#because if mary says she both did and didn't do it then one of those statements has to be lie

[husbandohunter]

Two Shades of the Same Color

Synopsis: Protecting the law and protecting his family. The line seperating them were like two shades of the same color. Wriothesley just didn't know it yet.

Genre: Wriothesley x Reader, gender neutral pronouns, Reader and Wriothesley have a daughter

(A/n): this is my offering to the gacha gods praying for an early Wrio to come home 😔===============================

The Duke of Meropide often finds himself conflicted in the different roles he has to play.

In the daytime he carried his duty as the Warden. Having served his sentence through the years he was in prison, Wriothesley was appointed to be a suitable candidate now managing Fontaine's most notorious Fortress, guarding wanted criminals, convicts, and what justice deems guilty. Both feared and respected by them, it was quite an intresting story how he got into this rank. But he also didn't dislike his occupation. Perhaps due to this self-proclaimed 'rough around the edge' personality, he believed the prison wasn't so far disconnected from his nature.

"Wolf-ears, wolf-ears, daddy has wolf ears!" A sweet voice sang before imitating a growl sound.

Aaand there were those who really  disconnected him from his 'nature'. Wriothesley sighs as he rub his forehead, clutching a stack of unsigned papers while the girl pulled the little tuffs in his hair.

Your five year old daughter came home one day, announcing that the class had been given an assignment.

Two things arise in his head. First off, why are they already giving assignments to children? Shouldn't they be learning their alphabets and make crafts or something? Second, why does it have to involve taking your kid to work?!!

You failed to stifle a laughter at the sight, the poor man silently hoping that you would do something, "Come down little one. You wouldn't want to accidentally fall over now, would you?"

The girl shook her head, avoiding your attempt to hold her and squeezed her small legs around his shoulders, "Don't stop me! Mari wants to stay up here."

"But he's going to get tired if you keep shaking like that," you suggested, placing both hands on your hips.

Mari huffs, "That's up for daddy to decide. Right, daddy?"

You quirked an eyebrow and glanced at your husband who seemed to be under a lot of pressure. What can he do? When his daughter stares at him with her toothy grin and gleaming eyes that looks just like his own?

Helpless at her whims, he pleads silently, urging for your aid once again.

"Sorry honey," you shrugged and tilted to the side, "I tried."

"Oh really?," the man doubts, "Then why are you smiling like that?"

Wriothesley wasn't sure how he got into this mess in the beginning. Actually, wait. He did. He just...didn't want to admit it.

The initial answer to Mari's request was a no brainer. Allowing his little babydoll Marigold through the walls of Meropide was something he stricly forbade until she reached thirty years old. A reasonable negotiation, he thought. Not even the gossips plastered all over the Steambird newspaper would be discussed at the dinner table. The man vowed to keep his work life and family life seperate the day she was born.

"Why don't you go find them to help you with your homework?"

"I work at the Fortress too, silly."

Well-- maybe not you since the two of you met here, but that's different. Rules are laws and laws shouldn't be broken. There's a reason why order is meant to be taken seriously in Fontaine. And of course, in his house too.

Then you proceed to say-- it's because you keep spoiling her! Which he retorts, "I'm not spoiling her, I'm just making sure she has a fun childhood, that's all."

"Uh huh, you sure do a great job at it officer, maybe a little too well," you tease, wrapping your arms around your burly husband and nuzzled against his cheek.

Fits of giggles came from above, Mari starts rocking back and forth, "Now give him a biiiiig kiss!"

"Alright alright, that's enough you two," Wriothesley caught hold of his wiggling daughter and settled her down on the floor. Seriously, he could hardly focus. Wriothesley had planned to make his routine as boring as possible so she would leave and he could go about his day. It seems the man terribly underestimated the fact Mari had a penchant of finding entertainment. Should've been obvious that he would be the center of it.

"Can we go downstairs now? I want to see where the machines are working," Mari declares and throws her hands up in excitement.

Wriothesley clears his throat, "What did I say earlier about going downstairs?"

"It's not safe for ages under thirteen and only for members who are given permission because they're criminals," Mari sheepishly repeats.

"Aaaannd?"

"You're not allowed to abuse your authority or give me special treatment because the Warden must be fair and respect the rules from the Fortress of Marinetide, treating everyone equally."

"That's my girl," he nods with a grin. Though the pronounciation can use a little tweaking. Eh, he'll let it slide.

"Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit too much? The working grounds aren't that bad, even Sigewinne takes her strolls there during her breaktime," you chime in.

"Who's Sigewinne?"

The man expresses what seems like his version of a pout. Though you can never miss the small upturn slivering the corner of his mouth, "I'm starting to get the feeling that you enjoy seeing me like this."

"Nonsense," you lean on his shoulder, "I'm just admiring how much of a loving father my daughter has."

They're coaxing me into something, "No means no."

Wriothesley glances at Mari who had still been persisting him with pleads and questions. The reason why he wanted to keep his work life and family life sperate was because prison, in general, can shape a person entirely. Whether for good or worse  depends on the individual, she was far too young to be exposed at the kind of stories and complex reasonings people would have. Wriothesley knew very well that nothing is black and white. Perhaps from growing up in this kind of world, he wanted to know, to see, to let an innocent child experience life far differently than he did. Because now, he had a choice.

"I already know what you're thinking, it's written all over your face," breaking him out of his thoughts, you gently spoke to his ear, "Not everyday our little Mari gets to spend time with her father like this. She was so happy when the teacher said it was going to be a 'take your kid to work day' assignment,  you know?"

"I'd rather keep the details behind closed doors. There's not much that can be said outside the reputation everyone knows of," he reasons, "Besides, Sigewinne is the only exception because she's the head nurse. This little fellow here can hardly prounouce Meropide."

"Hey! That's not true. If I practice long and hard I can speak as perfectly as the papers on your desk!"

"Oh? You know what that's a great idea. How about we spend the day practicing your alphabets? We could also read the Boar Princess while we're at it," the Duke happily suggested.

"Wriothesley," you chide lightly, "As long as you're with her I'm sure there will be nothing to worry about," then you crouched down to Mari's height, "Right sweetie?"

"Yeah! Daddy is the strongest and smartest man in all of Fontaine!" She jumps up and down, "He can even lift me even when I'm wearing a backpack!"

Wriothesley eyes you both suspiciously, "I see how it is. Sounds like you two are teaming up."

"I like to call it a coincidential agreement," you tugged him at the arm and lead towards the stairwell, "Come on. Take the day off and let me handle the paperwork. Wouldn't want to keep the fun waiting, would you?"

Your husband folds his arms and scoffs, "A day off?"

"By the courtesy of Chief Justice Neuvillette himself," you responded.

Ah, they had it all planned out, "Astounding effort on your part, I suppose."

"Please, daddy? I swear I'll behave and not do anything to make you mad," Mari twiddles her thumbs, "Pleeease?"

Wriothesley closes his eyes, a habit he acquired during situations such as this. Well, looks like he was fighting a losing battle anyways. Maybe you were right. He was spoiling her.

"Fine. Only under one condition. You have to-"

"Call me 'Your Grace'!" She salutes immediately, " Oh, I mean...you, Your Grace."

Wriothesley glances at your way again and you merely returned a shrug. He smiles amusedly.

They really had it all planned out. 

•••

When Wriothesley stepped out of his office, he was slowly starting to regret his decision.

Mari, being far too excited for her own good, already bounced a few metres ahead. He sometimes wondered where she gets her energy from. For newcomers, they easily wear out before they become used to things. Ah, that's right, I have to make sure she doesn't disturb the inmates. If this keeps going then who knows where she might end up. Archons forbid it'd be the Pankration Ring.

"Up you go," for now, Wriothesley scoops her into his hold, having the girl seated on one forearm and the other supporting her weight. Until she calms down, at least.

"Mari is reporting for duty," she salutes again.

Wriothesley lets out a chuckle, "Since when did I ever act like a Marechaussee Hunter? Wait, let me guess, you snuck to see Clorinde."

Guilty as charged. The little girl slaps a hand over her mouth, "Whoopsies."

"I'm joking. I actually didn't think you snuck out to see Clorinde," he smugly states, "Well well looks like my little culprit reveals herself."

She huffs, "Heyyy, that's cheating."

"Sorry babydoll, but I think I win this one," Wriothesley boops her nose in a playful manner and allowed Mari to stand on her own two feet, "So, are you ready for a tour around the Fortress of Meropide?"

"Where are we headed first, Your Grace?" She chirped, eyes blown wide like she was on a sugar rush from last time.

Wriothesley raised a scarred brow, "Oh you're letting me decide? In that case you'll just have to wait and see for yourself."

"Yay, I love surprises!"

Even better. This way, he can guarantee that she won't wander off to places she shouldn't be in, no one should be in.

Lunch hour was approaching and the inmates were already finishing up their shifts. He could feel the frequent looks being thrown from the cafeteria, already knowing it will be the hot topic for the next few days or weeks.

Right, then there's this part I have to deal with.

It didn't help that the man's presence alone had the same affect under normal circumstances. Seeing their Warden with a babbling little girl was rather jarring. Mari was...how should he put it, good at stealing the spotlight. So much she easily attracted all the attention from the locals. Wriothesley had never knew someone could be so pestering that it became endearing. Other than you of course. Heh, I guess that's one of many things they have in common.

He doesn't try to hide the smile softening at his features.

"C-Could that be His Grace and..."

Welp, looks like the hot topic is already cooking. Wriothesley pays no mind. There's nothing wrong with being open about his family in front of other people at least. Just because he had a reputation as the Warden to keep doesn't rob him the identity of being a father.

His mind suddenly drifts back to you. Is that why you were so insistent about this earlier?

"Daddy, everyone is looking at us funny."

The word 'daddy' does not escape those around him, percise as a radar and pointed sharply at his direction. Wriothesley expected as much. Actually, he was more surpised she even managed to remember the honorifics for this long, "Ah who cares. Let them do their thing. Anyways, didn't you say you wanted to see how the machines worked?"

A pause before she breaks out into a wide, beaming grin, "Yeah!"

"Then hold on tight," without a warning, Wriothesley lifts her until she was settled on his shoulders and ran as fast as he could, away from the crowd.

•••

"Was that...the Duke just now?"

A confused inmate, still processing at what he just saw, allowed the bitten meal in his hand fall to the plate.

"Who knew His Grace had a soft spot," Another one snickers.

Wolsey who had been tending to the dishes behind the counter exhales exasperatedly, "His Grace ought to be more careful with his actions around others next time."

•••

The shaft doors open to reveal the upper level of the production zone. Wriothesley exits first before gently taking the girl's hand as she shuffled down the two stairs. Thankfully the area had been emptied, except for a few supervisors, it was much more peaceful compared to the cafeteria.

"Wooooahh looks at all those meks!" She ogled. Meks was her way of saying gardemeks. Spending time with a five year old made him more keen to the language innuendos they create, "It's like one gigantic gear working together."

"Not just gears sweetheart, the people here are responsible for making sure ever part of the machine is functioning. Without them, there would be no clockworks you see in the surface," Wriothesley opens a palm while he explains, "I know most of your classmates only think of them as criminals, but criminals have been working for honest income."

"Does that mean the same criminals are now helping to make meks that catches more criminals and keep Fontaine safe?"

The man pauses, thinking for a moment, "You could say that."

"Hmmm," Mari looks down pensively, trying to put two and two together, "So if criminals are honest people, how did they end up in here?"

"Well uhhh... " Wriothesley breathes out quietly. It's complicated. Sometimes he doubts if the word criminal is even a proper label. Becoming a criminal isn't always by choice, some are just born into it, eventually going down a path because there was no where else to go. And the few who escape are the lucky ones, "Ah very tricky, sweetheart. Don't tell me you're here trying to get ideas."

The mischeivious expression he gave her made Mari gasp in disbelief, "I would never break the law daddy!"

"Are you sure?" He insists with jest.

"Yes, and I promised a hundred thousand times already," she emphasized.

Wriothesley pats her lightly on the head. Although his hands were calloused and scared, they carried the weight of a loving father, "Good. I know you'd do the right thing."

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a familiar silouette dressed in pastel colors. Sigewinne had been speaking with Grainville at the Operation and Widget equipment. As you mentioned earlier, the head nurse pays frequent visits to check upon the health conditions of inmates. For the Duke, it was natural that he'd want to know if there was anything he should be concerned about. But now is not the time. He didn't want to drag his daughter when this was meant to be a fun activity of theirs.

"What's that over there?!" She scurries off without a warning, specifically at the direction he was glancing earlier.

Or we can just check it out anyways. Wriothesley thought to himself, using his hands to prop against his knee, standing upright so he could catch up with Mari.

The Melusine was the first to notice, "Your Grace? I'm seeing you everywhere these days. I hope you haven't been swarmed with too much to do."

It's true that Wriothesley had been more present in his timing. The Primordial Sea issue was something he wanted to be resolved as soon as possible, "I'm actually doing just fine, thank you Sigewinne."

"Y-Your Grace. I'm surprised to see you here. Are there any newcomers I must train?" Now it was Grainville's turn to intervene, "Oh, and who's this?"

"Sigewinne?? That's the nurse, daddy?" Mari exclaims, baffled as she compares her height with the other, "Why is she so small like me? Did she get hit by the short disease?"

Jeez. Children can really run around without a filter these days.

"She may be small but a lot more older than she looks," Wriothesley reasons, gentle and firm, "Aren't you forgetting something? In front of you, these people have greeted us the moment we came by. What's the right thing to do, Mari?"

It took some time for her to realize but she perks up as soon as she did. Flustered, the young lass dips herself into a low curtsy, head following suit that her hat fell to the floor, "Good afternoon. My name is Mari. I'm five years old. Nice to meet you all."

Wriothesley maintains a straight face and picks up her hat. On the inside, he could feel his heart squeezing. No matter how many tries you practiced with her, she still doesn't get it quite right. Totally his fault. He never scolds her for it.

"Hello Mari, my name's Sigewinne and I'm the head nurse," the melusine beams, "Though I'm a bit surprised, Your Grace. I thought [Name] said you didn't want to bring your daughter here."

Quick, he had to make an excuse before, "Ah, that's--"

"That's because daddy is awesome and he cares about us so much!"

Urk.

Sigewinne's countenance suggested she caught on that the Warden had a weak spot for his overly coddled daughter, "I see. You're fortunate to have such good parents, Mari. His Grace had put in great effort to ensure the safety and well-being of the Fortress. It's probably why everyone is quite satisfied with living here."

"I know," Mari nods with agreement, "Since daddy does the same thing at home."

Warmth spreads inside his chest and the glaciers of the man's gaze thaws enough for one to notice. Did she truly feel that way? Somehow, for a long time, he didn't think it was enough.

"It's true. His Grace doesn't ostracize anyone and gives them an equal chance of a better life," Grainville added.

Wriothesley crosses his arms and returns a quipped stare, "Indeed. Though I'm afraid flattery will get you as far as none. Best get to work."

Grainville salutes, "Yes, Your Grace!"

"Wait daddy, can I stay and watch?" Mari tugs the hem of his fur coat, "When I go to school tomorrow, I can tell all my friends all the cool things we did today."

He straightens his posture, "No."

"But daddyyyyyyy."

Here we go again. Except this time, the man will avoid all eye contact. Maybe he can try getting earplugs next time, which of course, must be slipped on discreetly so she wouldn't notice. If you were here, he'd be getting an earful of the same conversation he had in the office. Equipment processors can be dangerous to use if something suddenly screws loose. Who knows what might happen?

Though a father can only resist so much and he couldn't ignore her forever. Wriothesley relaxes his shoulders, the crease in his forehead fading, "Are you sure you can be careful?"

"Careful is my middlename!"

"Grainville," Wriothesley commands. Authority drips from his voice that the supervisor nearly flinched from his place, "Check if there's any malfunction in Operations and Widget equipment. I expect a thorough search once I get return from lunch."

Without a moment hesitation, Grainville executes his task as if his life depends on it.

"Daddy, can we go buy some food?" Mari looks up, "I want Fonta!"

"No junk food until you eat properly," though now she mentions it, he is craving a cup of tea by now.

Walking out of the shaft once more, Wriothesley takes another look at the environment surrounding the cafeteria, through a different lens than the last. He recalls his first day. Young, brash, and full of poor judgement. They were not the best memories, but they were certainly memories.

How things have changed. For the better, as it should. To Wriothesley, that was probably the most important aspect of all. He likes seeing signs of strength and hope, reassuring him that tomorrow will be a better day. Though he made peace with the present constantly filling him with doubt. Can the same progress be as steady as he wanted?

He thought about what you said. Then the words he heard from others. The Fortress of Meropide had improved to the point it could function autonomously. On top of that, he received high praise from both surface dwellers and those who lived in the underworld. What drives him to maintain this environment stems from his past. The good and the bad. The mistakes and lessons. The two shades of the same color blurred into one.

"Daddy, I just want to tell you, I had so much fun today. Thank you for bringing me here!"

And if those experiences of his could ensure that his daughter could live a safe and peaceful childhood, then that's everything he can ask for.

[lririx]

hii!! if ur still taking reqs, may i kindly humbly respectfully ask for some fools gold x hunter reader? like, probably insane, bloodthirsty, maybe a cunt too cuz lowkey, we kinda need more mean and/or hunter y/ns n i rlly like ur demi x lady D write up <333

but bein frfrfr we need someone to match FG's freak and i will stand on this hill till someone hits me with a shovel or something. enewayz!!! yeah, that is all, ty!!

much loves ❤️💖💘💞💘💞💝💖💘💞💝❤️

Fool's Gold, one of the most brutal hunters in the Manor. No one thought there would be anyone worse than him. But they were wrong.

You came to the Manor. An even crazier hunter. A complete psychopath.

Your first interaction with Norton wasn't the best. He acted arrogant towards you implying how good of a hunter he is.

You didn't like him. So you decided to show him who's going to be the top hunter from now on.

In your first match no one thought you'd win. But you won. With a four kill.

Everyone was surprised. Norton hated you however. Well you did take the tile and the glory he had.

Because of this you two turned into enemies. Every day in the Manor was chaotic.

You two insulted eachother every day.

One day Keigan had to cover Robbie's ears because of all the thing you were saying to eachother.

One time you and Norton ended up together on duo hunters.

You started to steal eachothers downs.

Teamwork? What's that? You two sabotaged eachother instead of helping eachother.

Some survivors could run away because of this but not for long. Most of them needed up spraining their ankles when they saw you two dash towards them at full speed.

You two ended up completely breaking one of the buildings in Eversleeping Town when you were racing to down Aesop.

Then you just started to fight and argue with eachother.

While you were shouting your lungs off Fiona got the crowbar and slowly opened the dungeon. Then the last five remaining survivors escaped which made you lose but neither of you cared since you were so annoyed with eachother.

Both of you were prohibited from attending any matches for two weeks.

This went on for quite some time. Your attitudes towards eachother got even worse.

Mary was finally done with your shenanigans. No one had peace because of you two.

She dragged both of you to the lounge and threatened you to fix your problems or else. Then she left and locked the door.

There was an awkward silence between you two but Norton broke it with saying how it was your fault that you ended up in this situation.

This caused you to snap back at him and you two started arguing for a while until both of you were tired of it.

You decided to make a deal. A deal to not try and murder eachother. To only compete with rank levels and to not disturb the others.

This was the first time both of you agreed on cooperating with eachother.

Your relationship wasn't any different at first. In fact you didn't talk to eachother that much since you didn't banter anymore.

It was nice at first. The Manor was quiet and you had time to relax. But after a while it felt like something was missing.

You should be grateful that Norton doesn't bother you anymore. Norton should be grateful that you don't sabotage his matches anymore.

But it didn't feel right.

Why couldn't he take his eyes off of you? Why did he feel excited everytime you won a match?

That bloodthirsty expression of yours.

That sadistic look on your face.

Those crazy laughs you blurt out during matches.

Why couldn't he get these thoughts out of his mind?

One day you were frustrated because Servias kept tricking you in the match which caused you to lose.

You heard someone knock on your door.

“Are you in there?” Asked Norton.

“Piss off.” You hissed at him.

He ignored what you said and let himself in your room.

“I told you to p-” He threw a bar of chocolate at your face.

“Eat up.” He said. “It'll make you forget how badly you lost.”

You threw a pillow at him and he just laughed and threw himself on your bed.

“What do you want?” You asked him.

“Nothing just thinking how embarrassed you must be feeling right now.” He said as he grinned widely.

“Dickhead.”

“Is that a new ni-” You shoved a piece of chocolate in his mouth to shut him up.

After that your relationship was…weird?

You didn't act like life long enemies. Instead you were like close friends who bickered all the time.

If you were under the weather he'd grab you and not let go until you begged him to.

If he wasn't feeling well you would go and make jokes until he laughed.

Both of you had your pride so you didn't let the other person win that easily either.

This made you become closer with eachother. Close to the point where he'd come to spend time with you if he had nightmares. Close to the point where you would let him hold you if the thoughts of your past wandered through your mind.

All of these had led to today.

You have a duo hunters match with Norton.

Both of you were pretty excited since you can cooperate with eachother quite well and have a fun time in the match.

The match went on smoothly but there were times you'd mess up. I mean the way Norton timed his skills so perfectly to prevent a rescue.

The way he psychotically dashed towards survivors.

The way you sometimes caught him gazing at your direction.

All of these made you distracted.

There were only three people left. You were chasing Evelyn when Norton accidentally dashed infront of you which caused you to trip and fall.

“Watch where you're going dumbass.” He snickered and offered his hand to help you get up.

“YOU watch where you're going.” You scoff. “And stop following me would you?”

“Who said I was following you?”

“Why do I see you everywhere then?”

“Maybe because you're so fond of me that your eyes find me all the time.” His grin grew wide.

“Don't flatter yourself. It's you who can't spend an hour without me.” You try not to blush.

“I think you're talking about yourself love.”

“Don't make me do something I'll regret.”

“What are you going to do? Come on show me wh-”

You grab his face and kiss him so quickly that he doesn't process what happened for a minute.

You're screaming on the inside. What did you just do? Why did you do that? He's probably so pissed right now.

You try to pull away but he grabs the back of your head and deepens the kiss. He doesn't want to let go and neither do you.

[worldofkuro]

Painted Smile

Painted Smile XVII

<- Previous Chapter I Next Chapter ->

Summary: You couldn't wait to meet new friends. What you didn't expect was this smiling little boy, only one year older than you, that would take such a big place in your life.

Notes: What can I say on this chapter. A little bit of racism and killing envy. But I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, I don't think this is my best ... I don't really know how to feel about this chapter.

“ Of all the spirits, Alastor, all the spirits, why did you choose this one to work with?” asked Marie as he took her son's ear between her fingers. You couldn't help but snicker behind your hand at the scene. It was something Marie used to do when Alastor was younger, when he would upset you she would pinched lightly his ears while sermoning him.

“ Well, you have never talked to me about it.. So I did it my way.” Alastor said with an amused smile, bending so his mother could keep her grip on his ear. 

“ Oh mon dieu…I didn’t teach you because I didn’t think you needed to know about it.” she sighed before sitting down on the sofa. She looked at you with a worried expression. “ Are you okay, sweetie? Working with spirit can be very tiring even more if they don’t accept you.”

“ Well… I’m not working with them yet.” you smiled nervously, explaining to Marie everything that happened so far. She grimaced when you told how John forced you to awake from your trance while you were talking with Papa Legba.

“ I see. This is… surprising, I won’t lie, I didn’t expect it.”

“ I thought I was going crazy.” you chuckled as Alastor sat next to you, taking your hand in his. “ Even if I'm still… not sure about everything, I want to give it a try.”

Marie looked at her son, her face serious.

“ You can’t see him , Alastor?”

“ I could sense him when she was talking to herself in the mirror, moments ago, or when she was sitting with him on the bench. But if not for her eyes, I would have just thought she was sleepwalking.” 

Marie was looking at you both, it seemed like she was thinking about what you just told her. You bit your lips, you didn’t know if it was a good idea to ask but you needed to know.

“ Marie, are… are you still working with spirits?” you asked. You saw her eyes twitch, even if she could easily hide her emotions, you were used to Alastor’s facial expression. Marie was easier to read than you remember…

“ Why are you asking?”

“ He told me you used to work with a spirit called: Gran Bwa. And… We saw him when we went into the forest. He told me he was disguised as deer…”

You looked at Marie as she sighed, she seemed so tired.

“ Yes, I’m still working with some spirits. Grand Bwa is the protector of wildlife, and doesn't like to be seen.  Because Alastor’s father would force him to follow him into the woods, I was so scared something would happen to him.. So I asked for his help… For you to be safe in those woods.”

You felt Alastor’s grip on your hand tightened. His smile was still present as he was looking intensely at his mother, but you could feel he was agitated.

“ Mother, I am still not as experienced as you, but I’m safe in those woods now. Our biggest threat is gone.  Don’t tire yourself.” he smiled at her before standing up. “ Matter of fact, let me bring me something to eat.” 

You let Alastor’s hand go after he kissed you on the forehead before going into the kitchen. You stood up and walked toward Marie, before kneeling in front of her, taking her shaking hands in yours.

“ Marie, If I have decided to work with spirits, it’s because I want to protect Alastor. You’ve been doing it perfectly for years, please, as your future daughter in law, let me help you.” you stared at her, trying to convey all of your sincerity. You meant every word. Now that her husband has been slayed, nothing would come to disturbed the peace in this house. Alastor and yourself would make sure of that.

“ Ahh.. You have such pretty eyes, sweetie. Since the first time I saw you, your eyes have always been so pure, vivid and bright. I’m happy they didn’t change, I’m happy that, no matter what has happened, you are still as bright as when you first entered this house.” she leaned toward you, kissing you on the forehead. “ Take care of Alastor…”

You stayed at Marie’s house all morning. She was teaching you how to maintain your connection with spirits so next time you would meet Papa Legba, you wouldn’t be asleep. You would be able to be in the living world, talking with the people and using what the spirits would be giving you. 

Marie has told you, you couldn’t use the spirit’s power if you were feeling emotions too strongly. You needed to be rooted into the present, you needed to be concentrating on the link that bound you with the spirits you were calling for. You would have to try meditation, unlike Alastor who always was in control, you were the kind to let your emotion go freely as they pleased.

“ Let’s try it, okay sweetie? First, you need to close your eyes, maybe I’ll be easier.” you nodded,looking one last time at Alastor who was watching you with curiosity and an encouraging smile. You closed your eyes. She made you stand up, keeping your hands in hers. “ Alright, do you feel the warmth of my hands? Perfect. Now, I want you to imagine vines that come from the ground. Slowly, they wrap around your ankles, moving toward your waist, then they cling to your vertebral column until you feel them in your head.”

You breathed slowly, focusing on your feet. You tried to imagine the vines wrapping themselves around you but you were just met with silence. You tried to remember what you felt when Papa Legba came to meet you. You felt… warm. You tried again, this time imagining a warm thread coming from the ground, moving around your ankle. You felt your body relax as Marie kept your hands in hers.

You could feel your body getting warmer and warmer. You wondered if you were doing good.

You are doing great, little lady.

You kept your eyes closed as Papa Legba’s voice surrounded you. You felt like he was all around you even inside you, like you ate something too hot and you could still feel it in your body. 

Seems like you are a natural. Congratulations are in order.

You tried to nod but you felt like your body was made of stone, you couldn’t move a muscle.  It was kind of claustrophobic.

No worries. It’s normal, I’m possessing you.

You felt your heartbeat increase slowly but you needed to be calm, or the connection would break and you didn’t want to end up like last time, when John forced you out of your trance.

Now, what kind of spirits do you need ? 

Wait..? Was he asking what kind of power you wanted?

Exactly, let’s see if you can handle it… You wanted power to protect, wasn’t it.

You felt your mouth open, without your accord, and you spoke in a language you have never heard before. What were you saying?

This is where I go. Remember, you can’t keep the spirit forever, it needs to come back to his realm, I’ll keep the passage open for it. And for your energy, I wouldn’t recommend you to use it for too long. See you next time, little lady, and thank Marie for the rooster.

You felt the warmth leaving your body. You waited a few seconds before opening your eyes slowly. You were met with Alastor’s face, who was stroking your cheeks with a fond expression.

“ You are beautiful.” 

You tilted your head against his hand, sighing in relief. You made it back. You looked around, noticing that Marie wasn’t there anymore.

“ What happened ?”

“ Well, you stayed like this for 10 minutes.” he looked at his watch with an excited grin. “ I thought you were asleep but you said something and then you came back with beautiful red eyes.” 

You went toward a mirror and stared at your reflection. Alastor was right, your eyes were red just like earlier this morning. You turned around, trying to see what might look different.

“ I… He said I’ll have a spirit power but I don’t feel anything right now.” you looked back at Alastor who was looking at you with a big grin. “ What?”

“ I can’t admire you now?” he came toward you with a teasing expression. You smiled when you saw him lean toward you. You smirked, you wanted to keep him away from you, to tease. You held your hand in front of him sticking your tongue at him but before you could do anything, Alastor’s hand hit an invisible surface in front of you. “ What..?”

You put your hand on the invisible surface which was keeping you from Alastor. Wait.. You could feel warmth in your eyes. You closed your eyes, trying to make it go away, it wasn’t really comfortable. 

You felt Alastor’s hand on your shoulder as you rubbed your eyes, trying to erase the feeling behind your eyes. 

“ Oh, is she okay Alastor?”

“ Yes and I think you should come and see what she just did.”

You felt Alastor backing away as you opened your eyes once again, feeling the warmth once more. You looked at Marie as she had a dead rooster in her hand. She was looking at your eyes.

“ Rouge… C’est sa couleur après tout..”

You looked at your hand. What was that..? Did you… Did you make a shield? You held your hand once again feeling your eyes burning, you could almost feel tears. Alastor took a pillow from the sofa and threw it at you, the pillow hitting the invisible force that was surrounding you. You looked at the pillows then Alastor who was grinning so hard you felt like his face was going to break because of how big his smile was.

“I’m… I’m really impressed. How are you feeling?” asked Marie, her eyes wide open.

“ My eyes are killing me.” you chuckled nervously. You wondered if you could conjure your shield around Alastor, that would be more useful than around yourself. Did that mean you’ll have to be around him to make it work or ,like Marie used to, you could ask a spirit to do it for you? 

You closed your eyes once more. You didn’t know if the spirit could hear you but you think it was enough magic for today. You didn’t want to be exhausted.

“ Thank you, you can go back now.”

You waited a few seconds before you felt cold. You opened your eyes, looking at Marie and Alastor. You looked at your reflection in the mirror and sighed in relief when you saw your eyes, the same color as usual. You turned around but were met with a pillow in the face. Alastor has just thrown another pillow at you.

“ I’m not sorry Darling, I just wanted to see if you were unshielded.” he smirked as you took the pillow from the ground.

“ You knew that! My eyes aren’t red anymore!”

“ I just wanted to make sure. And that’s your punishment, how could you create a barrier between the two of us?” he walked toward you with a smile that made you believe he wasn’t completely joking.

“ Alastor! And you call yourself a gentleman?” you crossed your arms in front of your chest, making a surprised face. He leaned toward your ear and whispered.

“ You know I can be worse.” he bit your ears making you flush and turn your eyes toward Marie but the woman was already busy with something else. “ But you’ll keep being at my side, right?”

You kissed his cheek before leaning toward his ears.

“ Death wouldn’t be able to tear us apart, Alastor.” you whispered, feeling a shiver of delight when you heard him gasp at your words. You stepped back with a teasing smirk as he stared at you with a wide smile.

“ Your eyes are red.”

“ What?” you turned your back to him to look at yourself in the mirror but your eyes were their usual color. “ You liar–!” you squealed when you felt Alastor’s teeth sinking into your neck, making you grip his hair. You felt him suck on your skin, making you moan lightly. You blushed when you saw your reflection staring back at you, you tried to turn your head but Alastor held your chin with his finger, forcing you to look at yourself.

“ Look at us.”

“ Alastor..” you whispered. “ your mother isn’t far..”

“ Look at us.” he said once more, his deep slick voice making you feel warm. You look at your reflection as Alastor kept kissing, biting, sucking on your skin. You were staring at him, the way he was staring back at you as he held your body possessively against him was making you lightheaded. “ Don’t ever… think about putting that shield of yours against us, do you hear me?”

You tried to contain the giddy sensation you were feeling. You tilted your head back as you felt his hand taking hold on your neck, not squeezing it, just putting his hand on your neck. 

“ What if I do it again..?” you whispered. You shivered when you heard him chuckling darkly. 

“ You’ll see it for yourself.”

You were so going to use this shield once more.

—

“ And you didn’t want to tell because..?”

You looked at Alice, who was laying on her bed under multiple blankets. After your morning training with Marie you decided to see Alice. After all, last time you saw her, you told her you were a murderer, so was your husband, you were ready to kill again and furthermore you had a weird episode making you say that someone was digging Alastor’s father from his grave, you needed to explain yourself.

“ Alice, did you really think I was going to come to you and say: Oh guess what, I killed a disgusting pig today.  What would you have said?”

“ Want to kill another one?” she giggled, making you sigh with a smile.

“ Alice…”

“ Sorry. I.. I would have been surprised, I won’t lie. I’m still am. But, you did it because he hurted Alastor right? I feel like you killed him because you wanted to protect someone not for your own enjoyment which I would not say the same for Alastor. I knew he was twisted, I’ve told you !” she sat up, holding a pillow against her chest. “ I should have made a fucking bet.”

“ You aren’t.. scared of him?”

“ There will be a cold day in hell before this man makes me feel any kind of emotion but anger and disgust.”

You laughed as you shook your head. Both of them were so full of themselves they couldn’t see how similar they could be. You sat on a chair, next to her bed. Because of what happened, Alice said to her father that she was feeling very sick and that she couldn't get out. 

It was Alastor’s plan, Alice needed to stay at home while he would stalk your new prey. Alice wasn’t happy with that, she was scared the man would show the picture of her and Alyzée kissing but Alastor reassured her. That type of man is the kind to think he already won. He was feeling superior by trapping Alice like this, so he would be patient without being aware you were making a plan to eviscerate him.

“I know Alastor doesn’t want me to know your plan but… Do you think I could come before you kill him?” you almost broke your neck as you heard Alice’s question. “ Don’t look at me like that! I just want him to know you are coming from me.”

“ Don’t worry, I’ll send him your regards.” you mocked her with a fond smile. “ Now, Alastor and I will be going to your cottage to make the perfect plan, no one will be there, right?”

“ No one is ever there! That’s why I want you to buy it.” she sighed deeply, falling into her bed once more like the dramatic person she was. “ But yes, don’t worry, nobody will hear your.. plan to kill my pig.”

You smiled behind your hand, you were excited to go back to the cottage, it was yours and Alastor’s sacred place in a way. 

You stood up but froze when you felt a shiver going down your spine, your vision getting blurry. You sat back down, closing your eyes. Did you stand up too quickly? Maybe you needed to eat a lot of sugar, to Alastor’s disgust. 

You heard footsteps and once again a shovel going into the grounds. Were you having another vision?  You tried to see something, but you could only hear.  You could hear a dog barking and a man telling him to shut it. 

Fuck, was someone once again trying to dig up Alastor’s father?

You opened your eyes in shock. Alice was looking at you, her hand not too far from your shoulder. 

“ Are you okay, doll?”

“ I’m doing just fine.. I… I need to go but we will see each other Monday, I promise.” you hugged her quickly and ran out of the room. You waved at the butler and ran out in the busy streets. 

Damn it, damn, damn it !

Alastor was working right now, you didn’t have the time to tell him, you would go alone this time and immediately. You ran as fast as you could toward Marie’s place, which took you about 25 minutes. You were breathing hard, running in heels wasn’t your best idea but who cared right now. You entered the woods, looking for footprints which you easily found. You followed them even if you knew where you were supposed to go.

As you approached you could hear a dog barking. You stopped walking, hiding behind a tree. Should you invoke a spirit, in case you needed to fight..? It was too risky, you didn’t know if you could maintain the link with the spirit if you were to fight. You would have to go the hard way. 

You took a deep breath and walked toward the man who had his back turned to you, digging into the hole where Alastor’s father was hidden. The dog stopped barking as he saw you and wagged his tail happily. You remembered him, you know whose dog it was.

“ John.”

The man froze before turning his head toward you. It was John. He stared at you before going out of the hole.

“ What are you doing here?”

“ I could ask you the same question. Why would a lady like yourself be deep in the forest, all alone?”

“ Maybe because you are on my husband's property.” you spat at him. “ Should I call a policeman to take you back home?”

“He is not your husband yet.” He showed you his badge. “ I’m working with your father on the disappearance of Alastor’s father. You should thank me.” he smirked before looking at you, you could see fondness in his eyes which disgusted you.

“ Then, why are you wasting your time here?” you needed to calm down. No need to stress. John wouldn’t find anything here. 

“ Well, I think Alastor has something to do with his father’s disappearance.”

“ You’re so obsessed with us it makes you look stupid.”

“ Come on, Alastor is not a man to be wed to! You know that, sweetheart, and I’ll prove it to you! He must have put a spell on you or something ! Black people and their magic voodoo shit!” he spat, tugging at his hair. You stepped back, since when John was like that. He sighed before going back into the hole. “ But if you are so sure of Alastor’s innocence, why don’t you come and help me?” 

You approached him as he took his shovel and started digging. How would you kill him while making it look like an accident? You would have to take care of the dog too… You stared at John’s back. How should you kill him? How? How? How?

“ Well, what do we have here?” he put the shovel next to your feet as he kneeled, taking something from the ground.

You could take the shovel and hit him until he wouldn’t be moving anymore. He already dug his own grave, it just needed his body. You crouched slowly, moving your hand toward the shovel, keeping your eyes on John.

“ The fuck? Is that a fucking deer ?”

…

What?

You frowned before looking in the hole and gasped. Underneath John was a dead deer. You put your hand on your nose, the smell being too much for you. You took a few steps back as the dog started barking at the dead animal. 

What was going on? You couldn’t smell anything but the deer’s corpse right now. Where was Alastor’s father’s corpse ? Did Alastor come back here to move it ? No, he wouldn’t have the time. 

You watched as John went out of the hole, seeming agitated. You tried to hide your smile, relieved.

“ So, John, did you find what you were looking for ?” you asked, tilting your head. He looked at you, frowning. “ Because, as I’m aware, you need a warrant to be on someone’s property, which you don’t seem to have.” your smile grew wider as you saw John’s expression turned sour. You had him. “ So, I’ll ask you gently to get out of my husband’s property.”

“ He isn’t your husband yet!” he shouted.

“ He will !” you screamed back. “ I will accept him in front of our friends, in front of God.” you smirked as you saw his face flushed from anger. “ And there is nothing you can do about it.”

“ He won’t have you. He won–”

“ He already had me.”

You stared at his face. He seemed paler than seconds ago. He was looking at you, his eyes wide open.

“ What… What do you mean?”

“ He already had me. Right here actually.” you showed the place where John was standing, making him stumble back. “ I accepted him in the deepest part of me.”

“ Stop…”

“ All I had to do was lay there as he tasted me…”

“ Stop..!”

“ As he made me his.”

“ Stop !” he shouted tugging at his hair, his eyes looking at anywhere but you. “ Look at what he has done to you ! He turned you into some kind of harlot…! But it’s okay, I would still take you as my wife.” he smiled at you as he held his hand toward your direction. “You’ll live a life by my side as a proper lady.”

You approached him, looking at his smile grew wider. You slapped his hands away before hissing at his face.

“ Listen to me one last time. Alastor shall be my husband, no one is going to change that fact. I will be his wife, tending to all his needs. If he wants me as a slut, I’ll be the best whore New Orleans has never seen, but it will be for his eyes only.  Only for him. I will be his wife, I’ll bring his child into this world with pure joy and pride.” you stared at him coldly as he looked at you, seeming afraid. “ This body of mine was his before you even knew your so-called feelings for me.” you frowned as you saw him looking at your body with envy and jealousy.

Oh.

Of course, he was jealous of Alastor. You almost rolled your eyes at him.

“ This body is marked as his. Inside and out.” you stared at him, hoping he would finally get the message.

“ Inside..?” he stared at you, blushing. 

“ I told you, didn't I? He took me just here, and I’m known to be greedy right? I wanted all of him, so I accepted his seeds inside of me.” you gasped as he took you by the shoulders. His face was so close, you could see in his eyes how excited your last sentence made him feel. What was he…?

“ Don’t bear his failed children, why would you stay with him when you could have a perfect life with me?”

“ A perfect life with you?” you roared a laugh, tilting your head back. How pathetic this man was ready to be ? “ I already have everything I need, do not worry.” you put your hand around his throat, you could feel yourself buzzing with energy. “ But I dare you to try and take my happiness away, I’ll make your life a never ending hell.” you were smiling at him, with a big grin even though your eyes weren’t blinking anymore, just staring at him.

“ You almost look like him..” he said, whispering. “ But I’ll show you, he is nothing more but a monster. And no matter how hard you are fighting right now, when you see I was right, I’ll accept you. “ 

You could strangle him right now. Your hands were around his throat, you could just kill him. You could push his body with the deer, nobody would find out.

You took a step back, staring at his eyes.

“ I shall never be yours, not as long as I breathe. Now, leave before I lose what’s left of my sanity.” You stared at him as he took his shovel and his dog before leaving, after giving you one last look. 

As Alice said, if you were to kill, it was to protect someone or something. If killing John meant protecting Alastor and your relation with him, then you’ll have to dig another hole for him to fall into.

You stayed there for a long time, thinking about John, the dead deer and Alastor. First, you needed to go back home to prepare your things for this weekend in the cottage. You would explain everything to Alastor once you are safely hidden from the rest of the world. You went back home, not running this time. You were walking, taking your time, thinking about a plan.

When you arrived at your place, you hugged your father who seemed so tired, it made you feel guilty.

“ How is my princess doing ?”

“ I’m doing great… Dad, why is John on Alastor’s father’s case?”

“ Well, you weren’t supposed to know but John made it into the police. He succeeded and got his diploma. He has always been an intelligent fella… But it seems like you aren’t friends anymore, am I wrong?”

“ Let’s just say that the farest he is from me, the better.” you sighed before looking at your father. “ So, he has three months to find something or I can get married?” you watched your father nod. “ He should be careful, we never know, an accident can come so easily…” you whispered before going into the bathroom. You undressed and filled the tub with hot water. You slid into it, sighing with bliss.

You played with the water, thinking about John. He was an obstacle… After taking care of Alice’s problems, you’ll have to take care of another. 

You didn’t notice your image in the water, showing your reflection with a big smile and deep crimson eyes.

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[kortsitron]

Corruption

✮ PARING Hobie Brown × Trans Male! Reader

✮ WARNINGS/TAGS reader realizes he's trans, pre-transition reader, religious themes, christianity, fluff, angst, supportive! hobie, reader is referred to as a girl/daughter in some moments, hobie and reader are both young adults, gender dysphoria, toxic parents, abuse, transphobia, cursing, reader is referred by she/her by his parents, happy ending

✮ SUMMARY A stranger comes to your town and helps you realize who you are

✮ A/N  If you know me, you probably know my opinion on Christianity and religion in general, but I won't lie, I kinda like the religious themes. Especially when it's about being taken out of it and realizing that the world has so much to offer once you leave it. I guess it's my type of thing since I have been raised as a catholic little ‘girl’ and now I hate religion with pure passion after having it shown down my throat for years when I was younger. One more thing, if you're not comfortable, please do not read this. I am aware there are people who can be triggered by any of the things mentioned in the warnings/tags. If you decide to read this, I hope you're going to enjoy it! <3

In a way inspired by confessions by @eyesxxyou

ao3 masterlist requests

You were such a perfect girl in everyone's eyes. Always so nice and polite, obedient towards your parents, in church every Sunday. You were so feminine, so lovely. Always wore those pretty dresses and skirts of yours, along with the necklace with virgin Mary on your pretty neck. And your gorgeous long hair. You were a perfection to everyone around you.

But you didn't feel perfect in the slightest.

You felt so wrong for some reason you couldn't quite name. Your body felt like a cage you couldn't get out of and you didn't know why. All you knew was that you wanted to cut your hair, hide your body under some baggy clothing and yell at everyone who called you a girl. But obviously you couldn't do that, no matter how much you wanted to. You didn't want people to look at you weirdly, to call you a freak. 

So you decided to stay quiet, knowing that nothing was going to change because you were too scared to do it on your own. Scared of judgment and scared of being abandoned. 

All you did was pray that your sinful fantasies would simply go away. But instead of them going away, something else happened. Like the prayers from the depth of your heart have been heard and finally answered.

You saw him after the Sunday mass, as you were standing next to your mother while she was talking with someone else. He was nothing like you've ever seen before. Those piercing glistening in the sunlight just like the spikes on his vest. The distressed pants with patches and chains. And those heavy boots. He was the definition of perfection, definitely not to those around you, but for you without a doubt.

You have caught eye contact with that beautiful stranger. His stunning brown eyes stared into yours as he smirked at you. He probably thought you were just a pretty girl, you assumed. After all, why would he think differently?

“Do not look at him.” Your mother scolded you, grabbing you by your shoulder and turning you to face her. You could see the disgust on her face. You’ve never seen her with that kind of grimace on her face. “I do not want to see you near him. I can already tell he's no good.”

She didn't say it, but you could already tell she saw him as the embodiment of everything that was sinful. And the last thing she wanted was her precious daughter to stray from God's path.

You glanced at the punk for the last time before your mother said that you were going home. He still watched you. He wasn't sure what it was about you that made him want to get to know you. But something inside him told him that you needed him.

Since then you saw him around the town, but you didn't dare to come close to him. You felt a rush of excitement in your stomach every time you saw him, saw that smirk of his. You didn't have anyone who excited you the way he did. But he indeed did excite you, but you couldn't even talk to him, being scared your parents might yell at you.

Everything changed when you were peacefully reading the bible on the bench next to the church. It was so warm and sunny, so you picked a spot under a tree. Your hair was made into a long braid that was getting more loose without you noticing. 

You then heard someone sit next to you. You looked up from the bible to see him. That beautiful punk, smirking at you shamelessly. He looked even better up close. 

“Hello, luv. I'm Hobie.” His voice was lower than you thought it would be. But it sounded so good, so smooth you could almost melt. His eyes looked from your face to the bible you held your hand, then back to your face. You started wondering what was on his mind. “What's your name, hmm?”

You bashfully told him your name. You weren't sure how to act. Was he expecting you to pretend to be this perfect girl everyone perceived you as? Or maybe he was finally someone that could let you be yourself? Either way, you were scared to find out.

He chuckled at your bashful reaction. Your cheeks got pink so quickly. You were just so adorable. And so… innocent. But you had a feeling he could see right through you. See that all of this was just a facade and under all of it, there was a real you, trying to get to the surface. Trying to be free.

“Have you ever listened to punk rock?” Hobie asked out of nowhere. You blinked. You? Listening to loud, unapologetic music? You could never do that. At least not without worrying about being judged.

Finally you shook your head and his smirk widened. “Darlin’, we have to change that immediately.” He saw you shake your head even more. 

You heard about punk rock. The unapologetic and loud music for brutal men who have abandoned God's ways and all the rules. At least that's what you have been told by your mother. “They are good for nothing but corrupting the minds of pretty girls like you. And I cannot let that happen.” She told you and you wondered if Hobie was that type of punk. The type to ruin you and corrupt you.

“I-I can't. I am not allowed to listen to that kind of music.” You looked down at the bible in your hands, you couldn't look Hobie in the eyes. You expected him to think you were weird for not being allowed to listen to what you wanted. But all you wanted was to avoid conflict.

Hobie's face went from confusion to smirk again. “Oh please. I can see that there's a little rebel hidden behind those pretty innocent eyes.” So he indeed could right through you.

You nervously played with your hair, wanting to both agree and refuse. And in a quick moment, your beautiful braid was untied. “Oh no.” You watched your hairband fall onto the grass. Hobie noticed it too. He moved and grabbed it, quickly cleaning it off from all the dirt. “Allow me.” He spoke so softly. You weren't sure if you should allow him to touch you in any way, but he just wanted to help you tie your hair, right? 

You decided not to overthink it, sitting with your back facing him, so he could tie your hair. You didn't expect it, but he was so gentle with your hair. No harsh hair pulling. His fingers parted your hand so nicely before he began to braid it. You almost melted.

And soon, you had your pretty braid again. Not as perfect as you could have done it, but it was still really nice. “Thank you so much, Hobie.” You said quietly before excusing yourself and saying you had to go. His eyes softened, he only nodded, asking if he could talk to you again. “I hate to say it, but I can't be seen with you.” 

Hobie sighed, his fingertip tapped at his lip ring, he seemed lost in thoughts. “And if we meet in secret?” He looked down at you, you were so short compared to him. “You can come over to my place, no one will know you were with me and I could show you some of my world.” He spoke so proudly when he mentioned introducing you to his world. And even though you technically shouldn't be meeting him, you were more than curious. So you agreed at last.

Obviously, someone saw you with Hobie. Your parents weren't proud of you for talking to him. You had no other choice than to lie, just like you did when it came to who you really felt about yourself. 

Yes, I like this dress. 

Yes, I like those shoes.

Yes, my hair is so pretty when it's so long.

Yes, I am a girl.

You had to lie, even though you wish you didn't have to. But you hoped that at the end of the day, when you were praying before going to sleep, God would forgive you for lying to everyone around you. He would understand, right?

So, as always, you lied, telling your parents that Hobie asked for some help because he was a newcomer and didn't know the town very well. Your parents weren't happy you talked to him, but knew, or at least believed, you were too good and polite to refuse to help him. They didn't think twice about it, allowing you to go to your room. They didn't mention Hobie braiding your hair, so you just assumed they didn't know about it, so you decided not to mention it either. It was better to keep your mouth shut.

You were careful when the day of visiting Hobie came. You told your parents that you went to study the bible at your friend's house. They didn't suspect a thing. You made sure no one could see you as you made your way to Hobie's apartment. And soon enough, you were in front of the door of his apartment.

You knocked lightly, heard the sound of locks being unlocked and then the door finally opened. You saw Hobie and he looked at you with that same softness like the last time. But this time he rubbed one eye with a cotton pad. You had a look of confusion on your face when you saw that.

“Come in, luv.” He moved so you could come inside, but instead of looking around, you watched him.

“Are you… wiping off your makeup?” The question sounded so stupid in your mind. Men weren't wearing makeup… right?

Hobie chuckled softly before going to the bathroom to wipe the makeup off more precisely in front of the mirror. You saw a few small eyeshadow palettes with bright eyeshadow in them, along with eyeliner and even two lipsticks. Even you didn't own that much makeup, you barely had any makeup since your parents didn't want you to paint your face like a whore.

“Yeah. I have been to a small party outside the town, so I wanted to look me best.” Hobie explained, before throwing a dirty pad into the bin. He then turned to you, it was obvious that you never saw a man wearing makeup before. You've never seen someone like him before. He allowed himself to check you out, you had a long skirt and a cute top that matched the skirt so well. “I am guessing you never wore the kind of makeup I usually go for?”

His hand grabbed one of the eyeshadow palettes and gave it to you, so you could see the inside better. You didn't think much and opened it. You hand one makeup palette and it was mostly light browns, one a little more glittery eyeshadow and two light pinks. But Hobie’s? It was so colorful. Red, blue, green and yellow. All of them so bright and pigmented.

He smiled when he saw your reaction, he felt excitement in his stomach. You looked stunned. “Why don't I finally show you that punk rock?” He left the bathroom and you followed him. His apartment was a little messy. Posters on every wall, some chokers and other jewelry scattered in some places and some clothes laying around. But his room was even better. It was so… him. You could see the room scream Hobie. Even more posters, a guitar. It might have been a little messy, but it had so much character.

Hobie moved to the old cd player and in the matter of seconds, the loud music played. Black Flag on full volume. At first you weren't sure what to think, but soon, you started loving it. You stopped caring about anything when the music played, banging your head to the rhythm. At first a little shyly, but then you were more confident about it, not caring if you were going to mess up your hair. You looked so happy, you felt so happy. It has been since you felt like that.

Even since Hobie came here, he finally saw your smile, the real and sincere smile on that face of yours. But he saw it falter when Can't Decide by the Black Flag started playing.

Sun's coming up and I can't decide

To spill my emotions or keep them inside

Go for a drive, go to the store

I'm looking for something that can't be bought there

I always wear a smile

Because anything but a smile would make me have to explain

And they wouldn't understand anyway

And they wouldn't understand anyway

I conceal my feelings so I won't have to explain

What I can't explain anyway

It hit so close to home, you almost started sobbing. Hobie saw it immediately and turned the music off. He sat next to you, one arm around you while he rubbed your arm with the other to comfort you. He barely knew you, but he was so concerned about your well being already. “What happened, dove?” He asked so quietly, almost as if he was scared he might make you start crying just by asking.

But you weren't ready to admit what has been going inside your head for months. And he could see that so well. A few tears went down your cheeks so you asked for a tissue. You smudged your makeup a bit, but luckily Hobie was able to fix it with the only brown palette he owned, the one had forgotten about since he never used it.

You gathered your things and apologized. “Don't apologize, luv. Just know you can come and talk about what's going on in that pretty head of yours.” You only nodded before leaving. 

Your parents weren't home by the time you came back, they were probably in the neighbor's house, talking and eating how they did once in a while. Probably praising you how good and obedient you were, and how they were happy to have a daughter like you.

And after that situation at Hobie's place, it became harder to pretend. It became hard not to cry when you were called a perfect daughter, pretty girl and beautiful woman. You couldn't wait any longer, you had to talk with someone about it. And the only person who would not judge you was Hobie. 

It has been a while since you talked to him. But you came back, trembling, looking like you were about to start crying at any given moment. Hobie didn't think twice, he just let you in, sat down on the floor while he seated you on his bed. His calloused hands found yours and he caressed them gently in order to comfort you.

And finally, after all this time, you opened up about what has been on your mind for all those months. You explained how you felt trapped in your own body, how you hated being seen as a girl and how much it hurt when you were called and seen as one. How much you just wanted to be yourself.

Hobie's eyes softened, his hand touched your delicate cheek as his thumb stroked it. You didn't flinch away from his touch, instead you leaned into his hand, enjoying the way he touched you. “Darlin’, I think you might be trans.”

“I might be what?” Your nose was already stuffed from all that crying, making your voice sound funny. Hobie sighed before his lips curled into the soften of smiled. 

“Trans, hun.” You still looked confused, but he wasn't going to blame you. You've been living in a place where you were too scared to be yourself, you couldn't name your feelings even though you have been feeling them for months. It was obvious these people weren't talking about things like that, at least not in the way that would make you want to explore those feelings.

“It's uh, it's when your body doesn't match how you feel on the inside. Like you, you have been born as a woman, but you don't feel like one, don't you?” You shook your head, of course you didn't feel like a woman. Thinking about yourself as a woman didn't feel right. 

Hobie got an idea. “Why don't you go to the bathroom and take all of that off? I'll bring ya some clothes and then you'll tell me how you feel.” He helped you with making your way to the bathroom and closed the door after you. You took off the dress, standing in nothing more than your underwear. It felt a bit less suffocating to not be wearing that stupid dress.

Soon, you heard Hobie knock on the door. “I have some stuff I think might look good on you.” You covered yourself with the towel that was near you, not wanting for Hobie to see your body. But he didn't even peek in, instead he held the clothes for you, letting you grab them before he quickly closed the door behind him.

You looked down at the clothes. Some distressed jeans with patches and studded belt, white shirt with some graffiti, which you assumed was decorated by Hobie himself and even some hand warmers to match the outfit.

You had put on the outfit and left the bathroom, only to see Hobie waiting for you. His eyes sparkled when he saw you. And he could see it in your face that you felt better. He looked so excited for you.

But you still had that long braid. “Let me…” Hobie murmured before you felt him touch your hair again. You weren't sure what he did exactly, but when you stepped in front of the mirror, your hair looked so short. It wasn't perfect, but you loved how your hair looked, way more than it looked in a braid, ponytail or any other hairstyle you were used to. You looked like a boy, and you were so happy.

At that very moment, you knew you couldn't go back to how your life was before. You couldn't go back to wearing dresses, praying to the God that probably never listened to you and did not care about you. You could no longer pretend that you were the perfect girl you were seen as until now.

Hobie's hands grabbed you by your shoulder. “Do you want me to call by a different name?” He asked, glancing at your reflection in the mirror as he rubbed your shoulders. You thought about it for a moment, before looking up at him and speaking up. “Do you think [Name] would suit me?”

Hobie chuckled and nodded. “Definitely, luv. Definitely.” He couldn't help himself and softly kissed your cheek. You were surprised by the sudden affection, but you enjoyed it.

“I want you to cut my hair. I want it short..” You said so suddenly, your voice was a little shaky, but you couldn't wait anymore. You have wanted to cut it for a while and you didn't want anyone else other than Hobie to do it. He was surprised by you. He didn't expect you to want to do it now.

“Are you su–” 

“Yes, I am sure.” You cut him off, you didn't want to be mean, but you couldn't wait any longer. “Please… I don't want to go back to what was before. I don't want to pretend to be someone who I am not.” You begged, you sounded so desperate. He couldn't say no to you when you sounded like that.

“Okay.” He said, giving your shoulders a squeeze before he took you to the bathroom. He brought a small stool and seated you on it. He grabbed a scissors, untied your hair, looking at it for the last time before he started cutting it. You squeezed your eyes shut, your stomach swirling with anxiety, as you listened to the sound of the scissors cutting your hair.

Snip! Snip! Snip!

You felt your hair, your hair that you got so many compliments on, tickling your arms and neck before it fell down on the bathroom floor. “Done.” Hobie said, his voice was flat. It made you worry. Did you look bad? Did he mess up your hair? Was it a mistake?

He brushed the cut hair off of you, before you stood up and looked in the mirror. It was not perfect, but it still made you feel good. You started sobbing immediately. “Dove? Are you alright?” Hobie asked, worried and a little panicked.

“I've never felt better.” You sobbed out and he sighed, relieved that you liked it. He hugged you tightly, being so glad to see you happy with who you were.

But it couldn't go on forever. You came home pretty late, still wearing the clothes Hobie gave you earlier. And in the hoodie he gave so you wouldn't be cold while coming back home. You knew confrontation wouldn't be something you were able to avoid . And you knew it wouldn't be a light confrontation either.

Your parents were sitting in the living room. As soon as you closed the front door behind you, you heard your father call you by the name you no longer wished to be called by. You took a deep breath, pulling a hood over your head before you entered the living room. Your parents eyes were immediately on you, your mother gasped loudly.

“What the fuck is that!?” Your father yelled, he stood up and grabbed you by the hood and yanked it off your head. He intended to grab you by your hair, but there was nothing to grab. Your lovely long hair was long gone and there was nothing they could do about it. In a way, that made you proud.

“What have you done to yourself!?” Your mother shouted with tears in her eyes. You've never seen her crying and you didn't expect her to get so emotional. She always seemed so cold. “Where's your hair? Your dress?” She's never been so panicked. “What will we say to the others once they see that your hair is gone? What will they think of us? What will they think of you?”

There was this need to apologize, turn the time back and never let yourself explore who you really were. But you weren't going to let this need win. You have been obedient for way too long. You were pretending for way too long and now? You were tired of it.

“I don't fucking care what are they going to think of me!” You shouted back. Both of your parents were startled by the fact that you just cursed. They never heard you curse, nor did they hear you sound so confident. “I have been pretending to be someone who I wasn't me for way too long. I am not going to let you decide about how I am anymore!” 

Slap!

Your father slapped you so hard you fell to the floor. Your cheek was all red already. You and your mother were both shocked. Your father was about to take his belt off and start beating you, but your mother stopped him. “I am sure there's something we can do instead of beating her up. People will notice and they might think we were the one to cut her hair off. We can buy a wig until her hair grows back.”

“I am not growing it back and I am not putting the dresses back on.” You hissed. Maybe you shouldn't have done that, but you ripped off the virgin Mary necklace off your neck and threw it.

Your parents were more than shocked at your action. “She must have been corrupted by that punk!” Your mother cried out. “What are we going to–” Your father lost his temper. Instead of beating you up like he initially planned, he grabbed you and threw you out the door. “I no longer have a daughter!” It was the last thing you heard before he closed the door.

Soon, your father started throwing your things out the window. All those gorgeous dresses and skirts flying out the window. Before you were terrified to even slightly rip them and now? You didn't care that they got dirty, they stopped mattering to you. You only waited for your father to throw your phone. You wanted to catch it, but it fell onto the concrete, the phone screen broke, but luckily for you, you still were able to use it. You grabbed some more important things that your father had thrown and then made your way to Hobie's apartment.

He was concerned, but both of you knew it was better that way. If you stayed, nothing would change and everything would go worse. More praying, more femininity, more pretending. But you weren't going to stay with your parents, luckily Hobie said you could stay with him.

You were laying with Hobie in his bed. You were so lost in your thoughts and he could see it clearly. Hobie laid on his side to face you, the tips of his fingers brushed against your jaw to get your attention. You turned to look at him. “You okay?” You put your hands on your face and sighed.

“I'm fine. It’s just… I've wanted to be myself for a while and I…” You paused for a moment, not looking into Hobie's eyes. In a way, it all felt unreal. Usually, you would now be in your bed, reading the bible or praying. And now, you were laying with a man you didn't know very well, but he gave you everything you could have asked for. Acceptance, help and hope. 

Your eyes finally met his again. “I didn't expect that it would actually happen. I thought I was going to be everyone's perfect girl until I die, but you came into my life and changed everything. Thank you so much for that.” You smiled at him, you were so grateful he came into your life. He smiled back at you and leaned to kiss your cheek.

“You're very welcome, luv.” 

You both left the town as quickly as you could since that happened. Now, it has been 6 years since the day you met him. Everything has been truly perfect since then. Your transition was going well and you recently had your top surgery.

And Hobie? He was with you the whole time. During the first appointment at the doctor, he helped you take your first testosterone shot and he held your hand both before and after the surgery.

Life couldn't be more perfect and you never felt more perfect.

taglist: @sk3llly

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

SOMETIMES, you'd like to know who your mother was before she became your mother.

You want to know where the acidic and corrosive elements that precede each of her statements come from. Perhaps she acquired it from your father—someone even more poisonous than she was. However, from how it blended with her expression every time she said: “a man’s heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing!” you can't be convinced otherwise that before she met your father, she wasn't like that—that she was once a loving girl before he wrecked her and made her your vengeful mother.

Time heals all wounds, they say. And yet, as far as you know, your mother's is still dripping with blood. Rotten. Maggot infested.

You believed it was exactly what she wanted—so that it wouldn't heal, so that she wouldn't forget how much it burned and constricted her. Those who forget the past are doomed to repeat it, and she will undoubtedly carry it with her until death. “A man's heart is truly a wretched, wretched thing,” she says, as if she's sure you'll forget what happened to her—to both of you. As if losing the love of her life was hereditary. “Don't you see, sweetheart? We are a paradox of contrasts and twins.”

You're still wondering whether it was a warning or a prayer. Good mothers ensure with all their body and soul that the past does not repeat itself, that their daughters do not embody everything they might become – their mothers. God forbid they dragged themselves across the floor, trembling fingers stretched stiffly clawing at doors that had been long since being slammed shut. However, your mother wasn’t always a good mother, and she often swore over her mother's grave that you would feel the same way she did.

And yet, despite her curses and how much you hate her as much as you hate your deadbeat father, apparently a sense of familiarity is what you're searching for.

Perhaps, that’s what made him catch your eye.

Soft footsteps were created when several pairs of ballerina pointe shoes came down the hallway after the performance ended. Smiles and laughter were among them—a familiar sight; the audience was satisfied with their performance, and they were sure that the ballet director had no more notes for them because, firstly, Marie, the main ballerina in the role of Giselle, had become the center of conversation thanks to her gifted movements, leaving no room for talking about little "building" errors for the other dancers. Second, this season has reached its end, which means they won't be showing "Giselle" again for at least the next few months.

“I saw you sneak chocolates before the show, El.” One ballerina teased.

“They're for energy!” Eloise insisted with a grin.

The ornaments on their heads moved as they both laughed. You flashed a smile but didn't dare enter into the conversation. Satin-clad feet kept moving in the direction of the corps de ballet dressing room door. More laughter and gossip ensued as you passed through the door to the small vanity you shared with another dancer.

"So where are you going after this?" someone at the next table asked, not at you.

You turned around, periodically glancing in the mirror to wipe away the last traces of makeup. "I don't know! Somewhere that can help me relieve stress, obviously. Soph?” Claudine directed her question at another, still not you.

“Sorry, girls, but I have to sit this one out. My mamma has been protesting about me coming home late lately ever since she saw some protests on TV. You two have fun without me.” Sophia declines—that leaves Jules and Claudine alone then. You were ready to return to your own thoughts when Sophia's hazel eyes fixed on you and called your name. "What about you?"

Claudine turned to you, her lips forming a teasing smirk. “Gonna go home and practice some more, no doubt,” she teased. “Live a little for once! Come out with us.”

You focused on untying your pointe shoes while the other two laughed. “No thanks, I'm tired. Think I'll just relax tonight.”

Rather than a teasing smirk, now Claudine's lips resembled a declaration that she was correct once more: "Look, I'm right, aren't I? She's still the same boring girl. No surprise that the best role she can get is dancing as a leaf in the background." It's no longer a myth. It is no longer a myth that other dancers—old and new—only see a robot prodigy, soulless in her single-minded pursuit of perfection. Your movements were full of precision, tempered by years of being under the training of a Russian coach your mother sought out for you. And yet your body is sharpened for nothing more than the purpose of being a vessel. Hushed jokes about you selling your soul to the devil for your skills.

“Aww, not even for one night? Loosen up that tight bun of yours?”

You shoved the last of your things hastily into your bag, not paying attention as someone else's hairbrush and chapstick were forced to sit on top of your toiletry bag—you can always return them tomorrow. The other girls are still laughing while you swing the overstuffed duffel over your shoulder.

“Goodnight,” you say tensely, clutching the strap of your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white. Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your shoes and hurried out of the dressing room, their taunts echoing in your ears.

London streets glistened wetly as you made your way down the sidewalk. The recent rain left dark spots on the pavement. You pull your coat tighter around you, shivering in the damp night air. As you passed a rowdy pub, loud voices and laughter spilled out onto the street. Warm light and the smell of beer beckoned from within, but you hurried on without glancing in, not wanting to face anyone's eyes.

The entrance to the subway glimmers under the streetlamps. You descend the stairs slowly, your shoes clicking on the concrete steps. The underground platform was nearly empty at this late hour. A lone figure dozed on one of the wooden benches, and a teenage couple whispered together further down the tiles. Your eyes roam over the tiled walls and ads for shows you'd never see—anything to avoid looking at other people and risking a confrontation.

The screech of brakes announces the arrival of your train, followed by beams of lights illuminating the dark tunnel. You boarded the mostly empty carriage and sat down, watching the dark tunnel walls pass by. On the opposite side, your weary reflection in the glass glances back at you.

Soulless.

Soulless ballerina.

TWENTY-THREE YEARS HAVE GONE BY: Thirteen times, you were part of the corps de ballet in Swan Lake. And now, the new director—whom they “imported” directly from somewhere in France to replace the old one—announces that the next season will be Swan Lake. You don't have anything against it—why should you? Thirteen times. Thirteen times in the corps de ballet, and this time will make no difference to you; just another faceless dancer in the flock, never the Swan Queen—they wouldn't risk a soulless ballerina in the spotlight. But wouldn't audiences grow bored of the same classic retold so often?

"Now now, I know you are all tired of this ballet," he said calmly. "But we will be doing something different - a new interpretation, with a fresh artistic vision. This will be Swan Lake as you have never seen it before. Rehearsals will focus on bringing new emotional depth and dimensionality to these iconic roles. Who knows – maybe some new faces will emerge for leading roles. I’m looking forward to seeing what you all can do. Now let us begin."

The familiar piano notes of our warm-up piece drifted through the studio as you took your place at the barre, fingers curling around the worn wood. You close your eyes and focus on steadying your breathing. Even when your muscles hurt from fatigue, you persist through well-known stretching exercises with a focused effort. Your eyelids flutter open, and out of the corner of your eye, you see the new director watching silently at the edge, his sharp eyes taking in each dancer.

“One.. and.. two.. and..”

As you move on to tendus and plies, you let the rhythm of the count wash over you – “.. three.. and.. four.. and..” Your burning thighs, your stretching calves, your flexing toes. "First position...and plié. Second position...and tendu. Third position...and rond de jambe." and the coach's familiar count. Your mind wanders as the dancers continue, thinking about the director's words about seeking new depths. Stealing a glance through the mirror, your eyes returned to the man—his ringed fingers in front of his lips as he pondered.

The music continues to play, swelling with a crescendo. You concentrate on your movements again, lifting your legs high according to standard and extending your lines through fingertips.

You found your eyes drifting to the director's reflection in the mirror more and more. The coach's voice faded into a blur as you studied his intense expression, watching for any sign of interest or approval. But time and again, his gaze passed over you without pause, lingering instead on Claire or Amelia as they executed perfect pirouettes or graceful penche poses. A familiar ache of longing and envy twisted in your stomach. No matter how hard you focused or how flawlessly you hit each position, you remained invisible to him.

Your breaths are shallow, and your head is whirling. Your eyes couldn't stop following him; he was walking around watching dancers who weren't you. He spoke to the coach, then stepped back with his hands linked behind his back. Still not you. As the music nears the end and the dancers have transitioned into combination movements, he still doesn't look at you.

You know the truth: this will be your fourteenth Swan Lake, and you will once again blend into the anonymous corps de ballet. The reflection of a woman in the mirror—your reflection, somber with lifeless eyes and dull hair pulled back in tight bun. The director stated that he wanted to bring forth new depths and emotional aspects to distinguish his Swan Lake from those of other opera houses, therefore it's fitting that he didn't choose you. As an empty ache expands in your chest, you accept the truth: this is your fourteenth Swan Lake, being another swan for the fourteenth time.

The director won’t choose you.

He won't choose you.

He won't choose...

You.

He chose you. You don't know why or how.

An hour later, you find yourself standing in Studio A, facing uncertainly across the hardwood floor. Five of the girls sat at the end of the room while the director watched Claire give her interpretation of Odette in her white swan act. You watch her movements critically, noting the slight wobble in her lower back and how her port de bras could be straighter. Her pirouettes needed more control and spotting—you counted two extra turns that threw off her balance. Then she launched into the black swan's sinister variations. Gone was the white swan, replaced by a vixenish temptress oozing sensuality from her pores. The director made a few thoughtful comments you didn't quite catch before dismissing her.

The director breathed out your name and you were quick on your feet. He crossed his arms over his chest as you took your place in the center. You looked at the girls behind you through the mirror reflection, then at the director, then signaled the pianist to begin.

The famous White Swan melody plays, and you start. Plie, tendu, glissade—your limbs moved through the steps as they had a thousand times, polished, technically perfect. Your movements rely on muscle memory, analyzing your every move through a critical lens. First pose: left arm extended, back straight, neck long. Check. The second one: right leg stretched to the sky, toes pointed to the max. But was your ankle tilted just now? You furrowed your brows while making a mental note to adjust. Entering another glissade, you land on the ball of my foot, keeping your plie low. One.. and.. two. You count the seconds, nitpicking any imperfections.

“Slow down, dear, find your breath.” The director's voice cuts through your thoughts. Find your breath? You were in complete control of your breathing, hitting every mark precisely as the music demanded. What more should you find?

You barreled ahead through the choreography, unwilling to let up on your own rigid standards even as he continued offering feedback. "Loosen your shoulders...savor each moment rather than rushing to the next...let us see you feel the music, not just hear it."

But you are feeling it. You feel every crescendo and decrescendo—you stay in rhythm with the music as the score enters the ritardando section. How could he say you didn't feel the music when you lived and breathed each score? You knew this piece inside and out. From the opening notes, you have remembered not just the choreography but every key change and tempo variation. By the time you sank into your final pose, you were a bundle of nerves.

“Your technique is superb, but so tightly wound,” the director said. “Try to loosen up your lines and embrace the artistry, not just the steps. Now, show me your Black Swan.”

As the dark notes of the Black Swan coda swirl, you pour all your focus into hitting each precise movement with flawless technique. You arch into an arabesque, extending your working leg to the maximum while maintaining perfect turnout. Your spot was fixed, and your balance was unwavering. You continue through the practiced motions, and you fly into your final fouetté combo. As the last note faded, you struck your ending pose.

Slowly, you straightened your body and lifted your gaze to meet his, pressing your sweaty palms together tightly. The director remained silent, hand in front of his mouth, and looked you up and down in a way that made you want to flee. But, you restrained yourself, waiting patiently for his consideration. The pressure in the room was so intense that it made you suffocate.

After what felt like eternity, he gave a small nod – neither acceptance nor rejection. “Thank you, Mademoiselle, that was… illuminating. Please check the cast list tomorrow morning – we will announce our decisions then.”

The compliment is ambiguous, with two implications that you know tend toward the negative. Your anxiety failed to calm down, and all you could muster was a hushed thank you before you left the studio in a daze, questions still swirling around unanswered like always.

Now here you are, unfortunate enough to be under the wailing sky of London with minimal cover from a shuttered cafe. The dense fog and wind impede your eyesight, making it difficult to see the towering structures. On the left side, several cafes and pubs radiate their orange lights from within, beckoning anyone in need of somewhere to go for a quick drink or two. Anyone but you, apparently.

The city streets felt hauntingly deserted through the deluge of falling water. Shivering even in your coat and tights, you knelt down and tightened your scarf. Puddles of water begin to form in the potholes, and you desperately hope that the rain will stop soon; you still have a long ride home on the subway to prepare for tomorrow.

Just then, a splash of heavy footsteps caught your attention.

Through the sheets of rainfall, you glimpsed a tall figure hurrying down the sidewalk, taking in what little details you could discern. His leather jacket and boots, yet the way he hunched his broad shoulders against the storm conveyed a certain roughness. You squinted to make out his face, only to find it covered by a mask and a hood pulled too low. It's unsettling, but disturbingly, it makes you enthusiastically guess what lies beneath it—was he handsome or scarred? Young or weathered by experience? It intrigued you so much that you didn't realize he was only three steps away from you.

As the stranger approaches, you take more details that should have set off alarms. His all-black leather jacket may have been fine material, but it was worn and faded. And although broad-shouldered, his build spoke more of hardened muscle than gentility. Everything about him screams danger. When he drew up beside you, you intended to duck past and continue on your way.

But something held you rooted to the spot.

Now, two strangers stood side by side, between them were raindrops dragged cruelly by the cold wind. His towering figure was as still as a statue; for a man his size, he was skilled enough to be almost invisible, almost. The scent of him washed over you then—alcohol, but not the refined wines and spirits of high society. This was something rougher, meant to burn away thought rather than enhance it. Beneath that, cigarette smoke and a musky men’s cologne, attempting to cover something.

The man is still silent, and you should've taken this as your second chance to leave. There are only two possibilities for a man like him: a perverted stalker or a serial killer—most likely the latter, because for what reason would he decide to take shelter under the awning of a dark bankrupt cafe with a woman when the surrounding pubs are still serving happy hour?

While the stranger settles against the wall, you notice his large hand drift casually into his pants pocket. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding in panic wondering what weapon he might pull out – a knife, or worse. All instincts screamed to run away, but your feet remained rooted to the ground, frozen.

“Nasty night.”

Your body comes to a complete stop. The air is forgotten, and you wonder if you really heard him speak just now or if you were just hallucinating. He has a roughness to his voice, gravels, and a low range with a hint of timbre muffled by his dark mask. Unknowingly turning toward him, you stared at his side profile until he met your gaze, and you swiftly looked straight forward again.

“Uh, y-yes, quite a storm,” You stuttered in reply, cursing your trembling voice. Gripping your duffel bag tighter, you tried not to say anything that might offend him.

Minutes pass, the rain as the only noise. Finally, he spoke again, "Subway, yeah?" Between the sound of the rain and his muffled ones, you tried hard to make out what he was saying. After fully understanding it, you give it a nod.

“Yes, the subway. Though it may be closed by now with the weather.”

The man pulled out a pack of cigarettes. From the corner of your eye, you knew he was taking off his mask. Your heart beats fast as you resist the urge to turn your head, settling to look at the dark street in front of you instead. Smoke wafts between you both, creating faint, short-lived tendrils in the air.

The two of you were in silence. You wanted to talk to him again but didn't know what there was to say; it could be that he just wants to smoke with a company, a quiet company. He let out a puff of fresh cigarette smoke, and you inhaled it all. Toxins are bad for the skin and lungs, and yet you're better off suffocating than giving the impression that you're disturbed.

“Subway's closed, like you said. No sense waiting in the wet.” He took the last drag and threw the cigarette butt into the gutter. “Come on then. Pub's the best place for now.” His voice muffled again – he had put his mask back on.

You hesitated at his offer, biting your lip as you weighed the options rapidly in your mind. On one hand, the rain shows no signs of letting up, and this awning provides only a little protection at best. But to follow a strange man through the streets, alone, allowing him to take you to a spot where inebriation may be present—where his worst pals might be waiting. Girls your age being spiked is something you hear about a lot.

Shaking your head, you manage a small smile. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I'll be right here. Best not to trouble you further on such a night.”

He tilts his head, his eyes peering from the mask's shadows as if reading your unspoken fears. Does he see the consideration behind your polite refusal—how now you are a vulnerable woman, and this relative anonymity without further conversation is a safe option, despite the discomfort? Within his dark eyes, there was a stirring that you didn't understand. Pity? Or mockery? Under his towering height and massive body, you were nothing but a frightened rabbit.

Gusts of wind drive cold droplets under the awning. You suppressed a shiver, hugging yourself tighter. “Really, I'll be fine. The rain can't last forever." A forced laugh follows your words.

You seize the chance to stare back at him. It was impossible for you to know what calculations were going through his mind, or what emotion lay beneath that mask. It's pretty unfair, you think, that he can hide under a hood that nearly makes him invisible in the dark of night while he can see all of you—a greasy-haired woman hoping the man in front of her will respect her dumb decision. It's the least he can do.

Just when you think this staring game would go on for another minute, he turns his gaze. “Suit yourself, love.” His voice comes out gruff, and your heart drops thinking you've let him down (but, for what?). "But you'll catch your death waiting in the rain."

A pang of guilt crashes into you as he turns his shoe the other way. For safety's sake, you rejected him, thinking you're being sensible; but there's an authoritative voice in the back of your mind telling you, "He's the first nice guy in a long time, and look what you gave in exchange for his kind offer." Self-doubt is playing in your heart. His back was already turning, boots squelching away into the rain.

“Wait!” You called after him, hating how small and frightened you sounded. He paused and searched back, eyes questioning through the mask. Steeling your nerves, you step into the downpour. “I'm coming with you.”

If this guy thinks you're an indecisive woman who can't even commit to a decision for more than five seconds, thank goodness he didn't say anything other than give you another stare. He led the way as he went, holding the door of one of the busy London pubs. More liquor and tobacco smells. You both entered, bringing a burst of damp wind with you. The warmth and noise within are a shock after the storm outside.

He steers you towards the fireplace, shrugging out of his soaked jacket. “Get yourself by the hearth,” he said, nodding to an empty chair. “Dry off.”

You did as he said gratefully, holding your hands out to the flames. The colors returned to your cheeks; fear slowly evaporated away.

“What'll you have, love?” He asked, and you frowned before understanding. Oh, drinks.

“Something light,” is all you say, eyes lowered again. The man gave a nod and went to give the bartender the order.

He returned not long after, setting the drinks down and taking the chair opposite to yours, stretching out his long legs toward the fire. You took the gin with a murmured “thank you.” He settled with his own—whiskey in a glass, neat. You glanced at the remains of rainwater dripping heavily from his clothes in a growing puddle at his boots. The drinks were enjoyed in companionable silence, still trying to find calm after the storm's fury.

The fire crackles merrily as you sit. Finding your voice, you clear your throat gently.

“Thank you, for…” Your fingers tapped nervously on the glass. “Well, for everything, I suppose.”

His eyes lifted from the flames to meet yours, and you offered a small smile. “I’m (Y/N).”

As the name slips out, you berate yourself. How stupid, giving up something as personal as your name! This man was still a stranger, no matter his kindness so far. For all you know, bad intentions could be lurking behind that calm gaze even now. But in the cozy glow of the fire, your sense of awareness wavered, lulled to sleep in a false sense of security.

He merely nodded, moving his hand to the mask hook over his ear without expressing much emotion. Your eyes widened, and your heart was pounding. The breath in your lungs stilled in anticipation as the fabric peeled slowly back, inch by inch. Is he about to...?

The man removed his mask, appearing at ease and lacking in secrecy. He looks at you, and you quickly look aside, pretending to offer him a little privacy. You wait for him to finish, to put it on again, but he never does. Is it okay to look-

Deciding to no longer be the uneasy one (since the guy looks completely unconcerned as he takes a long sip of his drink), you follow suit and allow the liquid to cascade down your throat. There's a slight thump as your glass hits the aged wood. Your curiosity is piqued even more by the fact that he hasn't made any moves to wear it again. Slowly, you raised your gaze, meeting that unveiled gaze – a secret not meant for your eyes.

Blonde eyelashes – pretty. Faint shadows hung under the eyes. Light stubble. Scars dotted his jaw, thin white slashes earned from unknown origins. His nose sat slightly off-center, clearly broken more than once in past altercations—bar fights, perhaps? Though something about the precise thinness of the lines didn't seem right for brawling. Regardless of which one, he is clearly no stranger to violence, and being near him is enough for someone to sense the danger he was capable of.

But, there is something about that powerful jawline, the intensity found only in his hooded eyes, spokes of steel and intricate details that defy explanation. Fire in his eyes. Even after taking off the mask and grasping it between his lengthy fingers—just when you think all the curtains have been exposed—he still remains a mystery.

(And you're just another gullible woman who believes she knows how to solve the puzzle.)

You wait; surely he will offer his own name in return now that you've bared yours. But seconds ticked by in the silence, and still he said nothing.

A flush crept up your neck at the realization that he had no intention of reciprocating. Did you misread this entire meeting? Why did he bring you here if not to talk? You observe his stony profile, wishing you could see past him. Did he intend to remain a mystery—an enigma full of intrigue? Or is it actually a test to see how long your curiosity can last?

Your fingers fidget with the condensation on your glass. Under this new tension, the easy silence fell away. Seeking an escape from the awkwardness, you looked for something, anything. Your gaze landed on a group of regulars in the corner, laughing boisterously.

“Do you, um, come here often?” You ask lamely, cursing your inability to make small talk. But there was an amused glint in his eyes that put you back at ease.

“Aye, I'm 'ere often enough,” he replied, taking another sip. You assume he finds humor in your discomfort, rather than mocking it. The knot in your shoulders loosened, and you relaxed into a smile again.

For good or ill, this man stirred something deep inside you—and you're desperate to scavenge for light, safe conversation topics to continue the conversation.

“So, um, what kind of work do you—” You catch yourself, cheeks warming. Too personal to ask a stranger met by chance. You let out a dry laugh. “Sorry, I don't mean to pry. It’s just… making conversation.”

At the small thud of his glass meeting the scarred wood of the table, your eyes darted up in surprise. Already empty—have you been so lost in thought that you missed him finishing? A swell of questions rose inside you as you watched his movements for a clue. Would he signal the bartender for a refill, extending your time together? Or was this the end—the strange encounter came to a close because you somehow offended him for prying too much?

“Military.”

Unexpectedly, he gave a single-word reply. Military—that explains a lot, from his physique and bearing to the scars and the lingering scents that cling to his coat.

"Oh!" was all you could think of as a response. More questions swim to the surface, demanding to be asked, but you quash them, not wanting to risk being presumptuous a second time.

Feeling indebted, you then offer, "I do ballet, with the Metropolitan Opera." The words slip out before you can check them, and inwardly you curse yourself once again. 

Great. Name, job, and workplace. Why don't you give him your address next?

You bit your lip. Risking a glance up, you hope he won't take your openness as foolishness. His quiet acceptance has so far calmed your nerves, and now you find yourself craving that ease again.

“Must be rewarding,” is all he offers—you grow accustomed to his terse responses. Plain, perhaps even half-hearted, but you smile as though he had read you a lovely poetry full of flattery.

“Yeah, it's really rewarding to dance and like, share that joy with others.”

Liar. What can a soulless ballerina have to share? So far, frustration is what you inflict on your director, and criticism is secretly a “reward” for your fellow dancers. You understand perfectly well, from the top of your head to the balls of your toes, that there is no joy that you can share. However, this man didn't know. He doesn't know who or how you are. Since the very beginning, you have spoken truth to him; allow this one deception to pass.

Your fingertips made a gentle squeak as they rubbed across the condensation on your glass. “If I may ask… what inspired you to serve?”

For a moment, he was quiet, considering with eyes turned to the flames.

"It was a calling, I suppose," came the gruff reply. “The world had its darkness even then. Felt a duty to stand against it.”

After providing an answer, the two of you returned to silence. You gazed thoughtfully into the flames, thinking of how you might spark another conversation that didn't rely solely on question and answer. The last thing you want is for him to view you as overbearing or pushy.

“What drew you to ballet, then?”

It was unexpected for him to pose a question, and you were taken aback when he did. Your lips curved into a smile as you thought about the answer, and your mother's role in starting it all.

"Well, I think it started because Mom thought ballet was 'cute'." A tone of amusement permeates your voice. “She had no idea about the art or discipline—she just wanted to see her little girl swirl and spin in frilly costumes. But I had fun dancing, dressing up, and listening to the music...”

Somewhere in your head, your mother's voice echoes again. Bitter and resentful, encased in an everlasting nightmare. Your mother stood in the audience, and you ran towards her, tutu skirt fluttering gently. She wiped her eyes and knelt down in front of you, whispering, "You were marvelous, sweetheart," as she drew you in. She smiles, but it stops short of her eyes. Then a string of apologies, saying that he’s gone—that she knew he had promised you to be here, but he's gone. Dad is gone. And he'll never see what you can do.

“My first real performance, in elementary school… I was so proud when the curtain fell.” You continue, remembering another face that has long been a ghost in the past.

("Why did you let that man walk away?")

You clear your throat softly. “After that, it just felt right, you know? Like I'd found where I belong.”

Liar.

Steering away from the bitter past, you change the direction of the conversation again. “Are you from around here?” It's a simple question, maybe even stupid. His accent alone makes it plain he grew up in this land, but, no matter how long you've lived in England, you have a small grasp of regional dialects within the country.

“I mean, I know you're obviously from here—your accent kind of gives it away.” You waved. “I just meant—is this area home for you? Or are you from elsewhere originally?”

The barest upturn of his lips catches your eye. Was that a smile? On this gruff, grumpy stranger who has only revealed so little so far? Your heart beats at the sight, rare as a summer snowflake. He reached into his pocket, took out a cigarette, and held it between his dry lips. The lighter ignited, and white smoke was blown out.

“Manchester, originally,” he said, intonation hanging. He took another drag of his cigarette before exhaling slowly and adding, “A different world now. You?”

“I've been in the city for years now, but I'm from San Francisco.” You said. “When the chance came up to transfer here from my old opera house back home, I leapt at it. Felt it was time for a fresh start, to spread my wings and live on my own. And maybe get out from under my mom's feet—love her to bits, but she can be a bit much sometimes.”

From your own remarks, you can't help but question if mothers are as harsh on their sons or if this is solely reserved for daughters. Girls are taught to keep close to home and their hearts, while boys are free to roam and explore. Is it any wonder, then, that spreading your wings felt like escaping? You wanted to ask him but ended up lacing your tongue tightly.

The fire's burned low, just embers burning gently in the fireplace. Time passed unnoticed as the two of you sat chatting quietly. But outside, the rain began to subside until it was a fine patter on the roof.

“Storm’s passed, seems.”

As he speaks, you glance up to find his guarded mask has fallen once more into place. The easy openness that had soothed tired nerves now closed again – strangely making you bereft. A feeling of melancholy welled up in your chest at the thought of parting, of kissing away the intimate bubble the two of you had crafted and going back out there into the cold reality where you would be strangers again. Your fingers fidgeted in your lap as you searched for words.

“I suppose you're right… it has eased off some.” Your voice came out small and awkward to your own ears. Licking your dry lips, you added, “thank you, for your company. It was…nice, not to feel alone.”

 He stood up, stretching his tall frame. After this, the spell of the evening will evaporate, and everything will return to the reality of loneliness once again.

“C'mon then, let's get you home,” he said gruffly, offering a hand to help you up. His strong hand envelops your smaller one—rough yet tender, sending warmth through your limbs that have little to do with the fire now dying.

Pushing through the heavy doors, the night air is a contrast to the warmth of the pub. Thick fog covered the streets, rain-slick stones glistening under the street lights. He waved at the first cab that passed—and you prayed it wouldn't stop so you could buy a little more time with him.

It stopped. The night was set to end.

He holds it while you slip inside. Through the open window, your eyes met his; he crouched beside the window, broad shoulders hunched. He's talking to the cab driver, but you can't hear it—not when your heart flutters madly in your breast over a single question. The ache of still not knowing his name. It seems wrong, unfair, that he knows you so well, yet you know nothing of him in return.

The cab lurches into motion, snapping the spell. Panic rises in your throat; you can't let him disappear into the night—to the back of your head like another passerby.

“Wait—please! I don't know your name."

Before you can stop yourself, the words tumble out in a desperate rush.

The second ticks by as you wait. He finds you foolish, for sure—just another desperate, nosy girl who wants to play detective the second she sees a puzzle. The clinginess in your request must have given the impression that you were a fool in love—gullible and name-obsessed.

Something shifts in his dark eyes, and you hope it's a wall crumbling away. Then, in his low rumble – “Simon.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, almost parting your lips in question before—

“Name's Simon,” he repeats.

(And the sun breaks through storm clouds.)

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION.

[orchid-and-bone]

"Here With Me" ||

Arthur Morgan x GN!Reader

Rating: None

Asked by @photo1030

Ok, I gotcha….what about the first time someone tells Arthur they love him? Could be reader, m or f, or an existing character?

Oh I like this idea a lot and think it’s such a bittersweet feeling for Arthur, I won’t get into the meat of it, but you know how he feels about people calling him ‘a good man’, or just how Mary ended up treating him before she left. This man deserves the world, okay?

*

It had been an age since he heard those words, never had he thought he would actually ever hear them uttered to him, nor did he think he'd ever find the courage to mutter them aloud again to any living soul. He found himself undeserving of any kind words, living the life he had, he knew there'd be a mark upon his soul, and anyone foolish enough to accept him as he was, well they were just that: foolish. 

But there you were, admiring him from afar for so long that it almost felt like a fever dream when you two met. He'd brushed anything off at first, just thinking that whatever the weird spark he felt was just in his head, he always ignored those gut feelings because he felt that they didn't deserve to be had. But slowly, those large thick walls were chiseled away one by one over time. 

When you had decided to tell him how you finally felt, he wasn't sure what to do, he sat there unblinking, staring directly at you. What was he thinking? Why was he just… sitting there? You knew he wasn't one to delve into his feelings so openly, but your admitted confession had meant a lot to you, so your leg bounced up and down due to your nerves. You knew Arthur well enough that if you rushed him or made him feel like he needed to supply an answer right away, it wouldn't work out so well for either of you, but that didn’t stop you from assuming the worst.

As you sat there and allowed Arthur to think your confession through, you sat back and thought of all the ways he'd changed your life and the way you saw things, but most importantly, he always looked out for you, even when he felt that he shouldn't have gotten you involved in his life to begin with. Boldly, you reached across the wooden table that sat in the camp, the smell of fire and booze hung heavily around you, the lingering gang members that were awake were too drunk or tired to pay you two any mind. Your hand was placed on his, you didn't need to exchange words, you felt that he understood how you felt and why, well, you hoped he understood. 

Arthur was good at thinking of others, though he wouldn't care to admit it, always thinking of what was best for you, but never what was best for himself or you both. He was a stubborn man, but it was one of the many reasons you did love him. 

His silence wasn't odd, you preferred that he sat back to think things through rather than immediate dismissal, it meant that he was considering your words more than anyone could realize. But you loved to hear him speak, that gruff voice that you could never get enough of, and he graced you with the sound of it. 

“You uh, you sure you'd wanna love a man like me? You know what that means, don'tcha?” He asked you, his eyes stared at you beneath the brim of his hat. The light from the fire illuminated half of his face and he looked so beautiful, like a painting that was created with love and carefulness with each stroke. 

You just nod in response to his question as you sit across from him, a small smile across your face. “I do, yeah,” you say with a small breath of laughter. “I wouldn't say it carelessly, Arthur. Loving you with all of the ups and downs it comes with is something I'm willing to live with.”

Arthur listened to you once again, his jaw slightly clenched as he held back what he truly wanted to say, which would only be dismissing himself, and you smiled at his ability to bite his tongue. 

You couldn't help but chuckle at how his face contorted with so many emotions at once, and he just looked up at you with a hard stare, but it softened as soon as he locked eyes with you. 

“No matter what I say, you ain't gonna listen to reason, are you?” He asked you, his tone more gentle this time. 

You shook your head. “Nope. I've made up my mind. As grim as it seems, this world doesn't promise us anything, so why not take what time you have and enjoy it? You deserve it, Arthur.” Your grasp on his hand tightened, showing him you weren't going anywhere, he was stuck with you.

The gunslinger swallowed, how mouth suddenly dried as he nodded to your words. “It's… been a while since I heard ‘em, figured I never would again. But… it's nice to hear ‘em, ‘specially comin’ from you.” Arthur offered a smile as he continued to look at you beneath his hat, not wanting to give away just how happy you'd made him. Not yet. 

“I love you, that's all you need to know,” you assured the man, “you don't have to do things alone, you never had to, okay? Let me share your burdens with you, and if you don't wanna say it back yet, that's okay. I ain't going anywhere.” 

Arthur just nodded again, the smile widened, stretching his lips. “‘Course you ain't, wouldn't let you if you tried,” he said with a chuckle that followed. 

For now, those were the only words you needed to hear from him, you knew that with time and patience, that man who was so closed off to the world would allow you a glimpse of his heart.

[tiaramania]

Tiaras of the future Queen Mary

I love a good list and @duchessofostergotlands requested one of the tiaras that Mary will wear as queen. As usual I had a lot to say.

Crown Jewels

Queen Caroline Amelie's Emerald Tiara

Denmark is unusual among modern monarchies in that they still have wearable jewelry in their crown jewels. There is a diamond set, a pearl and ruby set, and of course the beautiful emerald parure. This tiara cannot be taken outside of Denmark and is only worn by the queen. I really hope Mary wears it for her first official portrait as queen.

Major Tiaras: Non-Restricted

Princess Louise's Pearl Poiré Tiara

This tiara has only been worn by Queen Margrethe during her reign but previously was worn by crown princesses and princesses. It is a very important tiara but I wouldn't mind Queen Mary loaning this one occasionally to other people like Christian's future wife.

Queen Désirée's Ruby Parure Tiara

Queen Ingrid kept this tiara even after her husband passed and then left it to Crown Prince Frederik for his future wife so it was never worn by Queen Margrethe. I expect Crown Princes Mary will continue wearing this tiara for now as the parure was extensively remodeled to suit her. When Christian marries, she may decide to pass it on to his wife establishing it as the de facto crown princess tiara, keep wearing it herself, or ideally keep wearing it while also loaning it the future crown princess.

Minor Tiaras

We don't yet know how Queen Margrethe will handle passing on her jewelry. In other countries with recent abdications, Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands still attends tiara events but Queen Paola of Belgium and Queen Sofia of Spain do not. If Margrethe decides to keep attending them she may hold on to some of these for a while.

Grand Duchess Louise of Baden's Palmette Tiara

This isn't my favorite tiara in the Danish vault because of the way it ends so abruptly instead of tapering off. Queen Mary's going to have to pull off some great tiara hair to cover that up.

Crown Princess Margaret's Turquoise Daisy Tiara

Queen Mary looks good in turquoise but I'm really looking forward to seeing this tiara on Princess Isabella and Princess Josephine.

Queen Ingrid's Floral Aigrette Tiara

I've loved the way Queen Margrethe played around with this tiara but I am looking forward to Queen Mary putting it back on a tiara frame like Queen Ingrid wore it.

Queen Margrethe's Naasut Tiara

Queen Margrethe was given this tiara by Greenland in 2012 and I have been waiting for day it is worn by Queen Mary. I think the delicate gold flowers are really going to look great against her dark hair.

Personal Tiaras

Wedding Tiara

Queen Margrethe gave this tiara to Crown Princess Mary as a wedding gift and Mary later had optional pearls added.

Ruby & Spinel Necklace Tiara

Mary bought herself this tiara at an auction and debuted it 2015. I think it was a very smart move because it was only 8050 EUR (probably less than some of her gowns) and it will be a great piece for her children to wear in the future.

Every country and monarch handles jewelry a little differently. Queen Margrethe gave each of her daughters-in-law a tiara but did not share any of her tiaras with them. She did share with her nieces (the daughters of her two sisters) when her sisters didn't have enough tiaras to loan them for events. I would like to see the future King Frederik X and Queen Mary change how the jewelry is dispersed.

First of all they need to stop giving away jewelry. The mainline has already lost the Queen Alexandrine's Diamond Drop Tiara to the Countess of Frederiksborg and Princess Dagmar's Diamond Floral Tiara to Princess Marie. Those are both beautiful, versatile tiaras that would have served the family well in the future. In the previous generation, Princess Benedikte was given Queen Sofia's Star & Pearl Tiara and her Floral Birthday Tiara made from other jewelry and Queen Anne Marie was given Crown Princess Margaret's Khedive Tiara and her Antique Corsage Tiara made from other jewelry. There's no reason to give away tiaras anymore to people whose descendants will have little reason to wear them.

Then to make up for not giving away any jewelry there needs to be more sharing! I don't want to see the same person wear the same tiara to every event. Queen Mary will have the Emerald Tiara exclusively and then may choose to keep the Pearl Poiré Tiara and Ruby Parure Tiara to herself but everything else should be shared among her daughters, daughters-in-law, and other members of the extended Danish Royal Family. It would make things so much more interesting.

[maddascanbe-blog]

Down the rabbit hole again-

Real quick design stuff since I already talked about (young) Alix's personality. I like her hair a lot, it's slightly longer on her right side and that carries over to her adult self. (Adult) Alix is wearing a Viperion themed jacket because she and him both have time miraculous. I think I need to tweek the ears in later designs to make them thinner and the base, but what's done is done. Timebreaker is nearly the same, just a few more lines to add Pizzazz *jazz hands*

Okay so I stand by the idea that the rabbit and snake miraculous are too overpowered. They feel too strong, so they need a significant drawback. I didn't mention the snakes until now as to keep this secret.

First change and the most minor. The burrow can only take you through time, not space. You will step out exactly where you stepped in, just not when. Once Burrow has been activated (young) Alix can only go through one time jump before fluff needs to recharge. (Adult) Bunnis can jump multiple times but it's always to the same place she entered unless she moves outside of it. They can't just hop around willy-nilly.

Big Change! The rabbit miraculous is only capable of viewing the timestream/timelines. If (Adult) Bunnix tries to change things herself, it will cause the timeline to collapse. The most she can do is bring other miraculous holders into help. But if they have too much foreknowledge something similar will happen. This is why she can't bring (Adult) Mari and Adrien to help their younger selves. As a result, timetagger will be very different.

The rabbit holder only ages outside the burrow, so (Adult) Bunnix is much older than she appears. She does meet (young) Alix because she remembers it happening and know it won't destroy the timeline. But she imparts to both Ladybug and (Young) Alix to not give her the miraculous until everything is over and she's sure she's ready.

Whes Alix first got the rabbit she didn't listen to Fluff's warning and wiped out an entire timeline by tying to stop Hawkmoth early. She also confirms that this is what the wish does, and it's BAD. When one timeline gets broken it can sometimes damage the others around it.

Adult Alix has seen timelines die, and watched hundreds more suffer because she couldn't intervene to save them. Needless to say she's not doing well. And she desperately wants her younger self not to make her mistakes. But as the destined Rabbit holder, she knows its inevitably going to happen again. The rabbit miraculous is not in control of time, it's more trapped by it than anything else.

There is only one Rabbit Miraculous holder across the multiverse. Most of the older ones did not belong to this world, hence why little to nothing is known about them.

Similarly the Snake miraculous has a nerf. The holder is able to go back 5 minutes. But it's just that, it's that holder. So their body still ages as normal. As a result, after Adrien spent 3 months as Aspik- he came out 3 months older. This is also why Marinette and Adrien are so apprehensive to hand out the snake miraculous.

Luka can usually do it in only a few tries but they're still terrified of those numbers adding up. Which is why Viperion only come out when they really can't risk NOT bringing him.

[samfucker]

darlin's unempowered friend hcs :3 also masc darlin oc mentioned A LOT! (who's surprised)

his name is trevor o'connor. he's half korean (mom's side) and was born in northern ireland, belfast specifically, before moving to america around the same time that julius (darlin) came to Dahlia, so they quickly became friends because they were both new and had no clue what to do with themselves

he moved away because his mom abandoned him and his dad and his dad, tiernan, didn't really know what to do with himself and moved to america where his brother was. (tiernan is a triplet!) his dad eventually remarried to charlotte and is now extremely happy. trevor loves char!! he has younger siblings from her (that sounds weird? idk how else to word it) and she's overall just one of those mothers that radiate sunshine but does NOT play abt her kids

julius has a bunch of nicknames for him. It went from Trevor to Trev to T to TT (Tee-tee) then titty then Mr. Titty. It's like when you give your dog a nickname and then it escalates into something completely different 

neither of these dudes can walk straight. widawee. like they bump into each other or walk in front of each other and get mad like "WATCH WHERE YOU'RE FUCKING GOING, WHAT ARE YOU DOING??"

they were both losers... they were both pretty boys, but losers. like if they were extroverts and didn't have interests that were considered "weird" then they probably would've been more popular in school

before moving to america, trevor forgot to break up with the girl he was dating so it looked like he literally just disappeared. one time during lunch at school trevor did a big ol sigh like "SIGHH.... man i miss my gf.." and julius was like WHAT r u even talking about......

one time he buzzed and bleached his hair and julius called him eminem for a week and a half before trevor got mad and made julius dye it silver, and when it grew out he had those like tiny little spikes with dark roots and he thought he was the SHIT (he was.)

allergic to pineapple 

dyslexic

his favourite number is 8. julius' is 7. 

after being attacked by quinn, trevor never blamed julius

julius tried to cook for him when he got discharged from the hospital and trevor was like "what... even is this.." 

he didn't eat it. julius ordered him something and ate his creation himself cus he hates wasting food

monster lover, julius is a redbull lover

trevor is also a WHORE for a dr. pepper

one time when they were 14, they tried feeding a stray dog which lead to julius being bitten HARDDD like this dog held on for dear life. afterwards, they hopped on trevor's bike and went to marie's. halfway there trevor asked if julius was okay and julius was just like "are you serious."

they always argue over shit like soccer vs football, chips vs fries, scone vs biscuit, etc. all julius can say to defend himself is "im not from this country."

once he was caught in a lie and trevor replied with "i have an accent, you don't know what i said."

do not have a srs talk around these two. they'll make eye contact and lose their shit

julius wanted to start a band and trevor was like dude we have literally no friends what are you talking about

they used to cuddle platonically all the time, especially when all the quinn shit was going on

trevor has horrendous handwriting. julius makes fun of him when his own handwriting isnt any better, but he defends himself by saying you can read it and that's all that matters

julius : i made u a friendship bracelet :3

trev; thats gay

julius: ok fuck u damn give me it back

trev: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO PLEAAAAAAAAAASE

trevor has a ginger little cat with one eye who's called pearce 

one time julius and trev's apartment building caught on fire cus of shitty wiring and julius had to sit outside in just baggy sweatpants and trevor was sitting out there on the curb in just underwear and a pair of slippers cus it was like 2am

julius: ur so annoyi-

trevor: UR APARTMENT BURNED DOWN!!!!!

even tho it was his apartment too and they literally lose half their shit to the fire

trevor's little sister made him mad one time and he told her the tooth fairy wasn't real

they worked together for a while and both got fired cus they both have anger issues and were also so unserious. like they'd end up on the floor with laughter mid shift.

he hated david for a long ass time. he'd refer to him as bitch boy. he loved asher tho and thought milo was a little too intimidated for a short guy (sassy man apocalypse.)

he has an eyebrow piercing and a few small tattoos, he's scared of needles but wanted to look cool

he didn't know about magic until he got attacked by quinn and was about to pass out from blood loss and he fully thought it was a hallucination. then julius came to him in the hospital like you'll never believe this...

EVER SINCE THEN, julius has no peace.

werewolf reaction pics. dog jokes. julius' birthday gift after trev found out was a squaky toy and on halloween he dressed up as the most cliche werewolf ever and said he was julius. (creds to aster). he used to call it transforming instead of shifting and julius would be like THATS NOT WHAT ITS CALLEDDDDDDDDDDDDD.

"man, im bored... wanna go play fetch?" "ur hairs getting long... i'll take u to the dog groomers." "do u want a pedigree??"

THIS IS KINDA WHAT TREV LOOKS LIKE!! (awooga booga *hearts pop out of my eyes and my tongue drops out of my mouth and rolls across the grounf like a red carpet)

also this pic (ik it doesn't look like my darlin oc or Trev) is so them

DAMN CAN I YAP!!!

tags - (i lurv u guys)

@achios @aurorialwolf @infinitelovewiithoutfulfilmentt @tgckceo @astrodude-87 @krashkitty @cozy-collins @professionallyyappinabtangst @porters-fangs @n0r

cus u guys eat up my hcs.

[lil-gingerbread-queen]

One evening, I got possessed and redesigned Captain Marvel. Well, redesigned and rewrote.

Long explanation about it under the cut.

Captain Marvel is the gods' champion, but in canon, his capacities come from a mix of gods, from both the Roman and the Greek pantheon, and heroes, Greek or biblical. In comparison, Black Adam's capacities come only from Egyptian gods, making him their champion. Therefor, let's bring down SHAZAM to just Greek gods, as we need Zeus for the thunder. There's also a period during which Mary Marvel gets her capacities from a mix of goddesses and one god, so let's mix the gender again. Here is the new hexad:

S - the stamina of Selene - Selene is the goddess of the moon, who, like her brother with the sun, drags the moon behind her chariot. But, if the sun disappears each night (in Greece), the moon stays in the sky for weeks, so stamina! There aren't a lot of Greek gods with name in S, so let me have this (also, I love the moon and any moon goddess).

H - the speed of Hermes - Hermes is the messenger of the male gods, who is known for his speed, because of the wings on his ankles. Nothing more complicated.

A - the strength of Atlas - I kept Atlas, but I changed him for strength because holding the world up requires more strength than stamina imo. The representations of Atlas often show a man doing an extreme physical effort, it demonstrates more strength than stamina to me.

Z - the power of Zeus - Didn't change. The king of the gods and the thunder guy.

A - the courage of Ares - Ares is the god of courage, that's in his domain of expertise.

M - the wisdom of Metis - The first goddess of wisdom, eaten by Zeus, and the mother of Athena, the second goddess of wisdom. "But, she's kind of "dead"?" And Black Adam got his power from Aten, who was the only god of the Aten religion of Akhenaton, and so, not with the Egyptian pantheon.

As the champion of the Greek gods, Captain Marvel needs to look the part. I'm a hater of the original latex superhero costume, I want some real fashion. It has served its purpose, it's time to change. Ancient Greece's armors were the principal inspiration, but some other bits of Ancient Greece's fashion were also brought in. Sandals are a bold choice, I admit, but that's what Greeks wore to war and we are talking about an indestructible being. Soldiers also wore what would be considered a skirt now, so I want to include that, and I even thought of a joke: when Billy first transforms, he makes a comment about the "skirt", and the sorcerer goes "Ah yes! When men used to dress like men." (Did you get it? It's a joke about how those bigoted idiots will complain about men wearing anything labelled as "feminine" about how "men don't dress like real men anymore", totally ignorant of how what is "masculine" or "feminine" depends on the time period and culture, and heels were created to make men look powerful and ride horses to war.) However, I'm uncomfortable with skirts in design for flying superheroes, if there's nothing under, so he gets leggings, bringing back some of the original suit. The cape is also asymmetrical.

While researching information about Captain Marvel for this redesign, I learned that DC is evil:

Fawcett Comics created Captain Marvel in the 40s, by taking some inspiration from Superman from Detective Comics, but with a lot of differences still. It was a success, and Captain Marvel became more popular than Superman, selling more than the adventures of Clark Kent. DC didn't like that, and they sued FC for plagiarism, saying Captain Marvel was a copy of Superman. And, for some reason, they won. So, FC had to stop selling Captain Marvel and the Marvel family's comics, and the readers went back to Superman, giving money to DC. Decades goes back, Marvel is born and they create Captain Marvel, the name being free to use. FC, they are not having a good time. There's no money, and so, they are selling. AND WHO BOUGHT THEM? THAT'S RIGHT: DC! And once they own FC, what do DC do? Bring back the cash cow, Captain Marvel! So, it was plagiarism, but only when they couldn't make money from it. They cannot use Captain Marvel anymore because of Marvel, so it's Shazam, but they successfully "stole" the success of a smaller company than them. DC was doing evil capitalism before it was a thing, in the 40s!

Therefore, I can do whatever I want and DC cannot stop me, they don't deserve those characters. And this redesign has now become me rewriting Shazam. So, when Billy transforms into Captain Marvel, he is not another personality (like the current DC's canon), it's still him, but in a young adult body, a body at his peak athletic performance.

Now, Black Adam, which is where I start doing my own story. I will not lie, I knew nothing about Black Adam, apart from the fact that he is a bad guy and he really loves his wife. Well, if he loves his wife, he must be attractive, because that's hot. And Black Adam, born Teth-Adam in Ancient Egypt, is chosen by the sorcerer known as Shazam as his successor. This means two things: 1, Black Adam is an Egyptian, and 2, he is young. In DC's canon, he is Ramesses II' son, but I will just make him from the Ancient Egyptian nobility, but this explains the short/shaved hair, as rich Egyptians would wear wigs and have their hair shaved for hygiene.

Let's talk about the elephant in the room: the absence of a thunderbolt, or more so, it's replacement by an angular sun. Black Adam's power doesn't come for Zeus, a god of thunder, but Aten, a sun god, like Ra. So, Black Adam shouldn't have the abilities to manipulate thunder, but the sun. And not the sun as a ball of burning gaz, the sun as a source of rays of light and heat, like the Egyptians saw it. His power is connected to light, arrows of heat as Egyptians saw it, and the sun is angular to share similarities with the thunderbolt. Like Captain Marvel, he needs to dress like the champion of the gods, Egyptian this time. I took inspiration from Ancient Egypt's armors and fashion: the top being this scaly leather they wore, sandals being back again but Egyptian's style... There are more artistic details in Black Adam's suit to highlight is social class, and there are two kinds of details. The first ones are associated to his power, like his collar, which is a frequent accessory in Ancient Egypt, which has rays to symbolize the rays of the sun, coming from his head, from himself, or his greaves, which also have sunbeams. The second ones are more associated to his culture as an Egyptian and the sun. His forearm armors are imitating the wings added to scarab amulet, which were put over mommies, and these scarabs fly to the sun, aka Ra, with the dead. His cape is also taking the shape of these wings. And his belt displays the eye of Ra, a sun disk with cobras coiled around it, an extension of the god's power, a symbol of his destructive and protective capacities.

To end, this is my rewrite of Shazam's story:

During Ancient Egypt, under Akhenaten so ca 1350 to 1330 before Christ, a sorcerer decided to summon the god Aten with a magic ritual, asking for a champion, a hero to protect humankind. All powerful Aten, impressed to have been summoned by a mere mortal, accepted to fulfill his demand. He called five gods to join him, and each gave a gift, added to his own power of the sun. Aten finally gifted the result to the man, and explained how to summon it: by yelling the gods' names, SHAZAM! Before leaving, the god, moved by the mortal's humility and his care for humankind, gifted him immortality. The sorcerer refused, it's too much. Aten pushed, because a man like this is rare, but he will lower the gift. He will age until a certain age, and then stop, never dying from old age or getting sick. However, he can still get killed. The sorcerer went on to do his mission, why he had called the god, and more as the years went on. Anytime he transformed, he would become the young athletic champion of the Egyptian gods. When he got around 60 years old, he decided to find an heir. He chose Teth-Adam, a young man and member of the Egyptian nobility, who had demonstrated his qualities all around the kingdom. But he, sadly, soon was corrupted by his new power and abused it, trying to take over the throne. The sorcerer had to intervene, but his heir was too strong to kill or to let go of his powers. So, the sorcerer took his soul with the power, and enclosed it in a scarab amulet he buried with the pharaohs. A millennium went by, and the old sorcerer now answered to the name Shazam. With the arrival of Alexander the Great, he went on to travel through the Greek land. But, a new catastrophe was coming, and so, having lost his power, he summoned Zeus like he summoned Aten. Zeus, impressed by the mortal, accepted to redo the gift of the gods. He called five gods and added their gifts to his own power of the thunder. Shazam could save humankind again. Zeus, to applaud his heart, asked him to choose a gift, not for the champion but for himself. Shazam asked to know when he will die, so he could find the perfect heir. The Fates gave him the answer. Shazam, afraid of his last mistake, refused to find an heir for centuries, millennia, and traveled through the world, saving humankind. He had a magic secret temple, on another plane, he could go to. But the date of his death was approaching, and Shazam had yet to find a champion. Everyone he met wasn't good enough for him. His last pick? Billy Batson. And Billy was far from the perfect champion he needed, but not the worst. With no time to waste, Shazam gave his power to Billy, before dying, crushed by a rock. When Billy Batson yells "SHAZAM!", he transforms into an adult version of himself, at his peak athletic performance, and becomes the champion of the Greek gods. The ghost of the sorcerer guides him through his adventures, during which he encounters Teth-Adam, now Black Adam. Teth-Adam's amulet was found by archeologists in the 19th century, and it had strange effects on everyone who landed their eyes on it, people fighting for the small treasure. Finally, one (shitty) archeologist stole the scarab and flew back to the USA with it. As time went on, the amulet's control over him became stronger, and he finally caved into opening it to see what was inside. But, sadly for him, it only contained the powerful soul of once the champion of the Egyptian gods, who took possession of his body and transformed it, killing him in the process. Now, Teth-Adam lives forever as Black Adam.

[logo-comics]

Hi! What do you think about that moment in LN 9 of My Next Life as a Villainess where Catarina considers staying in Ocean Harbor Town if Maria did?

This one:

As a Marikata shipper I was really happy at first because it meant that Catarina wanted to stay at Maria's side as much as Maria wanted to stay at hers. However I also think it was a mistake. Both in the sense that the author accidentally added something that implies Catarina values being close to Maria more than the rest of her loved ones, which clearly isn't his intention considering the rest of his writing, and in the sense that it makes Catarina have a very glaring case of favoritism that doesn't really suit her.

She has known the rest of her friends plus Anne and Keith for a decade (and her parents for all her life considering she's the OG Catarina who got extra memories at 8 and diverged paths) while she's only known Maria for 3 years at that point. Even with romantic feelings it seems a little unbelievable that there wouldn't be a "but my family and other friends".

Part of me wonders if it's meant to represent the usual part of graduating and being an adult? (which would be kinda sad but that's something I could get behind) Like, she already sees her early friend group way less since she got her job so she's used to them not being there as much and leaving the parents' house is seen as the norm in many cultures too. Also there's the fact of finding something she could do instead of being a noble which, aside from the great quantity sweets, doesn't appeal to her. Besides she'd be following someone she really likes, which, also something people usually do.

So uh, what do you think?

I think that while you can chalk some of it up to her blatant infatuation with Maria and the general idea of moving out when one grows up that she'd get more of from her past life than her current life, it can be chalked up a bit more to the fact that Katarina has spent the ten years she's known everyone else wondering which of them is going to be the one that leads to her death/banishment.

While we don't know how much, there is a part of Katarina that definitely hasn't fully let go of the thought that those she loves could one day wish to be rid of her. Even with the confessions of certain members of the harem, Katarina doesn't have that full faith in them.

Maria, in contrast, aside from being her "waifu," is someone who she knows likes her, even if she doesn't understand the nature of that manner of care. Maria in the game is also not the one directly responsible for what happens to Katarina in the original game's endings. Maria is safe to her eyes. Sophia and Mary are tied to Nicol and Alan, and we can safely assume that the characters are tied to the trial scene, given that she didn't seem surprised to see them at the trial. Maria refusing to condemn her there, even more than the others standing up for her, probably had way more pull to her than the others.

Now, let's consider the testimonies in the trial, themselves. There are exactly two members of the original game cast harem that don't call her an idiot in that scene. To his credit, Geordo is one of them. Even Sophia, with whom Katarina regularly holds book clubs, and Mary, who Katarina discusses gardening tips with, both directly state that she is not smart enough to bully Maria. In a move that makes me think he actually could be a good king, Geordo, however, legitimately reviews the "evidence" the other girls had and notes that it's circumstantial at best. He does not, however, say anything about Katarina as a person.

In contrast, Maria is the only person to note upon Katarina as a person being too kind to do such a thing.

Despite her inability to notice people are in love with her, Katarina is, in point of fact, extraordinarily observant of people. The author does seem to have lessened her ability to plot to an extent, but that particular aspect is very much still a part of her, as shown by the fact that she knew that Larna Smith and Suzanna Randall were the same person despite how masterful Suzanna is at disguise. Notably, however, she can misinterpret things if she's looking at it through her lens of "I am a villainess." For example, the aforementioned obliviousness when it comes to her romantic prospects.

Katarina also has a significantly better memory than the most tend to give her credit for.

From all of this, while she can accept that her friends care for her, to her eyes, she is still The Villainess Katarina Claes, and they clearly don't think that highly of her if they think she's just too stupid to bully Maria. Combine that with how her mother will chastise her for not being ladylike and critiquing her actions, something born from love but something that clearly distresses Katarina and makes her feel that she's less than worthy of her lot in life.

In essence, Katarina sees everyone who has been around her for ten years as viewing her as stupid and her mother as loving her, but not particularly liking her. She might have experienced the confessions of Keith and Geordo, but those are simply things that happened (the Keith confession is a completely different, disgusting can of worms), and there's almost definitely a part of her that still hasn't accepted that they won't discard her. Contrast that with how she immediately starts listing people that she feels would be sad if Maria was gone.

Simply put, Katarina views herself as someone who could pull up her stakes and go with next to no fuss from most of the people in her life. With that in mind, of course she'd be willing to uproot her whole life to be with Maria, whose first thought about her in that defining moment of their lives was to call her kind, who is willing to fight dark mages for Katarina's sake despite her fear, who was willing to tutor her and wanted to join the Ministry to be by her side.

Why wouldn't Katarina be willing to run away with the girl who unequivocally told her that she wants her in her life forever?

[queerprayers]

Officially, in the western church, today isn't the Annunciation. This is Holy Monday, and the Annunciation is moved to avoid coinciding with Holy Week. I think if it were during the Triduum I would appreciate this, making space to hold both days separately. But it's Monday, and they can't stop me from thinking about Mary during Holy Week. March 25 is a traditional date of both Jesus's death and conception, as well as the Creation—a spring equinox of redemption. Holding space for all these things has always been appropriate. Birth and death coexist; Jesus's beginnings were the beginnings of his mortality. The angel announces the future, and whoever listens must live through all of it.

What did it mean for Mary to say yes to this? We laugh at the "Mary did you know?" lyrics, because we know she knew. But she also didn't have to know the details of God's plan to say yes to what every parent says yes to—witnessing. Acknowledging the bringing into the world of a frail being, perhaps giving your body to make this happen, praying that you will die before they do but knowing that is not promised. And every parent living under a violent state knows what it is to hope it's not your kid that's next (whether you're a Black parent teaching your child how to talk to cops, or a Palestinian parent hiding in rubble, or a Jewish parent under Roman occupation who's seen the crosses outside the city walls).

Do you think, at the foot of the cross, Mary thought of her response, "Let it be unto me according to your word"? After bearing that Word inside her, teaching him how to walk, waiting for God to change his mind, to reveal a ram caught in a thicket so her son wouldn't have to die after all, do you think she remembered her teenage self, magnifying the Lord? "The Almighty has done great things for me"—and to me. Great as in too big to look at all at once, bloodstained things. The power of the Most High is overshadowing her—the shadow of the cross—his flesh broken, and someone (including her perhaps) will take him down and wash him for burial.

What does it mean to hold space for that day when an angel tore into her life, breaking it open for God—during Holy Week? If we desire a feast, we should wait until Easter, I agree. But today I honor a lady of sorrows—I desire an acknowledgement of the violence of agreeing to live and love and create when it will be torn away. The story never ends there, but we must live through this week (and whatever weeks of our lives hold these things) saying yes, witnessing. Judas quit before the miracle happened—he couldn't witness death so he didn't witness the life (on this earth). Mary kept saying yes, even at the end.

We can never know everything we are saying yes to when we surrender to God. She knew in one sense, yes, but no one knows what it's like to lose a son until it happens. And no one but her knows what it's like to be the Mother of God. We already know what God wants us to do, but we don't know until it happens how much it hurts—and what the dawn will bring. What swords will pierce us, what promises will be kept.

When we say the Magnificat, we usually add a Gloria at the end—Mary did not have those words (the Trinity would not be formulated for another couple hundred years), but we have them. When we sing her song, we hold space for the ways we see God exist, and she saw those ways intimately. She held the Son and was surrounded by the Spirit, and now the Father holds her. As we live through Holy Week every year, every year she says yes. God's love continues unfolding. As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. Amen.

Your assigned reading for today (should you choose to accept it) is @tomatobird-blog 's comic "Thirty Years." A blessed Holy Monday (and Annunciation) to you all.

[piiinkfreak]

When she starts talking about marrying for convinience... underneath you can see my sorry attempt at writing a drabble inspired by this

"We done yet?" Mary asked, they were walking through one of the capital's shopping galleries for about an hour now, looking for the white silver's very specific brand of coffee.

"You know you didn't even have to come right?" Tanya answered bitterly, this was her day off and she just planned to run some errands, maybe buy some chocolate and coffee, and enjoy some alone time without her subbordinates bothering her.

"And take the blame if the country's, oh so precious, White Silver just so happens to get assassinated? No thank you"

For all that's worth Mary shouldn't even care if that happened, maybe even glad, why did she even take this job in the first place? She just had planned to confront the one responsible for her father's death, maybe getting into a fight. Instead the Devil of the Rhine didn't even remenber her face, and now she was here carrying her grocery bags (wich was not on the job description she might add) for their shared appartment cause the blonde demon had been so kind to let her stay there while Mary looked for a place of her own. This should be the perfect opportunity to annoy the blonde, yet it didn't seem to have much effect because Tanya didn't even seem to care much for her remarks.

"Also if i let you shop alone again we both know our appartment would end up filled wi-" Mary stopped as she felt a tug in her arm. As she turned back she saw an impossible scene, Tanya von Degurechaff, the most antisocial person she's ever met, the woman who would rather spend her weekends at the shooting range than on a date, who hated dresses and lace and ruffles and even now was wearing pants and an male aviation, too big on her obviouly; that Tanya von Degurechaff, had stopped midtrack and was intensily looking at a vitrine that showed a big, white, ruffly and sparkly wedding dress.

Mary didn't know what to make of it, that devil was obviouly not thinking about how pretty the dress was, so was she thinking about marriage? Did she have someone she like? Was she dating someone? It seemed improbable, and even so to be actually considerieng marrying them, no way she would've known. Would noticed something, she always noticed the way Tanya smirked when something intersting happened in her books, the way she chuckled when thinking about either a joke or an atrocity, that she smiled nervously when she felt awkward. She would've noticed.

"Eeeeh, don't tell me the pure Argent is seriously thinking about marriage? Ah but you would need someone interested in you and stuff. Do you even have a lucky candidate?

"You would be a good choice." Tanya said absentmindedly.

"Ah!? Eh what? Uhm, eh ah..." Mary tried to break free from Tanya's grip without much success. Tanya didn't mind, the more the blonde thinked about it the more it made sense in her head.

A political marriage would be really benefitial for her, specially now after Lergen had kindly dumped all the letters from suitors he had intercepted for her and told her it's now her turn to deal with them. She had been so shocked at the amount of them, she knew she was a bit popular and that her looks weren't bad yet her reputation wasn't the greatest. And some of those letters came even before she was legally of age what was she supposed to do with them? Respond? And what frightened her the most was if some of these "suitors" decided to meet and court her in person? Hell, that would be hell, embarrassing and awkward.

Plus she didn't even have many reasons to say no to these offers. In this world a woman greatest achievment was still getting married, even if she fought in a war, commanded troops, won medals, fuck she helped the war end for fuck's sake. This body really was inconvient, at least for the situations that dammed Being X put her through, he was probably also behind those horrifying letters as well.

That's why she thought a marriage for convenience with Mary was a really good idea. There were laws against "sodomism" yet no laws that explictly prohibeted two women from getting married, it was the same loophole that Visha and Erya used to get married, right? It didn't seem to hard, she already knew the people to talk to and she didn't care for a cerimony either, and if she could stop it they wouldn't be near a church, or maybe they would so she could rub it off on Being X's face. Hehe, she laughed to herself, that was a really good plan indeed.

Mary had all the reasons to accept too. The brunnette was foreigner, spoke horrible english and even worse the language of the empire, she was single, and they even already lived toghether. Plus Tanya dindn't find her company that annoying, she might even say it was a bit pleasing, she didn't snore, didn't chegou with her mouth open and that kind of stuff, she was a tad bit religious yet she didn't force Tanya to wake up early and go to church with her on weekends or prayed loudly enough that she could hear. She also didn't seem to mind Tanya's habits, she wasn't dirty, a bit messy, but she smelled nice, and she took care of her apperance, she was even pretty.

Before she could continue her thought she was interruped by being forcibly pulled by one of Mary's attempts to run away. It's when she noticed that she was blushing from the back of her neck to the tips of her ears.

"Ah" she said "Um, let's just, let's just go" and as they resumed walking Mary could tell that Tanya was now blushing as well.

[comfort-questing]

she'd guessed from the start that the three of them weren't all leaving the inn the next morning. she'd seen them arrive, the two in their rain-spattered cloaks supporting the third of their group between them, hood pulled low, and harsh breathing the only thing she'd heard from them as they passed her on the way to the counter. just a glimpse of a sallow, pain-drawn face as they'd paid the innkeeper and made their slow mutual way up the creaky staircase - and then she'd had to run because the table by the window needed another round of drinks.

she'd offered, to the man who came back downstairs later, his unshaven and bruised face harried: "you lot all right? you were looking a little rough just now, do you need anything?"

he hadn't seemed to expect an inquiry from the lowest-ranking barmaid, and startled a moment, but then answered easily enough. "is there any healer in this town?"

"just Brant, he's the apothecary. little place under the giant oak tree by the cornfield. his door is shut for the night but you can go find him tomorrow if you need." it hadn't used to be just that, but town was a generous descriptor for whatever was going on in their clearing between the riverbend and the roadside. if you didn't work at the inn, or had your older brother or dad working at the inn, there wasn't much reason to stay around.

the man shifted from foot to foot, glancing around the crowded room. "we... met with some troublesome people on the way here. nobody likely to bother any of you good folk, of course, or in a place with others around. but..."

he must have observed her skeptical look, because he sighed, then, and when he spoke again his voice was softer still, as weary as his eyes.

"a stab wound from an associate of mine, three days ago. we had a disagreement and she got between us. it's the ... kind of thing she does."

there was a sorrow hanging all about his words that he didn't seem about to spill to a strange barmaid, and she didn't blame him for that, but she couldn't leave him alone in it either. she re-settled the tray in her aching arms. "if you need to, you can wake up Brant," she said. "he's had it happen before."

he didn't answer, but nodded, and turned to the door and the rainy night outside.

-

she didn't see them again until half-past ten o'clock, after the last of the supper dishes were washed and the only folk at the tables were the stragglers who'd probably fall asleep there anyway. Cook had given her leave for the night and Mari and Joan were off to their homes and families, and so there was nothing between her and her closet and sleeping cot besides her own meddlesome curiosity and strange pity.

still, she'd lingered in the hallway, and seen the door open, and the man from before and one of his friends (now drier than before but equally as unkempt as his companion) step out and close it softly behind them. his friend had a basin of water in his hands, and a bundle under his arm.

" - see in the morning," he was saying, and then, "Rhyes doesn't forget things like this."

"she won't be able to travel," said his friend, "that's clear enough - "

"did you find Brant, sir?" she said, maybe too suddenly because it made him jump, but they'd have to go past her to get to the stairs anyway.

"I did. thank you - " he paused.

"Talya, sir."

"Talya. yes."

and then, because they were both watching her with the distinct expression of people who desperately needed something to go well in their lives right then - "any way I can help?"

-

there were ways to help, it seemed. hot water, and rags, and another blanket. they let Talya in when she returned, perhaps a quarter of an hour later, their soft voices falling to silence at her knock.

they didn't seem to want to give her their names, those two men, and the hunted look in their eyes had only seemed to intensify over the hours. but she heard one of them murmur Merrim over the motionless figure on the bed, and saw her eyelids flicker open in response - wide muddled pale eyes unfocused in the lamplight, sliding from face to shadowed ceiling to closing door.

"it's all right," the man said, "she's a friend."

it gave Talya an obscure feeling of delight to be called a friend, nicer than hey you there or girl or whatever else. she set down the fresh basin of water on the three-legged table and undid the bundle of blanket and rags.

from the bed, the woman's gaze followed her, sweat-matted brown hair tousled around a fever-flushed face. she'd curled one hand around the man's hand where he knelt by her, and the other arm hidden under the blanket, bloodied bandages just barely visible at the shoulder.

"we can't stay." her voice was hoarse. "we can't - "

"you're not going anywhere," said the other man, from where he sat cross-legged by the door. "we'll figure it out."

"then - leave me and go - idiots," she said, with the air of someone who'd said it several times before, her eyes slipping shut again. "because if he - "

"shh, shh, let's wait till morning." the man rubbed a thumb across the back of her hand, then clambered up. "let's get the bandages changed, all right?"

there were a lot of layers of dirty, blood-clotted bandage to remove, and Talya helped, since one of the two men seemed intent on keeping watch by the closed door and startling at every footstep in the hallway instead. Merrim seemed to be asleep at first, but now and again the clench of the corners of her mouth, the shivery tensing and release of her body, betrayed the pain of it. the bitter, herbal scent of the balm they'd gotten from the apothecary didn't quite mask the stink of blood and a poorly-healing wound.

"I'm sorry," the man would whisper, now and again, and then, "should've been me."

"numbskull," said Merrim, barely to be heard, but with a twitch of her lips towards something like a smile.

cleaning the deep, messy stab-wound just beneath the hollow of her right shoulder made her cry out, though, in small sharp whimpers that made Talya cringe to hear. the man by the door would jump as well, glancing towards the door with each cry.

"do you think someone's after you - here?" Talya had to ask, in a momentary spurt of company loyalty and practicality. the innkeeper liked to know things like that.

"not yet," said one of the men, and "maybe," the other, almost on top of his companion.

well - no use asking that again. Talya had only to settle down by the bed, and in a sudden instinct reached out to stroke the back of Merrim's clenched fist, among the rumpled covers.

"you can sleep here tonight, anyway," she said, inanely, but perhaps the woman heard her; anyway, her fingers fluttered a little, and grasped at Talya's, sweat-slippery and desperate.

better to put off decision-making for a bit, maybe.

[stayinhellevator]

Asymptopes

"We're bound to break and my hands are tied."

Synopsis: By fate's design, you had found refuge in Seungcheol's arms but now you had gone too far from the point of return, leaving the two of you secretly yearning for each other.

Pairing: Scoups X fem!Reader

Genre: Soulmate AU, Angst, Forbidden Love

Word Count: 2315

Warnings: Cuss words, fxf relationship, brief mentions of cheating technically (not reader)

Playlist: Rewrite The Stars ~ James Arthur, Anne Marie

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"Why are you avoiding me?"

All your hard work of trying to hide from Choi Seungcheol had gone to waste when you ultimately landed into his muscular arms, that latched onto your waist so tight, as if you'd vanish the minute he loosened his grip by even a finger.

Perhaps you would and he already knew.

"I'm not avoiding you. I'm protecting you."

You managed to reply, eyes darting frantically around the dancing pairs, wanting to locate your soulmate, desperate to find an excuse to escape the brown orbs of his, that were seeking answers from you.

But boy you could never resist their magnetic pull, automatically drawn towards him, as if a puzzle piece snapping into its rightful place. Like you belonged.

But you both knew you didn't.

"Protecting me? Protecting me from what? Are you even hearing yourself."

With every anguished whisper that came out of his lips, his grip on you seemed to tighten further as was the rapidly decreasing distance between your bodies, making you panic.

What if someone saw the two of you? What would they think? Worse if your respective soulmates saw you? What would they say?

And how were you going to recover from the loss of Seungcheol's warmth? All the time you had spent trying to steel yourself was for nothing? Why doesn't he understand?

"Protecting you from breaking further Seungcheol. I'm protecting both of us from more pain. The more we try to steal moments together, the harder it becomes for us to withdraw when we both know we can't be together."

You finally let out, as if agonised to be the only one holding these depressing thoughts. You wanted to reason with him; let him know that you did care and that's why you were putting a distance between you two.

His eyes seemed to soften after knowing you were as miserable without him as he without you but you knew the topic was far from over; not with how he was so stubborn when he decided he wanted something to go his way. And you were proven right when instead of letting you go, he twirled you round and brought you back in.

To the onlookers, everything should seem normal. You two were strangers who got each other as dance partners when it was a turn for exchanging them; if not for his wandering arms that caged you in with a familiarity of that of a lover; if not for your eyes doing all the talking that your mouth couldn't; if not for the chemistry between you that was hard to ignore.

And it worried you. The onlookers, the gossip-mongers, the rumours and the assumptions. You weren't a stranger to any of those. But worse was when negativities these came from the people you know. You didn't want your mutual friends or colleagues or families to see the two of you so vulnerable like this. You didn't want the drama the scandal of your affair with Seungcheol would bring to the auspicious wedding.

Seokmin didn't deserve this. Even if he was an oblivious jerk who couldn't see just how down bad your sister was for him, all her life, he was a sweetheart. He had never wronged you or your family and technically not your sister too because this was what the fate had in mind for her. So no you didn't want to ruin Seokmin's happy day.

And you can't bring yourself to even imagine what would happen if your soulmate sees the two of you like this. Would she be sad? Disappointed? Angry? Indifferent? Who knows?

Heck! Why should you even care? You were in this mess because of your soulmate, who made it extremely clear that she was in love with someone else, the day you first saw her. And that's how Choi Seungcheol first met you, completely heartbroken and helpless at the hands of his sister.

You still remember breaking down in his arms three years back when you saw your soulmate with his sister in your shared bed; she couldn't be any less empathetic that you had seen her with someone else and instead caused a scene that you breached her privacy.

Ever since then, he had been your rock, your anchor that saved you from drowning in your misery. Your soulmate would often get defensive when she saw the two of you together, because of course the bond between you two was still very much real whether you two accepted each other or not. She wouldn't let you go because then her soul would be hollow and she wouldn't be able to be with her lover.

The truth is you never even got a chance to fall in love with her, which is why her soul was still intact, even after still technically betraying you. Initially when you were bitter about the whole scenario, you wanted to stay like that until her soul started deteriorating and she ended up all hurt and alone, just like you.

But that was before Seungcheol. Your sweet shining knight in armour, who was unfortunately born without a soul bond, making it nearly impossible for him to find love as bondless souls were rare.

And like any cliche movie, as fate would have it, you soon realised that the feelings you were hoping to have for his sister started sprouting naturally for him, without even knowing when andhow. You both found love in each other and soon enough, your pathetic life didn't matter to you anymore, so long as you both had each other. And just like that, you went from nothing-to-lose rejected soul to putting-everything-at-stake for this man accepted soul.

Your otherwise nonchalant soulmate realised in no time that you were hiding something, rather someone from her, because you still hadn't punished her and your ignorance started bothering her. Now, she was always breathing down your neck, hoping to "catch you in the act".

A truly masterpiece she was. You thought it was hilarious how unfortunate you and your sister were when it came to love and soulmates. You used to sympathise with your sister as she yearned for Seokmin's reciprocal in solitude and now you weren't faring any better than her.

You sometimes wonder how your soulmate could be Seungcheol's sibling, when her brother was the most affectionate, considerate and pure-hearted person you had ever met.

A sudden prick, as if you were being watched, brought you out of your thoughts as your eyes met a woman's kind and empathetic pair. You knew her as Seungcheol's friend's soulmate, a kind person or at least as Cheol told you. She looked at you as if she knew your circumstances and you wouldn't be surprised if she did for her soulmate had been Seungcheol's friend for as long as you can remember. You trusted her to safeguard your secret but not the increasing stranger glances that were starting to notice you.

"Seungcheol I don't want your sister to see us together. I don't want any drama tonight."

You tried to negotiate but a tic in his jaw was your answer; he was annoyed that you cared about everyone but him to leave him all alone for months without any explanation.

"I don't give a fuck if she sees us and if she truly cared about drama, she wouldn't be dancing with her girlfriend like that, let alone have the audacity to bring her as a plus one."

Your face must've given your surprise at this information as Seungcheol gestured towards a corner where your soulmate was giggling in her lover's arms, without giving two cents of the place and the people around her. She didn't care if people found it odd as to why she was dancing with her 'best friend' like that when she had her soulmate with her.

Ha! If only they knew!

You could only sigh at her carelessness and turn away from the sight. This would've broken your heart if only it beat for her. But your treacherous heart raced against your wishes for her brother.

It was as if he knew what was on your mind, for his frame finally melted for the first time since he caught you as he caressed your waist and continued swaying to the soft music, refusing to change partners even when everyone else was.

You tried to snatch your hand from his and leave but his grip didn't budge even a bit as he continued moving as if nothing happened.

"Seungcheol! Why don't you understand? Your sister wouldn't take this lightly."

He took a deep breath even as his eyes glistened with tears of helplessness at the situation and yours automatically mirrored his. You just wanted to love him, freely, without any inhibitions.

Why couldn't he be your soulmate? Yours didn't want you as it is. And he was born without one. You two were meant to be. Why couldn't the world understand? Why can't it be like that?

"Why can't we run away? You and I love each other then why do we have to hide? Why can't we be together?"

The vulnerability in his voice broke your heart. You want to give this man the world yet the one thing he asks of you is forbidden for you to bring him. Why can't you keep him happy like he keeps you? Is this why your soulmate doesn't want you? Because you're so helpless and hopeless?

"Cheol!"

You could only whisper his name and cupped his face in your hands, caressing his cheeks, hoping to provide him some soothe, albeit temporary.

"If we run away, your sister's soul trauma would make me hollow and you'd end up loving me all your life while I'd end up unable to love you at all."

You expressed the only concern that was holding you back, leaving you to tolerate his sister and her double standards. Seungcheol's body stiffened once again at the reminder as his eyes filled with contempt.

"The thought of loving you all my life doesn't sound unappealing to me. I hope you know that."

A smile appeared on your face, despite the cruelty of the circumstances as you continued stroking his cheek and his chest with your other hand, right where his heart was, hoping it'd send your love straight to his heart.

"I know but I'd rather love in secret than not love you at all. My life would lose its meaning if I were to stop loving you in the future. I only want you and would want you till I breathe my last."

A tear fell down his cheek that I instantly wiped, unable to stand it as his hand made its way to the back of my neck and caressed it, leaving only an inch distance between us, raising my panic again.

"Cheol! We need to stop. We can't be doing this here."

I pushed against his chest to make space between us but he held my hand above his heart and pulled me in by my nape, resting our foreheads against each other's.

"Please stay. Don't go. Not yet."

The doubt and fragility in his feeble voice cracked my resolve and I gave in to the comfort of his arms, closing my eyes, basking in his warmth.

"This is wrong Cheol. We could be in trouble. Or we already might be in one for all we know."

A statement even I wasn't convinced with came out in whispers, hoping he'd be the stronger one of us and push me away because I couldn't, not anymore.

"Then why does it feel right?"

And just like that, any protest that I had died out on my lips, always defeated by the one, same point. Because truly, why did it feel right? Why do we feel right? Why do we feel like we belong together? Why is it so natural to love Seungcheol when the world wouldn't approve of us. Even the fate hadn't.

"I wish I knew Cheol. What I do know is that no matter what, I'd always love you and only you. And I don't know what I'd done without you in my life. You're my saviour in every sense."

And I confessed because I wanted him to know: know that even if we were born for a future that didn't belong with each other in every lifetime, I would fight for him until I can't anymore.

That even though our fate had only brought us close enough to tease us, I'm glad that it did for I had a chance of getting to call him mine and be loved equally, if not more, by him. And I'd gladly do it all over again.

A gummy smile, that had my heart racing in giddiness, broke out on his gorgeous visage, as he planted a chaste kiss on my head.

"And I love you my chosen soulmate. There's no one I'd want if not you."

And he confessed because he knew we both wanted to hear it, now more than ever, when tomorrow isn't promised. He knew that as much as he wanted to say it to me, I had wanted to hear him say it because he was my strength.

A chuckle escaped me at the irony of the situation as he imitated my reaction. It was crazy; the whole situation, us, everything was bizarre, a mess, out of bounds; but it was ours. Wherever this was, our chaotic precious mess.

I'd have him in any and all forms that I can. If only I get to be loved by him.

It's a privilege to be loved by Choi Seungcheol, even if we weren't destined to be soulmates.

And it's a relief that in the face of my sham of a soulbond, I'd always have my raw and real lover by my side for the rest of our life.

©stayinhellevator2024: Please don't repost translate or copy my work on any platform.

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[another-damn-fandom]

Theory about BJBJBJ

When it comes to the prospect of BJBJBJ, I've seen fans mention five things:

Lydia should realize her feelings for Beetlejuice.

Lydia and Beetlejuice should become a kick-ass team against something big.

More Delores, she was under utilized. (Even if that means some Delores/Rory.)

The third wedding has to be different than the previous two.

Beetlejuice can't be enthusiastic about the prospect of marriage this time.

Which all make sense. Rule of three, more bad ass character developments, fool me three times, etc.

But what if you combined them?

Here's what I'm thinking:

At some point, some how, Lydia confesses that she's had a devastating crush on Beetlejuice this entire time and has been too terrified to mention it. Either because she didn't want to disappoint the Maitlands, or Chuck and Delia, or just basic self preservation and the hopes that he'd go away. But something has happened recently and now she's got to admit it to someone. And how much it has screwed up her mental health for not admitting it and facing it.

The someone she talks to (Astrid? Delia? Jane?) mentions that she needs to talk to Beetlejuice about this in order to get on with her life.

Lydia agrees. Then she doesn't.

Delores shows up and now she has a way to drastically hurt/kill Beetlejuice. (Possibly with Rory's help.) Her first attempt to do so is unsuccessful, but it shows that the Ghost With The Most is on a ticking clock, unless someone comes up with a solution. He mentions this to Lydia and asks for her help.

She says, sure, let's get married.

He says it's not going to work this time.

Whatever Delores did, it closed a part of the original marriage loophole for Beetlejuice. Sure, there are other ways for breathers to bring the deceased back to the world of the living via marriage. But those require both the living party and the dead one to be desperately in love with each other, and BJ admits that Lydia's lukewarm feelings means he doesn't qualify for that.

Lydia, like a liar, agrees.

So they agree to team up together to save Beetlejuice's life. Lots of shenanigans in the world of the living while Beetlejuice hides in the world of the dead to ensure Keaton's No More Than 17 minutes rule.

Eventually the plot corners them into a situation where the only option is to get married. Lydia is in a black dress (important!), Astrid and possibly Delia are with them, and all is lost. But there is some sort of church or justice of the peace nearby and, with everyone but Beetlejuice aware of Lydia's feelings, they go for a Hail Mary play.

Beetlejuice fights them the entire time. The bylaws of the underworld state that it would kill Lydia, him, or both of them to attempt a loveless marriage right now. But he knows they're running out of options, perma-death is inevitable for all of them, and the romantic in him would like to die marrying the woman he loves.

So Lydia more or less drags a "We can't! Not that I don't I want to. We'll die! Ooo, nice wedding rings, babes. Nooooo!" Beetlejuice to the altar.

Bonus points if Lydia says something like "C'mon, c'mon..." or "Let's keep it rolling, rev!" during the ceremony to mirror what Beetlejuice said during the first movie.

The terrified officiant reluctantly, barely, marries them.

They kiss to seal the union. Something otherworldly, lovely, romantic happens during the kiss, proving it worked.

Then Beetlejuice and Lydia suddenly and dramatically get dragged back into the world of the dead.

Lydia's black dress turns red the second she's in the underworld.

And anything she wears immediately turns red every time she re-enters the underworld moving forward.

Why?

It mirrors the poncho dress Lydia wore in the cartoon when she visited the underworld.

It implies that BJ thought that he could engineer true love by finding someone who was a good match on paper, dressing them like someone who loved him, and hoping for the best. (Which is why alllll of his past weddings failed.)

It implies that the most important part about loving and building a life with someone is giving them the option to choose you then letting them make that choice of their own free will. And that true love doesn't happen unless you do that.

It gives the audience a new red wedding dress without there being another red wedding.

When she's in the world of the dead, Lydia is better off wed.

Wolf or another dead denizen explains that their marriage has given them the extra juice they needed to take on Delores in a Boss Fight. It also allows the two of them to travel freely between the world of the living and the dead without repercussions. (With a few extra bells and whistles so we can get a bunch of cool action sequences with practical effects.)

As they're given their marching orders for the movie's climax, BJ is just... stunned.

"Wait. You actually like me? How long have you liked me?"

BJ eventually focuses on the task at hand, but as they fight for their lives, every so often Lydia looks over and sees him grinning like an idiot and doing this: