And your mouth, how are you so good with it?” Put up five fingers when she motions to remove her top as well, and instead she opts to take off your clothes, seizing your pants and throwing them to join the rubble in the room.

A finger slips in, then two and a third dares. Her flawlessly architected pussy lips clings to your digits and Karina shudders in reply. You explore her wetness and find it’s smooth to the point of having no faults, but her juice inside is gloppy and causes your fingers to stick more than the liquids she spills from her slit.

“Who said you’re allowed to have more?”

You lap up the nectar on your fingers. “Then why’d they make you taste so good?”

Your thumb teases her sweet tight asshole and puts just the slightest amount of pressure on it while you finger her with more intensity. The mass of her butt burdens your torso the closer she gets to orgasm. Her eyelids squeeze close and you see her body ripple in anxious pleasure. Karina shows off her pearly whites, teetering on the cliff of hysteria.

“Yes, yes! I’m so close,” she screams.

"Not yet."

“Fuck." Karina sobs, "God. Damn, fuck I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just fuck me.”

“My pleasure,” you say. There’s no need for you to grab her since she brings herself down to your groin, which you’re thankful for as your arms are as good as jelly now. Fortunately, your cock throbs as hard as ever while Karina’s slit rests on it.

“Say you’ll delete it all, all the evidence, promise me.”

“You’re gonna fuck me first or what?” Your breath hitches while she makes a strangled noise as her velvety walls swallow your cock whole to leave no room for comfort. Her tightness is stifling and you have to start counting just to breathe again.

“One two-”

“Be quiet.”

But there is no quiet when pleas for your cooperation intersperse her excessive profanities when she seats herself into your cock and ricochets up and down. Sweat emanates from her creamy skin while her legs widen to find a better angle for her supporting knees in her cowgirl position. Grapefruit and other citrus mingle with the scent of the sweat, fruits you haven’t seen except on billboards in music videos. As much as your mind crackles and your blood roars for every atmosphere of pressure Karina’s walls provide on each thrust in and out, you can’t help but reminisce on sweeter, more innocent times.

The white fluorescent lights in your apartment sputter. For all the advancements in technology, some among many things never change. Light refracts differently in air, less bright, but you can see the pure enjoyment on Karina’s face no matter the luminescence. Karina slows her ride to pull her hips down harder instead and she jolts when your cock finds the most tender spots inside her pussy and it interrupts her babbling.

Karina almost hyperventilates when she gets up to spit on your cock. She pulls out some kind of meter from her tool belt and sighs when there’s no beeping and you recognize it having to do with carbon dioxide. She gets back to dribbling saliva and the filament trailing down to your shaft mesmerizes you. This spit is real, not simulated, and it wettens your erection in a mix with her pussy juices to paralyze you further in your already listless state. Her bare thighs jiggle and you can’t exert much force with your hands but her buttcheeks are firm with just a bit of give.

“Thank you for this cock, thank you for being bad,” Karina says as you watch her ass sink deeper while her pussy holds your dick taut. She’s frenetic when bounces up and down to play an unadulterated orchestra of slick noises between your groins.

“You’re welcome,” you accomplish getting out the words between planned breaths. Your hands cup her buttcheeks but you fear they may break with how she strikes her ass into you.

Karina turns around once more to give you the spectacle of her facial expressions as she fucks herself into you. Knead her calves laying on your torso and they take no energy to spread them though she brings them back together, compressing your hard shaft within her pussy. A new game you play with her, a separate rhythm of loosening and tightening. Her feet press on your chest to help her bounce, but the way they bear down on your lungs against the timing of your breathing causes you to fumble. Your cock bends straight forward as she plunges herself into you and it sends prickles to your entire skin, making the new angle difficult but worth it. Karina takes your hand and starts sucking on your fingers.

“You want my promise that bad?” you say.

“Yes, as bad as I want your cum. I swear, I need it.”

She draws her knees up to her torso and hugs her legs to keep thighs as tight together as possible. Karina couldn’t keep her word, she was trying to kill your cock with constriction.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking tight. God, Karina, fuck. You’re so good.” Even if good isn’t the word you want to use to describe her.

“Do it, please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. Karina can be a good girl, a good maid, a good cop, whatever you want. Just don’t get me in trouble, please.”

Karina’s mouth stops saying words though her lips writhe, drunk in increasing lust. Her cheeks flush, before the rest of her skin joins in redness while she grapples your chest and whatever spare limb she can find. You still struggle wresting control of your body but nature seems to take over when you drive yourself into her and match her needy cadence. The air in the room is replaced by a new air but it isn’t Aether. Passion, sweat, heat and all fluids that you both exude join squelching sounds, slaps and moans in harmonic bliss when her body tenses and she screams. As her body tightens, her pussy especially holds your cock for dear life and endeavours to wring out all your semen as her wetness throbs and spills. Karina starts counting to three repeatedly and you laugh though your amusement quickly subsides when you feel her juices become more viscous and she continues her ride, even in the dying pulses of her climax.

“Was I good?” Karina asks.

Just a moment goes by before you mentally send her a screenshot of all the recordings being deleted. Karina hasn’t stopped fucking you yet so at least it wasn’t a ploy.

“Thank you, thank you, I love you.” The flexion of her pliant legs brings them all the way back to rest on top of your legs. Karina lays prone above you and finally give you a kiss. The citrusy flavor may be closer to lime than grapefruit but it’s been so long that you can’t remember which scent is which. Lips crash and her tongue lashes out at yours trying to establish dominance. Keep still to let her investigate your mouth while her pussy does the same to your shaft.

You savor the way Karina’s top emphasizes the bouncing of her tits synchronous with the rebounding of her waist on your cock, but your mouth waters when she frees them. Take the shortest moment to relish in the sight before Karina smothers you with her plump globes. You wriggle your face to try to breathe. Inhale, up and exhale, down, but all you inhale is the scent of her orbs’ sweat. Her hips undulate with a pace at least double yours breathing and the echoes of slapping flesh resonate throughout the air-filled chamber. The loudness is unlike any you’ve experienced in a long time. It’s almost a flashbang every time her ass slams into your lap, especially as you start to see white when orgasm threatens to overload you with preludial pulses.

The last words you hear infected ten million computers in 2000. Fade to black. Cut. You’re slammed out of existence back into existence as a sun rebirths both within you, heating your core to a dangerous high, and from your eyes, dazzling you in an unforgiving white light. In the throes of unconsciousness relapsing to consciousness back to tenebrosity, your streaks of semen suspend in the Aether like a dead tree resting from the wind. What flashes your mind in its orgasmic state are two things only you would remember, plants and weather. Your hyperventilation is unconscious but not unwelcome, as it’s the first time in a while your breaths were reflexive even in the liquid air. However, basking in your newfound power, you start to choke. Right. You breathe in and out again. In and out. In. Out. In. Out. Back in.

“Replaying KarinaArrestsYou.mp6.” A hint of vexatious glee in the system’s otherwise dry voice. You don’t stop for it.

✦✧✦✧✦✧

AFF, AO3

It’s pretty silly but the idea danced around in my head ever since I saw the absolute Black Mirror concept that SM had for aespa and I concur that Karina is insanely hot.

As I’m writing this, this Kurzgesagt video on the idea of a rogue Earth comes out and now I have to rewrite stuff to make it at least a little consistent. I’m obviously already going nuts with all these ridiculous sci-fi concepts but this video almost feels too targeted to me writing this for me to ignore it.

#kpop smut #aespa smut #male reader #reader insert #title tracks

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