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sweetflanfiction · 4 months ago

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Asymmetrical Symphony - Part 2

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written and GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

A.N.: Thank you for the fav and comments!! This chapter isn't gonna have much Viktor in it, but I'm just starting to estabelish some things and get the ball rolling. I'll try and update more Vik x you as quick as possible. :D

Part 1

• ··········· • ············ •

The world was spiraling around you. Noises of the past, the present, of another version of the world, blurred and mixed into a weirdly misshapen music. You tried to stop it, pause the song to figure out what’s what. Pull a thread to focus on something, to ground yourself. You inhaled air into your lungs and then expelled it. Every time you breathed out, the sounds became less confusing, like an orchestra finding itself following the maestro. In the end, only the quick buzzing of the world around you was left, as it settled down in a place and time.

You dazedly opened your eyes to a bright ball of light right before you and someone’s hand on your forehead. The sudden memory of the Hex Angel standing on top of you, extracting your soul from your body, flooded your senses, and you had to get away.

Quickly sitting upright, you shoved the construct away, watching with dread as the angel fell and stood up with ease. Their hands up in mock surrender, the mask emotionless.

“Calm down.” It said, with the familiar accent of a friend. “You’re safe.”

“Vik-Viktor stop…” You mumbled at the thing while it tilted its head at you. “Please”

It kept coming closer, its movements slow and deliberate, palms up to you as if it were approaching a scared animal.

In the haziness of trying to get away from it as fast as possible, you felt the ground give away under you, and once more, you were snapped back to focus when you landed on something hard.

The sound that left your lips was less than elegant as your back hit the cold, hard floor. Your body is now fully awakened to every scratch, bruise, and wound.

The first thing you noticed, as you tried to will the pain away, was the hard, smooth surface under your fingertips. Ceramics, cold hard ceramics. You turned your head and opened your eyes to a wall of floor-to-ceiling tiles, arranged in soothing colors.

You frowned at the familiar sense of the place.

Tilting your head backward, the minty-colored fold screen was unsurprisingly standing between gurneys, confirming where you were. Pilltover’s General Hospital.

And by the present company, maybe you had gone back to your time? Maybe forward? It didn’t make sense if they were here while you still looked human... something happened... Did you change anything that made the HexAngels different?

The sound of footsteps clicking on the floor was enough to get your mind back to the situation at hand. You tried to move, but something was grabbing your extended arm.

Your gaze followed the extent of your arm until it reached a cuffed wrist. Your cuffed wrist. They had cuffed your arm to the bed. You pulled at the restraint, testing it. It rattled but didn’t open, as expected.

“It’s alright…” The Herald’s modified voice scrambled into a warm woman's tone, its footsteps coming closer and closer.

That’s new. You snapped your neck to the voice, inching as far as you could from it.

The shape that appeared from behind the bed shifted from an abnormally beautiful construct to a tall and thin nurse.

“What the…” You looked at her face. A smile plastered on her face, hands stretched toward you. “Where am I?”

She gave the expected answer, but she did not understand the depth of your question.

“Why am I cuffed to the bed?” You asked, not moving from your seat on the floor, your backside becoming cold under the hospital gown.

“Officer Caitlyn wants to speak with you. You were found unconscious in the rubble of the attack.” The nurse went to grab you, and you swatted her hand as your vision layered her hand with a gold claw. She frowned.

“The rocket attack..." You mumbled, and she nodded.

“Quite the spectacle. If it had been in the Lanes, nobody would care.” She whispered, but you heard her.

“People died." You snapped, her eyes locking with yours.

“People die every day.” Her face contorted into a scowl, and you noticed a familiar accent in her speech, hidden behind the effort to sound Pilltovian. She’s from the Undercity.

You looked her in the eyes, and her indifference was palpable. She moved to grab you, but instead, she held her arm out.

“Come on, let’s get you back in bed.”

You wrapped your free hand on the forearm and pulled yourself up, towering over her.

“There we go.” She patted the bed, and you complied, sitting on it. She stood in front of you, grabbing a tiny silver flashlight from her pocket and lifting it with one hand while the other went towards your face.

Reality shifted, and once again her hand transformed into a golden claw with white fingers. You swatted it away and moved your face out of reach.

“No touching?” She asked, and you nodded, her following your movement a second later. “Very well. But I need to check you.”

“I’m fine.” you said, and she rolled her eyes.

“You survived a rocket hit to the head. Trust me, you are fine because we gave you drugs.”

You felt the corners of your lips turn up at her sass. With the faint accent, it was like you were back at the Talis Lab.

"Just don’t touch the face.”

“Very well, then you have to do it.”

She instructed you to pull your lower eyelids down, pull at your cheeks, and even gave you the tongue suppressor to look at the back of your throat.

“You seem very comfortable around someone in cuffs.” You told her as she gently peeled the gauze from a wound in your arm.

“People talk. From what’s been going around, you ran into the figurative building on fire. Sure, you knocked around a few enforcers, but sometimes they do need some sense knocked into them.”

You enjoyed it as her accent became more and more pronounced the more she talked. Memories of good old times flooded your mind when another Undercity crossover would talk your ear off as you fine-tuned your instrument. You knew that accent by heart, even mocking him by mimicking it.

“How long ago did you cross the bridge?” You whispered, not wanting to divulge that information to the world. She raised an eyebrow.

“A few years back, before nursing school.” She kept choking your wounds. “How did you figure it out?”

“The way you speak. I knew…know…knew someone, a friend, a close friend who spoke like that. They were…are…from the other side as well.” You cleared your throat and gave her your best Viktor impression. “If you don’t succeed at first, you must try again, after hiding the evidence, of course."

“That’s pretty good, actually. People here judge on sound alone. I’ve been hiding it for years, and you caught it in minutes.” She grinned.

“It does take practice and a good ear.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence, her checking your wounds and you reminiscing about the old days.

“When was the attack?” You asked suddenly, and she looked up from examining your ankle.

“Two nights.”

“What time is it now?”

“7 AM.”

“Who survived?”

“You.” She grinned. “Councilor Medarda, Councillor Talis, Councillor Shoola, and Councillor Salo.”

Your ears drowned with the sound of your heartbeat. Did you go through all of this for this to end up the same way? Were you going to lose your friend again?

"Ah, yes, someone else was found in the rubble.” Your eyes snapped open as she got up from her crouched position. “The other Hextech founder... What’s his face? Lanky, tall, always standing behind Councilor Talis.

"Viktor?” You whispered, and she nodded.

“Yes, that one.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. He is alive. For now. The calmness you had from the news was quickly replaced by another violent attack soon.

“Did they announce the remembrance speech day?” You asked quickly.

“I don’t think they even announced the public funeral dates, let alone announce the speech day.” She scribbled something on the board at the foot of your bed. “Well, my job here is done. I hope they go easy on you.”

She nodded, and you nodded back, turning to lay back down on the bed.

You had to figure out a way to stop that speech day. Or stop Mel, Jayce, and Viktor from attending, which would be impossible since Mel would be the one giving out the speech and Jayce was going to follow Mel and Viktor was going to follow Jayce. Or be made to, since these types of events were far from his favorite thing.

Time traveling is complicated, especially when nobody seems to know you.

You frowned. Why did nobody know you? I mean, the enforcers at the hexgate sure, but the ones in the Academy? You were practically a light fixture there, with the amount of time you spent inside.

And then it hit you like a rocket. They didn’t know you because you either didn’t exist or had a completely other life. So there was another possibility to your whole existence in this place. You could have time traveled, yes, but what was stopping whatever did this to you from making you jump through time and space?

What if this was another dimension, another universe, another timeline? What if the gods or whoever was trying to add variants to the timeline and see what got them the best results?

Your head was about to explode with this new information. Being cuffed to this bed in this brightly lit room was not helping the situation either.

You needed to get out. Without knowing what was the catalyst in this universe for the rise of the Herald, you couldn't stop it. You could warn Viktor; what better way to stop him from himself if he knew the consequences? But what if warning him was exactly what made him go through with it? His magnum opus actually worked for better or worse.

Introducing a single keystroke of a sonata could change the whole tune. You had to warn him, discreetly. Which you couldn’t because you were cuffed to a bed.

Reality moved, and for the first time since it did, you focused on it. It felt like when you’d be in the lab and you could feel a spark of something in the wrong place, waiting for the right circumstance to zap. Another whisper. A soundless gasp reverberated around you. The sound of metal vibrating as it’s struck made waves around you, like a stone that hit the water.

You managed to decipher, in between the waves, a new rune.

Whatever powers were drip-feeding you, these runes hadn’t failed you yet. You looked around for a pen, a dusty surface. Nothing. You looked at the hand with the rune scarred into it. Nothing.

You looked at the side table. A glass of water. You tilted it on the table, but as you drew the rune, you watched as it became disfigured. The water wasn’t keeping its shape on the flat surface.

Quickly, you patted the side of your bedding down, making it as smooth as possible. When it was flat enough, you dipped your fingers in the water and drew the rune on the sheet.

Stop the attack. Flick. Nothing.

Did you need it to be broader or more detailed? You tried again.

Save Piltover. Flick. Nothing

Stop the Herald. Flick. Nothing

You flailed your hands around in frustration. The rattling of the cuff on the metal side of the bed echoing around is this wrapped reality.

"Just unlock, you piece of—"

Growing frustrated, you punched the rune. Something clicked, and your hand was freed.

The world got back to normal, and you inspected your wrist, your gaze shifting from your wrist to the cuff.

You shook your head to clear it and immediately made your way out of the bed, limping your way out of the six-bed infirmary. Some of the orderlies looked at you sharply, but with the attack they seemed to have their hands full, choosing to effectively ignore you.

You grabbed someone’s jacket from the foot of a bed and put it on, thanking the gods they had kept your socks on.

The hospital was crowded, and you took that opportunity to make your way towards the exit. You kept your walk brisk and your head down, trying to walk around everything and everybody. Your heart was at your throat. Sneaking was never your forte; the last time you did, your father caught you halfway out the gates of the manor. You sighed, remembering the way he made fun of you more than argued. Footsteps light as a cannonball. You were usually the distraction for the sneaking, being the preferred go-to person for when the boys wanted to sneak a particular piece of equipment into the lab and didn’t need anyone to know. Especially Heimerdinger.

Forgetting your misadventures for a moment, you look up and see the glass doors, and beyond them the street. A couple of more steps. You quickened your pace, breaking into a small, limping run towards the doors.

The fresh air made you stop as it hit you in the face and you realized how damp and dense the air in the hospital was. You took a deep breath and started to make your way towards the sidewalk, looking up at the street, trying to map in your head the easiest way to get to the Academy, maybe even Viktor’s apartment, and if both failed, the Skyward Clinic, the topside private hospital. If any of them was hurt, that's where they would place them.

With your route mentally traced, you turned around to go down the correct route when something—or better, someone—made you stop dead in your tracks.

The Sheriff of Piltover to be, Caitlyn Kiraman, was standing right behind you. One eyebrow raised, arms crossed, eyes red and puffy. The scowl on her face contorting her pretty features.

You are about to run in the other direction, knowing that getting sent to jail would not help in your 'save-Piltover-from-the-Hextech-co-creator-genius-by-saving-said-Hextech-co-creator-genius’ plan when you feel the presence of two people behind you.

“I am not in the mood for games,” Caitlyn said, her voice matching her rigid stance. “If you are well enough to walk, you are well enough to talk. I can bring you in conscious or not. Your choice.”

“Why am I being arrested?” You asked, knowing full well that the trail of unconscious enforcers you left behind two days ago wasn’t exactly lawful.

She simply nodded to the enforcers behind you. They grabbed your arms unceremoniously and cuffed you, shoving you in the back of an Enforcer van.

············ • ············

Groaning, you rest your forehead on the table, the cool temperature of the metal helping the headache. You are sitting inside a concrete room, with your hands cuffed to the table. Caitlyn had left you there to stew.

"I'll be back... eventually." She had spat as she closed and locked the door.

With nothing but time to think, you went through your magic runes. With a limited range of motion, you started by drawing them on the dusty table without any intent for them, pushing them out with a tap of your finger.

Move. Tap. A miniscule part of the table seemed to become liquid, like you had thrown a pebble into a calm river, but nothing shifted or moved.

Unlock. Tap. Both of the cuffs and the door behind you clicked open, and you slowly looked between them.

Before you could get up and walk out, the door slammed open with a very puzzled Caitlyn standing just outside. She looked at the door and then you. Shrugging, you turned back to the table, quickly clicking your wrists together to reclose the cuffs.

“Who are you?” She asked, dismissing whatever thought she had previously.

You answer with your name. First and last.

“Adding ‘identity theft’ to your crimes isn’t going to help you. Who are you?”

Nodding your sighed content. If it’s identity theft, then there is someone with that name. Maybe you’d meet yourself and the dimension would implode. Or they could help you.

“I would like to speak with my father, Counsellor Rainemour.”

Cailyn raised an eyebrow at your question, setting the folder down and watching you with hawk eyes.

“There is no Counsellor Rainemour.” She stated,coldly.

“But the Rainemours are in Piltover, yes?”

“Enough with this! Who are you? The truth! Now!”

You opened your mouth to answer but didn’t know how to. So, you repeated your name. She groaned and sat down in front of you.

“Do you know who Jinx is?”

"No.” you lied.

“Do you have anything to do with the attack on the Council of Piltover?”

“Ah… That’s why it’s you. No…”

And finally the penny dropped. The reason why it was Caitlyn who was questioning you. She had been such a normal face to talk to, to look at, to bounce ideas with, that it didn’t dawn on you why she was the one talking to you now. The daughter and soon-to-be head of the Kiraman family. She thought you had something to do with the rocket attack.

“Then what were you doing in the council room?”

“I was trying to warn the councilors about it.”

“So you knew about it,” she shot quickly.

“Knowing of a crime and being involved in it are two very different things.” You fired back. “Why am I being arrested?”

“Trespassing on government grounds, assaulting several officers of the law, entering a governmental space without authorization, and last but not least involvement in the rocket attack that left several of the councilors dead or injured.”

You looked at her and made sure she was looking at you, seeing the frown grow deeper as you raised an eyebrow.

Counselor Rainemour liked to argue. He was a lawyer; his whole life was about arguing. Whether it was about Piltover's government or about the ant's right to the sugar in the house. And you loved to argue back. You not only had the patience but also the stubbornness and willingness to argue with your father. You never won, but you also absorbed anything he gave you. Laws, regulations, how the system worked—you were a sponge. If for nothing else, to use it in a following discussion.

“First, I never intended to trespass. I didn't even know I was trespassing. If you don’t know who I am, then I am not in the Piltover's identification system, which means I am not from Piltover. I took a wrong turn.” You leaned back into the chair, the pride and arrogance of a Topsider dripping on every word. You hated to admit this, but sometimes you missed being this person.

“And ended up inside our most complex method of transportation?” She shot back.

“I’m a visitor; how do I know what the inside of the most complex method of transportation in Piltover looks like?”

“You are not a visitor.” She spat and sat down. “It took you 4 minutes and 45 seconds to go from the top floor of the Gate to the Council room. You took shortcuts and straight lines toward the Academy. You are not a visitor.”

You shrugged at her humorless grin.

“Circumstantial, I may just have a very good sense of direction.” She was about to open her mouth, and you raised a finger. "Secondly, the only officer I assaulted was the one at the gate, and technically it could be considered self-defense. I was confused. He was shoving me. I got scared. He was a very intimidating figure.”

“What about the other ones?” She gritted her teeth and leaned forward.

“What other ones? I didn’t touch anybody else. Ask them. For all we know, they tripped and fell.”

Some part of you was proud to be deflecting all of this; the other knew Caitlyn wouldn’t just forgive and forget. If you got out with even so much as a fine, she would hunt you down.

“Third: "Forcibly" already indicates that it lacked authorization or consent to do whatever you are accusing me of. However...” Now the big finale. “Page 450 of the Piltover’s Government Guidelines, City Emergency chapter, 1st paragraph: any citizen of Piltover is allowed unauthorized entrance to the council chamber if the need to inform the council of a threat to the city is urgent and cannot be delayed. This entrance can be done even if the council is in session.”

You took a little pride in remembering this little snippet. Even if the reason you knew it was not because of your father. In fact, you knew it because Viktor had once made a miscalculation on a hextech concept that Jayce was about to present to the council. So he had burst into the room to try and warn their friend mid-session.

Turns out, saving your friend's face from total academic embarrassment is not a threat to the city.

“You must be really stupid.” At the insult, you narrowed your eyes. "Going on and on with your technicalities, knowing I can use it against you.”

There was one insult that had always made your blood boil. Stupid. You could be called dumb, ditzy, or unintelligent. Anything but stupid. Your Caitlyn knew that; your Caitlyn was the first to punch someone when they did it.

“My father is a lawyer, Miss Kiraman.” Your face turned cold, your tone hard. The shift was enough to make Caitlyn’s eyebrows go up for a millisecond. “He thrived on technicalities. And you can’t use shit from what I just said. You didn’t read me my rights. Nothing I said since you stepped foot in the room can or will be used against me. This…” You pointed between the two of you. “Is nothing more than two friends catching up. Your grief is clouding your judgment.”

For a second, the tension was as loud as a trumpet, and the silence was as thick as a fog. Caitlyn slammed her hands on the table and leaned into it, getting her face an inch away from yours, only to be stopped by someone shoving the door open.

“What are you doing, Miss Kiraman?” An unfamiliar female voice announced from behind you.

············ • ············

Viktor didn’t believe in luck.

Because if he did, all his accomplishments could have been derived from it. So he just didn’t believe in it much. Sure, maybe finding some coins on the floor was luck, but not much more than that.

Everything he did and does is to make sure nothing is left to luck or chance. Every number on the blackboard, every calculation on his blueprints.

But now, standing in the middle of the destroyed council room, Viktor felt lucky. Extremely lucky.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @adithsaley @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa

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paigesbasketball · 3 months ago

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A December to Remember

Paige x Reader Warnings: smut, cursing (i think) notes: I saw something similar to this months ago and though i would do a Christmas version.. Inspiration from: iceinmyveins on a03!

The holiday season was always a magical time of year. Snow fell softly, dusting the world in white, and the air was crisp with the chill of winter. But for you, this December felt especially full of surprises—and a little mischievous fun. Your girlfriend, Paige, had been teasing you with a mysterious “secret admirer” gift exchange that started on December 1st, and by now, you were fully caught up in the game.

It all began innocently enough: A small, beautifully wrapped gift appeared on your doorstep. You opened it to reveal a soft red scarf, the perfect shade to brighten up a cold winter day. A note attached simply said, “To make your days warmer.” You smiled, knowing that Paige had a playful side, and it felt just like something she’d do. But as the days went on, the gifts became more personal and more thoughtful. The 3rd brought a cozy blanket. On the 5th, a cute snow globe. On the 7th, a pair of fluffy socks that matched your style. Each one had a little note, each one a flirtatious tease.

By the time you hit December 12th, you were certain that Paige was behind it all. Her playful hints, the way the gifts reflected your tastes—there was no way it wasn’t her. You were thrilled and amused by it all. The mystery was exciting. But when you received another gift on the 14th—this one, a hand-knitted sweater—you knew Paige was stepping up her game.

But December 20th, the day before your team’s away game, brought even more confusion. You were in your hotel room with the rest of the team, preparing for the upcoming game when another gift arrived at your doorstep. You opened it quickly, expecting another thoughtful piece, and this time you found set of lingerie, a soft lavender. It wasn’t from Paige—was it? You still didn’t know, but now you were getting frustrated by the mystery. Had the gifts taken a wrong turn somewhere?

You decided it was time to talk to Paige about it, but there was no opportunity. The team was leaving for a series of games, and you were all holed up in a hotel for a few days. With a little time to kill before the evening’s game, you tried to ignore the strange gifts piling up, but your mind kept drifting back to them, trying to connect the dots.

The day of the game arrived, and the mystery surrounding the lingerie gift only deepened. You could feel your curiosity building. But before you could bring it up, you got another surprise. Paige wasn’t there when you returned to your room after the game, and there, on your bed, was a package. Another beautifully wrapped gift. You opened it to find a another set of lingerie. This one, a deep wine-red, more elaborate than the others, with delicate lace details. Your stomach did a flip.

You froze for a second before reading the attached note: “For when you’re ready. Merry Christmas.” It was signed with a small heart, the handwriting that didnt look fully like Paige’s. Your heart skipped a beat. The note sent a clear message—this was something more intimate, something that meant more than just a playful joke.

As you sat there holding the gift, the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, but confusion clouded your mind. Was this part of a larger surprise? Or was it a mistake in the grand plan? You were starting to feel overwhelmed and unsure of how to approach Paige with this gift.

“Hey, I got another gift from my secret admirer,” you said lightly, trying to gauge her reaction. Playing a cat and mouse game with her had to be one of the best aspects of your relationship

Paige's eyes narrowed almost immediately, a slight flicker of confusion crossing her face. She didnt sent you your gift today…atleast not yet…“Another one? What did they send this time?” Her voice was tight, and you could tell she wasn’t as playful as usual.

You hesitated for a moment before showing her the lingerie. “This came today… from my secret admirer.” You grinned, waiting for her reaction. But instead of a teasing smile, Paige’s face turned red with frustration.

“What the hell is this?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly. “I did not send this. Who the fuck sent you this? She paced in frustration, her hand rubbing her temples.

You blinked, a little stunned by her outburst. “Wait, what do you mean? You didn’t send it?”

“No!” she snapped. “I mean, i sent the others and I had a plan, and it wasn’t supposed to go like this. This wasn’t my idea! I don’t even want to know who did this, but clearly, someone is messing with me, and I’m pissed.”

You were taken aback by how upset she was. You had expected teasing and maybe some playful jealousy, but not this level of frustration. “Okay, so you didn’t do it. Who do you think it is?”

Paige took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “I don’t know. Maybe the team? They’ve been way too interested in my secret admirer game. I’ll bet they’re behind this.”

You frowned. “So, the lingerie…?”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” Paige muttered, her face flushed with both anger and embarrassment. “I had something sweet planned for you, not… this mess.” She glanced over at the lingerie, then back at you. “But now? I’ll make them pay. I’ll find out who did this, and when I do, they’re going to regret it.”

You sat there, still processing the sudden change in tone. “What are you going to do?” you asked, half-amused, half-nervous.

Paige smirked, her anger quickly turning to a devious grin. “Oh, I’m not going to let them off easy. I’ll make them pay for messing with my plans.”

The next day, you were all gathered at the hotel, preparing for the evening game, when Paige finally confronted the team. They were lounging in the lobby, clearly relaxed from their day off, when she stormed up to them, her eyes narrowed with determination.

“Alright, which one of you idiots thought it’d be funny to send my girlfriend lingerie?” Paige demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

The team members exchanged confused glances, trying to figure out if she was joking or genuinely angry. One of them, kk , raised her hand sheepishly. “Yeah, uh, sorry. We thought it would be funny.”

Paige’s eyes darkened. “Oh, it was funny, huh?” She smiled, but it wasn’t a nice smile. “Well, i can do something funny too.”

The team members laughed nervously, clearly unsure of what was coming. “What do you mean?”

Paige’s grin only widened. “You’ll see.”

Later that night, after the game had ended and everyone was winding down, Paige led you into her room. “I got my payback,” she said, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “And you won’t believe how. Let’s just say, they won’t forget this for a while.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “How so?”

Paige walked over to you, her eyes full of affection and something darker—playful and a little wicked. “Let’s just say they’ll be hearing of you tonight,” she whispered, before pulling you close and kissing you deeply.

She moved down to kissing your neck and sheds you of your clothes leaving you bare in front of her.. After she asks you to change into the lingerie that the team has so graciously given you.

Once you emerge from the bathroom she stares at you with a mix of hunger and a wicked as a small smile forms on her mouth. “You’ll help me with my prank won’t you honey” she says forming hickies on your neck, and rubbing the soft flesh of your breasts through the lace making my npples peak. “ I- umm do you think the team-” I was cut off with my own gasp as paige starts to rub the little nub of my clit. Whimpers fill the room as I try to be quiet and considerate to the team members in the hotel room next door. Little did I know thats what paige wanted.

She takes the hand that clamps over my mouth and the one that bunches her shirt and holds them in one hand of her own proving how bigger she is than me. My knees buckle as she shoves two fingers into my heat moving back and forth a couple time before she picks me up by the back of my thighs and throws me on the bed.

The next few hours passed in a blur of lovemaking and teasing moments between you and Paige. It was a Christmas to remember. When the team finally found out what Paige had done to get her revenge, they all knew better than to ever mess with her again. But it was clear: Paige had won this round—and she had made sure to end it with, a playful victory, and a promise that the best gifts were yet to come.

I do not usually write smut so i apologize for this....

-Caty Writes

#paige #uconn wbb #uconn huskies #catytuesdays #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers smut

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another-lost-mc · 3 months ago

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SHATTERED MIRRORS

PAIRING: Solomon x gn!Reader

SUMMARY: Trapped in the Devildom's murky past, Solomon is there to remind you that even if all else seems lost, you still have each other.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: Nightbringer angst. Vague worldbuilding that hints at a darker version of the Devildom. Bittersweet with a hopeful ending. 1k words.

A/N: There's so much in Nightbringer I wish we got to see, both in the past and future timelines, and this is my small contribution to exploring that untapped potential.

Sometimes it’s the little things Solomon does for you that makes you feel loved. No one wants to be ripped from their life and thrown into the past by some mysterious entity for mysterious purposes. The demon disguise you wear, weightless thanks to the complex spells Solomon casts on you before you leave the safety of Cocytus Hall every morning, still sits heavy on your shoulders like a burden. His magic envelopes you and fills you with warmth, a reminder that he’s always there to protect you even when he can’t be.

Because you can’t be yourself when you’re in this strange version of the Devildom, with its cobblestone streets not yet paved, or the line of unfamiliar shops and market stalls that sell food that’s much too spicy (or dangerous) for you to consume. You rush past countless shops and apothecaries, ignoring the tendrils of fear that shoot down your spine when you realize they still sell rare artifacts and reagents collected from celestial beings and human specimens that will be outlawed by royal decree long before the exchange program begins.

You can’t be yourself in this version of the Devildom, not with Diavolo and his faithful butler that are so familiar yet so foreign, younger than when you first met them. Their eyes are sharp and wary as tensions within the realm fluctuate thanks to its newest residents. There’s something guarded yet knowing in their expressions when they see you, and you have to remind yourself that despite the social and political drama surrounding Diavolo’s controversial plans, he is determined to succeed. It’s only now that you realize the lengths he’s willing to go to, and that relentless ambition is laced with the menacing power his title holds. Like every obstacle he’s faced, he weathers this storm with dignity. It’s almost instinct to want to offer your support for him, heartfelt reassurances that he can do this and you are proud of him. Every time you see him now, those thoughts wither like dying flowers on the vine because the Devildom’s prince has never felt more dangerous to you than he does now. You have to suppress the uneasy shudder that threatens to ripple through you each time his cheeks dimple with a lopsided, insincere smile that shows the tip of his fangs.

You can’t be yourself in this version of the Devildom, not in the House of Lamentation that is simultaneously familiar and unrecognizable at the same time. The rooms and hallways are easy to navigate, but you can’t help but notice the walls are covered in different photographs and paintings than the ones you’re used to seeing. The décor is fashionable but strange, reflecting trends of the current time, but it doesn’t feel like the home you’re used to. The brothers haven’t been here long enough so it lacks that lived-in charm: rooms remain intact, not yet destroyed then rebuilt, and familiar scuff marks on the floors and walls have yet to develop. The house still has that lingering musty smell like it was neglected and empty until recently. The bedroom you used to call your own feels foreign, neglected and cold because they’re unused to hosting guests (and you get the feeling guests are very much unwanted). It nearly breaks your heart when you instinctively walk in that direction and one of the demon brothers chides you with undisguised annoyance that there’s nothing over there, the room that needs cleanin’ is this way.

You can’t be yourself around the demon brothers either, not with their strange and unpredictable behaviour that leaves your patience frayed and fight-or-flight response on edge. Not long after you arrive at the House of Lamentation, you can hear Lucifer scolding Mammon from halfway across the house in an unfamiliar language that sounds too beautiful to be native to the Devildom. Even in his anger and frustration and despair, you realize Lucifer’s voice still carries the lyrical cadence of Celestial language, the place he and his brothers used to call home. It’s a harsh contrast to the dark wings and anger burning in Lucifer’s gaze when you see him in his demonic form. Their celestial garb and heavenly features are only memories of a not so distant past, and like Lucifer, his brothers are forced to wear the physical manifestation of their failure – the death of their sister, their shameful fall from grace. Part of you sympathizes with them even more now that you can see the raw aftermath of their demise, but part of you fears them too, the fractured versions of themselves held together with the growing power of their respective sins.

Every morning you wake up, homesick but determined to make the best of things, and Solomon helps you don your disguise and pushes a cup of tea into your hands. Every evening, you trudge back to Cocytus Hall, weary from spending all day pretending to be the attendant of seven unruly demons that look like the demon brothers you know but feel like poor substitutes at best. Solomon is usually waiting in your dorm, greeting you with a kiss while offering a hug and if needed, a shoulder to cry on. You make food together (while you handle most of the cooking and he helps set the table and wash the dishes). Later, you read together on the sofa or talk about the latest gossip or Devildom news, and Solomon updates you on his progress – or lack thereof – of finding a way home. Despite the hopelessness of it all, it feels bearable because Solomon is there to share those burdens and fill your heavy heart with hope. You can rest easy at night, laid down in your shared bed with Solomon’s arm draped over your waist, his gentle snores coaxing you to sleep after him, and no matter how bleak things seem, it feels like a promise that one day, everything will be alright again.

Read More: Obey Me Masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer #obey me solomon #solomon x reader #obey me solomon x reader #obey me x reader #obey me fanfic #x reader #gn!reader

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shooting-love-arrows · 1 year ago

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𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄 — 𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

SYNOPSIS: 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬!𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 characters and their yandere tendencies. PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 (!aged up to be a legal adult!) x reader [romantic]; 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 x reader [romantic]; 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 x reader [romantic]; 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 x reader [romantic]; 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐬 x reader [platonic]; readers gender isn't impiled/mentioned/specified Tw. delusion, delulu is the solulu, obsessive thoughts/behavior, possessive thoughts/behavior, witchcraft/dark magic, mention of love making, manipulations, controlling behavior, tyranny (?), concent? what is it?, stalking, worshiping, creepy behavior, creepy people, hunting, mention of m*rder, punishments, yeah… A/N: I hold Snow White close to my heart. However, as much as I adore the animated version, I find the book more interesting. So this is based on German fairy tale or folk tale, [Snow White] written by the Brothers Grimm (Jacob Ludwig Karl Grimm and Wilhelm Karl Grimm). Snow White is AGED UP!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 who thinks of you as her first, last and only love. She, just like most women her age, believes in soulmates. It's just so...romantic.

It happens that in her opinion, you're the one. Since the moment she lays her doe like eyes on you, she just knows that your souls are tied and destined to be one.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 fantasies about you. A lot. At first, those are innocent fantasies. Scenarios about you running around each other, playfully starting your courtship. Then your feelings shall grow deeper, the roots growing deep into your heart and so your courtship becomes more prominent and serious. Those playful touches become more affectionate. Holding a deeper meaning and reaching down into your essence of being. Then, you'll propose to her, in the most dreamy way one can imagine. Fret not, she'll (shout) say yes. Wedding preparations will follow soon after, then a grand, royal wedding itself and finally, you'll spend your first night together. Ah yes, the moment your bond will materialize in the form of a night full of passionate love making. The spiral goes on deep and each time 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 starts the imaginary movie roll over, her daydreams take a darker turn.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 becomes very needy for your attention. She's just so touch starved to be noticed by her object of affection that she's just about to do something to make you see her as your potential wife. She'll dress up for you, looking like a princess that she is, otherwordly beautiful and charming; make sure to sing when she knows you're near acting like a siren who is ready to catch you in her net of love; showing off her many talents especially those she knows will catch your attention and let her start a conversation with you. And every time you do talk, it's like the whole world disappears, leaving only you. You find it a little concerning with how much 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 sighs and flutters her long eyelashes. Sometimes you wonder if she even pays attention to what your saying (or worse, that you bore her), since she seems to be stuck in her head. And her eyes seemed to have that strange glint that appears only when she looks at you…

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞 starts being interested in witchcraft. It is an unexpected turn but I feel like she searched for something deeper. Knowing that your soulmates (it's her opinion) just isn't enough. She must be sure. A way to truly bind you together. So…uh…like mother, like (step) daughter?

Don't get me started on what she writes in her diaries…

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 who commands you to be her lover. Simple as that. She doesn't wait, nor ask for your opinion in that matter. After the (not so) mysterious disappearance of her husband – the King and Snow's White father – she'll have absolute power in the Queendom. And since she's the Queen and the most entitled person around, you'll have to comply with her wishes. Otherwise, she won't hesitate to force you to via poisons and dark magic.

She'll force feed you all sorts of aphrodisiacs, make voodoo dolls either of you or someone from your surroundings and in the end reduce you to being her puppet. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 doesn't need you to think. Just look pretty (but not as her) and submit to her entirely. Be her best and most treasured accessory, hm?

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 often uses a spying mirror to stalk you. Whenever she's not busy leading the Queendom or simply desires to see you, she'll sit in her lavish chambers and command her mirror to show you. She knows it can only tell her the truth and only the truth, so additionally she'll ask all sorts of questions about you. Are you loyal to her? Do you have a family she shuld take care of? Do you have feelings for someone? If she finds out that you do have and it's not for her, the very next day a public execution is made for your crush.

You're not safe from her wrath and mood swings either. Like mentioned before, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐄𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 isn't afraid to punish those who are against her in any way. She won't kill you but your punishments will be severe. Whipping and isolation are her way to go. Scars shall be your reminder to not cross her and loneliness borderlining to madness will thrust you right in her arms. Just like she didn't hesitate to assassinate Snow White, she'll make sure you understand your place and take your role as her lover seriously.

She's all you need now and in the future. Your family, close friends and anyone you had connection with were taken care of. You're her loyal subject, made to worship her and serve her by giving her your never ending supply of love and affection.

She'll make you see that.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 who is your devoted worshiper. He sees you as some sort of higher being, who graced this dirty Earth with your pure presence. Who has graced him and his hard life with a drop of your soothing presence. The moment you showed him some kindness, even unintentionally, he's ready to carve his heart out of his chest and be at your every beck and call.

Although he is no knight by no means, definitely lacking those virtues, he's skilled within his field of work. It means that whoever dares to bother you (even if they don't) or worse, taint you (start courting you) is automatically a threat he needs to eliminate. Just like 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 does to his prey, he'll haunt them deep in the great forest by shooting arrows at their running form. But unlike his usual ethics to make it as painless as possible to the animals, he’ll deliberately make sure to make this person suffer as much as possible. He's ruthless.

Don't be surprised when you'll find some ‘gifts’ from him. He's a man of a few words, not a drop of romance and hardened by life. Plus his yandere tendencies. So 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 gifts tend to be…disturbing. More often than not, you'll find already prepared quarries of his. You get furs, meat and even polished antlers/horns to hand in your chambers.

Of course, he'll remain anonymous through this whole time, because he doesn't feel worthy enough to officially make contact with you.

In the dark of the night, when he lays in his cot, he'll pray to you. That you'll allow him, a sinner, to be by your side. He doesn't dare (but secretly wishes) to be your lover, perhaps even your...husband? Whatever you'll pick, he'll agree on anything. He's that desperate for you.

One day…one day he'll overcome his insecurities and will speak to you…

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 who is a lovesick puppy, ready to marry you right then and there when his eyes fell on you for the first time. He's hopeless, really.

He's always there when you're out of the castle. Lurking just around the corner, ready to start luring you into coming with him. At first, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 offers are subtle but slowly and surely, they become bold. From promises to give you safety, stable life to making you his Queen and offering to conquer the Queendom as a wedding gift from him to you. He doesn't understand why you wouldn't want to come with him. He's the crown prince, only heir to a prosperous kingdom and a future king, ready to shower you in gold, gifts and power before you could even think of it.

He's a gifted singer and poet. He'll use that to his advantage to catch your attention, especially when you're in the castle where 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 obviously can't go. If it's possible, he'll stop his horse just under your window, hop down and that's when the performance starts. He'll sing ballads about your beauty, recites all sorts of poetry also related to love, sometimes even pray for you to come and grace him with your presence. His words are easily pouring out of his mouth in abundance. They're all about how he deeply feels towards you or about you. And he sincerely hopes they'll trap your heart.

In the dark of the night, he'll look at the portrait of you he had commissioned shortly after meeting you. Of course it didn't do your justice at all but it was just to pass the time until he'll have the real you by his side. He'll sigh dreamily at the canvas, whispering words of pure adoration for you.

His patience is running thin and the wedding day is nearing so fast...!

✿ BONUS ✿

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐟𝐬 [platonic] who are fiercely overprotective of you. They are greedy and dangerous beings by nature. They’ve killed before and they have no problem doing that again. Especially when some pathetic excuse of a pests seemed to be lurking around their hut, where they were keeping you locked in. There are seven of them, ripped with muscles because of a daily work in the mines and without any remorse in them. The opponent stands no chance.

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

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go-go-devil · 9 months ago

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I still really love the reveal that The Pink Opaque was always a show meant for much younger kids as opposed to the teen action show we're first presented with, but mostly due to how well the film tricks us into seeing it the way Owen & Maddie saw it.

Really it's so painfully obvious right from the get go that this is a kids show: Maddie defensively stating that its "too scary for kids" despite being on a young adult channel, the first episode we see having a plot revolving around wishing the ice cream man delivered ice cream all year long, the show's villains having very cutesy names, Isabelle & Tara's pink ghost tattoos being very cartoony, etc.

Yet we the audience see the Ice Cream Man as a grotesque monster with far more disturbing practical effects than the very low-budget real version. We see all the characters appearing older than they actually are. We see dark, dramatic themes of being trapped in a false identity slowly poisoned from the inside in the final episode only because by that point we've become JUST as personally invested in the show as our main characters do.

Upon getting to the reveal that what we saw wasn't actually a Buffy the Vampire Slayer kind of show but actually more along the level of Goosebumps, we end up questioning our memories of the show just as Owen did seeing it again after all those years because it seems so unreal! How can we possibly deny all the intense, compelling drama we just witnessed?!

One might call this a commentary on how nostalgia can blind us to a show's actual quality as we grow older, but personally I see it more as how one's attachment to a show can end up LITERALLY changing it into something else entirely.

Now I never watched Buffy and can't relate to all the references the film gives to it, but as someone who frequently watched My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic as a teen despite not at all being the target audience I can heavily relate to what Owen and Maddie saw in The Pink Opaque.

It didn't matter that the show wasn't actually as intense and well-written as they thought, what mattered was that the show gave them EXACTLY what they needed at that time in their life. Owen saw herself in Isabelle, just as Maddie found her true self through her love for Tara. It allowed the pair to bond and form a real fulfilling friendship during hard times. Their warped memories of the show aren't stupid, they stem from what happens when a piece of art has such a profound effect on us to the point where it ends up shaping our very lives!

The Pink Opaque was never a groundbreaking show with any ounce of queer themes in its narrative, but it helped Owen realize she was trans, and in the end that's all that really matters. 💖👻

#I saw the tv glow #I saw the tv glow spoilers #film analysis #just had to get this off my chest #sorry about that ;-)

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adventures-in-mangaland · 5 months ago

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Dead Boy Detectives Fic Recs Part 6

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Sorry its been a while, last month was crazy! Not too crazy for my emotional support fandom, though! You guys are giving me life. So please have another fic rec list. :)

We two boys together clinging by Aliquis

Charles and Edwin explore their romantic and sexual hangups and also help Crystal search for Niko. This fic has everything: excellent writing, developing relationship, rituals, first time, Beltane, a hot priest. This is already a fandom classic and now I've finally read it, I can confirm it's very good! Read the rest of the series too!

The stranger the better by ghostinthelibrary

Everyone's alive and basically the supernatural version of the Men in Black. I love the whole series, but this installment has the boys' first meeting, Edwin insisting he doesn't need a new partner, office gossip and an intriguing case. The prequel also has palasaki and background catwin! Anyway, I'm obsessed with this AU.

Partridge in a Pear Tree by Vamillepudding

Cinderella AU! Charles is basically a Disney Princess and Edwin is Secretly The Prince, it's wonderful. I also loved the worldbuilding and nods to old school Cinderella lore, like the gift-giving tree. So charming, highly recommended.

Wunderkammer by dear_monday, two_ravens

Edwin and Charles (and later Crystal) are functionally immortal and running a magical museum. This fic has a fantastic sense of place (the Athenaeum is a character in its own right) and an intriguingly gothic horror vibe with its sentient exhibits, doors into other planes and unnerving nonchalance about disappearing staff and guests. I would probably die, but I would absolutely go there.

pinch me (I don't want this to be a dream) by shadowquill17

The pince-nez fic! Charles finds a pair of glasses that show him a person's desires. Then he looks at Edwin. It goes about as well as you'd expect. It was inspired by this wonderful comic by technically-human so check that out too!

Let Me Follow by LikeMmmCookies

Time loop fic! The boys get trapped in Crystal's mind, replaying the day of Charles' death. Only Edwin is the New Boy in school and he's alive... Fantastic concept, so intriguing. Plus Crystal being a badass, The Sandman crossovers and Niko!

Oaths of the Forsworn by e_va

Vampire AU! The boys meet while Charles is dying so Vampire!Edwin agrees to turn him. The story is ongoing, but so far it's been focusing on Charles coping with being a fledgling vampire. Compelling.

lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate by KiaraSayre

Edwin is in Hell. Or is he? Fabulous writing, Hell worldbuilding and gut-wrenching detail. Cw for body horror and torture.

'Cause You Cut Through All the Noise by DontOffendTheBees

Edwin doms Charles in a therapeutic and non-sexual way. That's it and it's great. I loved this for its exploration of intimacy, trust and kink.

Instructions on Being by thewritingotter

Everyone is Alive Modern AU based on an AITA post featuring Charles convincing himself he's homophobic when he realizes he hates Edwin dating other men. It sounds like a funny premise, but really brings the angst and poignancy.

in an alternate timeline's light by plentyghost

Charles finds comics!Edwin hiding in the office. Sweet.

Become So Numb by snowkatze

AU where the Night Nurse doesn't help Charles and Edwin spends another 50 years in Hell. Loved Edwin's mechanism for escape, kind-of-dark Charles and the angsty reunion.

unidentified affectionate object by lyres

Edwin is struck by a curse that manifests his feelings as random objects. Good thing Charles isn't also effected... Very cute with mild angst and a happy ending.

between you and me, suddenly something is on my mind by lolotr

Beach episode! A proper one. Just fun, friendship and emotional support. Plus Edwin in an Edwardian swimming costume, complete with a handy visual aid.

Other Types of Intimacy by Asidian

After a tough case, Edwin takes care of Orb!Charles. (Chorb? Is this chorbwin?) I guess I have a thing for non-sexual intimacy. Seriously, though, what could be more beautiful than someone cuddling your soul?

(black is the colour) of my true love's hair by ObsessedWithFandom

Charles has long hair: the fic. Interesting ghost lore with Charles' hair kind of working like his mood-ring polo and growing when he's happy. And this is an established relationship payneland fic, so lately he's been very happy. 😜 Honestly, as a child of the 80s, Charles deserves to have long hair. I need more fanart!

@ghostinthelibrarywrites @shadowquill17 @tumblerislovetumblerislife @lolotr @technically-human @dont-offend-the-bees @neurodivergent-fangirling @fishy-lava @many-gay-magpies @cordelia-noir @whatthehorsedoicallthisblog @shazziez @extremely-eager-reader @atariakana @tragedy-machine @guardianspirits13 @colourmornings @herebehunters @dearheartdont @avoiceofnerat @littlepocketuniverse @overlord-of-chaos @fairandfatalasfair @handwrittenhello @every-moment-a-different-sound

I've added some tags for people who left fun tags/comments on previous lists. Let me know if you'd like me to add you on the next one. :)

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stayteezdreams · 10 months ago

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Finding out BF!TXT are Supernatual Creatures {scenarios}

Scenarios: Finding out your boyfriend is a supernatural creature

Pairings: Soobin x Gn!Reader; Yeonjun x Gn!Reader; Beomgyu x Gn!Reader; Taehyun x Gn!Reader; and Huening Kai x Gn!Reader

{Stray Kids Version} {Ateez Version}

Warnings: n/a

Requested by: @otakutrash669

A/n: Not me low-key wanting to write full-fics about some of these (mainly Soobin and Yeonjun's)??? There are probably a lot of stories and myths surrounding the Imugi, so I went with one that fit my personal narrative for these headcanons

Words: 2k

Soobin (Fallen-Angel):

Soobin was a guardian Angel who fell by choice.

He wanted to live as a human so he left his duties as a Guardian Angel, but once mortal still had remnant powers.

When he met you, he was drawn to you and felt as though he needed to protect you.

It turns out you were one of his destined souls to protect, but you were left alone when he chose to become human.

He decided to keep an eye on you, and accidentally met you when he saved you from being side-swiped by a car.

You ended up becoming friends, and Soobin ended up falling for you fairly quickly after that.

Not long into your relationship, Soobin decided to tell you about his past and what he was.

You obviously thought he was joking, but he proved it with one of his powers (teleportation).

You were stunned but in awe.

He expected you to feel betrayed or scared, but you weren't.

You trusted him, even after he told you he abandoned you when he became human.

"But you came back to me."

"Yes, I did."

He showed you the rest of his powers, and told you many stories of his life as an Angel.

You become somewhat withdrawn after some time and Soobin grew worried.

After pressing you for answers, you admitted that you felt unworthy of his love after learning about what he was and what he had experienced.

But he reassured you he loved you more than anything and found himself to be the unworthy one.

"I have never been drawn to someone like this. I have never loved as deeply."

You started referring to him as Angel, which to others was just a cute pet-name, but to you two was an inside joke and secret.

Yeonjun (Fox/Familiar):

Surprise! You are secretly a witch, you just don't know it!

The only person who does is Yeonjun.

You met Yeonjun one day when he just showed up at your work place.

He started to linger and you often caught him watching you. You thought he was handsome and mysterious.

Slowly he started to talk to you, and you became friends, but not for long before he asked you on a date. Your relationship grew from there and you started dating.

When you started to spend more time at each others houses, you started to pick up on odd things.

Things you needed or wanting suddenly being nearby. Flickering lights when you get upset.

Yeonjun somehow always knowing when you needed help.

Not to mention a fox you noticed lingering in your yard a lot, who seems to watch you.

"I think I'm being haunted."

"Or maybe its something else."

"Like what?"

"Magic."

You started to think Yeonjun knew something you didn't and grew suspicious.

He began noticing you growing uneasy and figured it was time to tell you.

But one day, it all came to a head when you woke up to find everything in your room floating, including you.

You and all of the objects fell to the ground and you called Yeonjun in fear.

When he appeared faster than humanly possible, you knew he had to know what was going on.

So he explained.

He was a familiar without a witch, and one day he sensed your magic trapped in your body and wanted to help you find it.

He explained everything, and how he had slowly been using his own abilities to draw the magic out of you.

You were confused, and took this as him tricking you, fearing he was only with you for the use of your magic, and that he didn't actually have feelings for you.

Yeonjun admitted that at first he had no feelings for you, but wanted to get closer to your magic.

A familiar without a witch often felt useless and alone, and their magic increases once they bond with a witch.

But he had truly fallen for you early on, and wanted to be with you while helping you to discover your magic.

You weren't sure what to do, so you asked him for some space.

A week passed and you had come to terms with your newfound abilities, and were curious to learn more.

You also found that you missed Yeonjun, even if you weren't sure you could trust him.

But you accepted that he was the only one who could help you. So you reached out.

He was happy and enthusiastic, but you told him you still needed time to decide if you wanted to be with him romantically.

He understood, though was saddened by this.

So, he waiting, while he helped you to discover your magic and acted as your teacher and familiar.

You knew your feelings for him were still prevalent, as were his.

Eventually you gave in and accepted you wanted to be with him.

He was relieved and ecstatic, and promised he would never keep anything from you again.

Beomgyu (Imugi):

The Imugi is a large magical water Serpent, that after 1000 years can choose to become a full-fledged dragon.

However, there was one, who chose to become human instead.

When Beomgyu finally did become human, he adapted very quickly.

You met at school, and thought he was a bit odd, but cute.

He often seemed to be unaware of many simple or well-known things. And often asked a lot of questions.

He told you he had just been sheltered his whole life and you took his word for it. Not asking too any questions for fear of bringing up painful memories.

Yet at the same time, he knew about niche things you had never imagine he would know about.

You became friends and then after a few years, gave into your feelings.

The two of you had only been dating for a short time when Beomgyu decided to tell you what he was.

You thought he was just making a weird joke, but the more time that passed and he didn't reveal it was a joke the more you grew uncertain.

Was he secretly a bit crazy? Was his past more "sheltered" than you thought? Or was he telling the truth?

The last option seemed the craziest of them all, but he proved it to you by showing you the remnants of his past serpent-nature.

Meaning, he grew horns and scales appeared across his cheeks, chest and hands.

You were startled and speechless and he was afraid he scared you.

Honestly you were a bit afraid, but not necessarily of him.

Your world had suddenly been changed in the span of a few seconds, and now you knew magic creatures like serpents and dragons existed.

Once the pure astonishment wore away, you grew curious and exited.

And Beomgyu was more than happy to tell you all about the world he was from. Magic, creatures, and immortality.

He made you promise to keep his secret, which you of course agreed too. Though you sometimes wished you could brag about your magical boyfriend to someone.

Taehyun (Vampire):

So many people on your college campus were attracted to Kang Taehyun.

He was mysterious, attractive, and had an air about him no one could really describe.

He was often called the Siren of the campus.

But, there was only one person he was attracted to. You.

You were weary of him, uncertain if you should trust someone like him.

He could sense this so he was cautious in approaching you, befriending you slowly and delicately.

Eventually you gave into his advances and started to hang around him more.

You learned that he was much kinder and softer than he appeared on the outside.

He was upfront about his growing feelings for you, and though you did not mention your own, you felt the same.

Eventually, just as you did before, you gave in and accepted you had fallen for him.

As your relationship grew, you started to become aware that he was hiding something from you. But you weren't sure what exactly.

Taehyun himself, had begun growing restless.

He wasn't expecting his feelings for you to become so strong. He began wanting a future with you, and the more he realized this was impossible, the more conflicted he became.

Eventually, he grew distant, pulling away, and inevitably breaking it off with you suddenly.

Your heart was broken and you needed to know why but he would not tell you.

One day, when doing a research project for your history class, you were going through past yearbooks of your college. A name caught your eye. Kang Taehyun.

Finding the matching photo you were stunned to see he had not only the same name but the same face as your now ex-boyfriend.

The photo was from over 50 years prior. Was it Taehyun's father? Or maybe grandfather?

The more you thought about it, the more you realized you knew nothing of Taehyuns family apart from a few short stories.

You started to put things together in your mind, and as crazy as you thought you might be, you needed to know.

So you found Taehyun, placed the photo in front of him and waited for him to explain.

He knew he could give you excuses, make something up, but he missed you, and hated how he hurt you. So he gave in and told you the truth.

He didn't need to prove it for you to believe him.

Taehyun explained that he didn't think his interest in you would become what he felt was true love, but he knew you couldn't be together forever unless he turned you or watched as you grew old and die.

You talked for a long time and after some time decide to be together, Taehyun knew he would rather be with you than leave you behind.

He left the choice to you if you would let him turn you, or if you would stay with him for as long as you could, mortal and immortal.

The choice is yours.

Huening Kai (Fairy):

Everything about your relationship with Kai was normal.

He was sweet and beautiful and he thought the same of you.

You always knew there was something ethereal about him but you figured it was just your imagination and his general vibe.

So what if animals seemed to never be afraid of him? And the fact that sunlight seems to sparkle on his skin.

So what if you sometimes saw him out of the corner of your eye and thought he had wings, or some type of halo aura surrounding him. It was just your mind playing tricks.

You called him your Disney Prince and he thought it was cute, but you always noticed a peculiar twinkle in is eye when you talked about these things it him.

One day, when you caught him off guard, you found him standing out in the sun, and the wings sprouting from his back were definitely not your imagination.

You stared at him in awe, watching as the sunlight seemed to absorb into his skin.

When he finally noticed you, everything surrounding him disappeared in a second, as if he shut a light off.

You were stunned, speechless, confused.

He approached you cautiously, afraid to frighten you or freak you out.

He was not expecting you to snap back into reality with a loud "I KNEW IT"

You were relieved to no longer be plague with the thoughts that something was wrong with you. And amazed to know you had been dating a....well, whatever he was.

After asking, Kai explained. He was the son of a fairy and a human. Mortal, but magical.

He shared his history with you, and his magic, and the struggles he had always keeping it from you.

He was warned to keep it a secret, told to by his parents to keep him safe. But he loved you, and wanted you to know, but wasn't sure when or how to tell you.

No that you found out he was relieved he didn't have to hide it anymore.

You ended up meeting with his parents and discussing everything, and you promised that you would never tell his secret, and you would help keep it and him safe.

Thought a bit cautious, his parents finally accepted it, and allowed you to stay with him.

Kai does not quite like his knew nickname 'Fairy Princess' as much as his previous one though.

General Taglist: @otsilliak, @brattybunfornct, @bahng-chrizz, @otakutrash669, @tinyelfperson, @pinievsev, @teenyfinds, @everythingboutkpop

TxT Taglist: @thunderous-wolf, @briqnne, @crazyformfics Yeonjun & Soobin: @hongjoongsprincess, @dear-dreamie, Yeonjun: @ye0nvibezzn

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chippedchina-teacup · 27 days ago

Text

Summary: And everything was going so well.

Word Count: 5,589

Warnings: Day drinking, arranged marriage, complicated family relationships, Walburga Black and her typical bullshit, If I've forgotten something don't hesitate to let me know

Next Chapter

A/N: So, I fucked up just a little bit, and when I posted this part last Friday it was from an older version. I literally edited and posted a version of this chapter from several edits ago, and didn't realize it. This continued on to the second chapter, which I posted today, and then I panicked and made both chapters private posts until I got home from work. Either way, it's fixed now and you can expect chapter three next Friday.

As the eldest daughter of an ancient pureblood family, (Y/N) Grey had an understanding, from a very young age, that she was to be watched constantly. Every move made, every stray comment – if such a thing even existed, every piece of clothing worn, would be observed, and then judged. From that judgment, an opinion would be formed. This opinion, once formed, could not, and would not, be easily changed, and this opinion, this opinion based on nearly nothing, would determine how not only how (Y/N)’s life would go, but the lives of her siblings – her older brother’s, and later her younger sister’s, lives and reputations would, at least in part, be determined by her own actions.

It was this very opinion, in fact, that every young witch’s reputation was based on. As far as anyone within the acceptable families in society were concerned, (Y/N) could have killed a man in cold blood in the middle of Diagon Alley during broad daylight, and she still would have been seen as a respectable young lady from the right sort of family with a good upbringing, so long as she was careful not step outside of her predetermined place in society.

In order to make absolutely certain that the family name ‘Grey’ remained in the good graces of the so-called Sacred 28 (and, as her grandmother had so often reminded her, might one day join the rest of the 28 on the pureblood registry), there were certain things that were expected of her. Certain behaviors and actions were highly encouraged - and others were actively discouraged, if not outright forbidden.

When she was only three years old, (Y/N)’s mother, Anne Grey (née. Bulstrode), had signed her daughter up for ballet lessons. When little (Y/N), with wide innocent eyes and an inquisitive tilt to her head, had asked her mother why, why she had to have ballet lessons while her much-adored older brother was permitted to take fencing lessons, her mother’s answer was simple: “To help you become more graceful.”, this response was paired with a firm guiding hand on the young girl’s back as the mother and daughter entered the large open studio for the first time.

Her mother’s answer was one far too simple for (Y/N) to understand at the time, but it didn’t matter. As always, (Y/N) did as was expected of her. In time, she came to enjoy those lessons. It was one of the few times she wasn’t being watched by the predatory gazes of the 28 - who took every moment to look for any perceived misdeed, and reveled in the destruction of their victim’s reputation.

Her instructor for those lessons had been a squib born to a pureblood family who, when she showed no talent for magic, had sent her to live with a distant cousin in far-off Russia. She had had no talent for magic, true enough, but had excelled in ballet under the careful tutelage of her government-sponsored instructor, and soon found herself travelling the world as part of the renowned Bolshoi Ballet.

Now unable to perform after having broken her ankle some years back, Madame Markova, as she was known to her students, taught ballet to young girls from families like hers. She did not envy them, she did not coddle them. Instead, she welcomed muggle girls into her classes as well, forcing women who, like her mother, placed too much value in blood purity to swallow their pride if they wanted their daughters in her class. And they did.

It was for this reason, and this reason alone, that (Y/N) had decided almost immediately after meeting her new instructor that she liked her very much - it took a special kind of person to leave Druella Black speechless as she had been the first morning when she was given a thorough scolding from the other woman, who had told her, when Druella criticized Narcissa’s form to “...either do better yourself, or keep that ugly mouth of yours shut and let my girls learn,”.

The older woman had a way about her that prompted terror at the very thought of letting her down, and every girl in her class did her best to prevent such a devastating thing from ever happening. In turn, Madame Markova taught her girls to be the best – as she had been – and would allow no outside interference in her methods. After all, it was of the utmost importance to women like Walburga Black and her cousin Druella that the children of the 28 were given the very best, taught by the very best, and, in some situations, even they had to make an exception to their own self-imposed code of bigotry. Specifically, if the best of the best made it quite clear what would happen otherwise.

Other things that (Y/N) needed to learn, however, were able to be taught by witches and wizards either unwilling or unable to stand up to the 28. (Y/N)’s etiquette lessons, her horseback riding lessons, and just about anything else that it was decided in some arbitrary fashion that good daughters of wealthy pureblood families with the right sort of upbringing should learn in order to be considered respectable young ladies with a good upbringing, were taught by wizarding tutors approved of and used by members of the 28.

The result was that anything and everything said in those lessons would, eventually, get back to the rest of the 28. Even so, (Y/N) could usually count on her tutors, to some extent, being willing to indulge her whims, so long as she had a proper chaperone, in fear of upsetting any member of the 28 – even, maybe especially, the children whose mothers would conveniently arrange for their disappearance.

(Y/N), eventually accompanied by her younger sister Claire, would often be permitted to roam the winding trails of the forest on their family’s property. Their half-terrified instructor trailing behind them afraid of what might happen to him if one of the girls was to be injured, even on accident.

(Y/N) and her older brother, Kieran, before Hogwarts, had been allowed to act out various scenes from the older boy’s history of magic textbooks. Their play fighting with wooden swords and play wands, enchanted to give the illusion of giving off harmless ribbons of light, clashing as the duo rounded the corners of the many hallways of their parents’ large manor home, often startling unsuspecting servants or men visiting their father on business. When, inevitably, one of them tripped, usually Kieran after tripping over his own feet or getting his wooden sword caught in (Y/N)’s skirt, their mother would rush to their aid from either the library or the drawing room to make sure her oldest two were alright. Occasionally little Claire would toddle out after her and would start giggling and pointing her fingers in delight at the mess that was made, and everyone would dissolve into fits of laughter.

As Claire got older and was able to keep up with her older siblings’ adventures, the three would often sneak off to the kitchens – to help the house elves or the kitchen maids with decorating little cakes and pastries, or to steal a biscuit or two and make sure they were good enough to be served. Mrs. Turner would always scold them for it, claiming they would spoil their appetites, all the while fighting a smile from overtaking her face as the siblings would grasp their spoils, wrapped neatly in a clean handkerchief, and scamper off to enjoy the treats in the garden.

It wasn’t any of this that really caused a problem for (Y/N). Her life, especially her early childhood, was comfortable and filled with wonderful memories.

Her father, Joseph, made a good living working for the ministry and was able to spoil his children with the money he had inherited as the heir to the Grey family when his father had passed. Both the London townhouse and the country estate were fully staffed with freed house elves and human servants alike, ready and willing to cater to the family’s every whim.

Anne spent her time volunteering at various charitable organizations, hosting dinner parties, and having beautiful dresses for any and every occasion made. If she wasn’t addressing invitations in the library or having a dress of the latest fashion fitted in her dressing room, she would usually be found in the drawing room embroidering, or reading, or entertaining her younger daughter with stories of adventure and romance or beautiful red sparkles the same way she had (Y/N) and Kieran when they had been little.

Kieran, while a few years older than (Y/N), had been incredibly close to his sister. It was the two of them against the world, especially when one of them needed an excuse to avoid one of the many social events the 28 held, and that they were expected to attend.

(Y/N)’s darling baby sister Claire, nearly eleven years younger, was the wild child of the three. Brave and adventurous, she lived to cause trouble, always wreaking havoc on the hosts of the dinner parties and galas (Y/N) and her family would attend. Never anything too awful, mostly it was harmless fun, but the one time, when Claire had decided to let a few pixies loose in the Black family’s ballroom during their annual Black and White gala, it was a complete and utter disaster. It was lucky for Claire, and the rest of her family too, that Orion, strange man that he is, found the entire situation rather funny. Had he not, it would have been a rather disturbing evening for little Claire, one where there would have been little anyone could have done to protect her.

No. None of this was the problem. What caused issues for (Y/N) was how very careful she had to be when making even the smallest of decisions. Her family was loving and kind, gracious and generous. They didn’t agree with much when it came to the ideologies of the 28. It was only a sense of self-preservation and a deep understanding that they alone would be unable to make any changes by crossing swords with those in power that prevented them from breaking with all but the most archaic of traditions. These were, perhaps, traits more common in those who had been sorted Slytherin in school, and with few exceptions, the Grey family had been almost exclusively comprised of Slytherins for nearly three hundred years – a fact they were all well aware they were ridiculously proud of, and which had become something of a family joke over the years.

While (Y/N)’s parents abhorred many of their peers’ actions, while they may have raised their children far differently than them, there was only so much that could be done to protect them from the realities of life within the 28. Eventually, (Y/N) knew, certain things that were expected of respectable young ladies from the right sorts of families with good upbringings, would be expected of her. Certain things that no one would be able to stop from happening, no matter how much they may or may not have wanted to.

When (Y/N) had just turned fourteen, Claire was three, her mother sat them both down on her favorite sofa in her favorite drawing room, and told her that, one day, not too far in the future, she would be expected to marry an upstanding young gentleman from the right sort of family with a good strong upbringing. That she would be expected to do her part to help raise the next generation of the 28. Anne explained all of this with a misty, faraway look in her eyes. As if she were remembering a time so long ago when her own mother had told her the same thing. And it had been nearly twenty years since that day, and nearly the same amount of time since she had married (Y/N)’s father. A man she had come to love with everything in her when, on their wedding night, he had not forced himself on her as she had expected he would, and whom she had loved more and more each year since.

It was the closest (Y/N) had ever come to rebelling. She had stood straight up from the sofa, hair bouncing off her back as she did so. She had wanted to scream, to shout. To tell the world that it wasn’t fair that she should have her whole future decided for her, despite how well it had turned out for her parents, simply because of the family she was born into. Instead, she had stood there for a second, taken a deep breath, and composed herself. (Y/N) had politely excused herself, ignoring Claire’s curious questions as to where she was going, and gone up the stairs to her bedroom as if in a trance. She could feel herself pulling out the chair to her desk, smoothing the back of her dark-grey wool skirt, sitting down in the chair and reaching for her favorite quill and ink and a sheet of the creamy stationery emblazoned with her initials. She saw her hands move across the page with the practiced grace of a young lady from the right sort of family with a good upbringing as she poured her heart out to her dearest friend, Regulus Arcturus Black, via the letter.

It was only as she stood in the owlery, nearly an hour later, with dried tears still staining her cheeks, as she gently stroked the feathers of her favorite owl that she felt the rest of that trance-like state slip away. Stealing herself, (Y/N) attached the letter, sealed with dark green wax and her personal seal, to her owl’s leg, whispered the desired destination to the owl with a cracked voice, and sent her off.

The next morning at Breakfast (Y/N) received Regulus’s response. He had done his best to try and comfort her, but he knew, much like anyone else with a similar upbringing, that there would be nothing he could do to help. Besides, he had pointed out in his typically wryly practical way, the earliest she could be married off to anyone was eighteen, four years off yet, and even then, there was no guarantee that her parents would arrange a marriage for her so soon after graduation.

In the end, it didn’t matter, when (Y/N) showed her mother the letter Anne had agreed that Regulus was correct. It would be the most likely course of action for her and her husband to wait for some time before arranging for any sort of suitors to meet their eldest daughter. (Y/N)’s parents, as unusual as it may have been for anyone associated with the 28, did not wish to see their children miserable – even at their own expense. And (Y/N), as they had often reminded her, had always had a good head on her shoulders – this was said by the older woman with a fondly exasperated look at Claire who was busy sneaking pastries off the table and onto her lap for her energetic cruppy sitting at her feet. The toddler froze when she felt her mother’s gaze on her, and gave her best attempt at the smile she’d seen her older sister give to her tutors when she wanted something.

No, (Y/N) would have nothing to worry about. And with that, the subject was dropped.

–

When (Y/N)’s eighteenth birthday finally came around, she was able to celebrate her graduation and having received the highest marks in Slytherin for her class, with only a few close friends and a couple of drinks at a bar in London. No fiancé in sight.

Regulus gave her a bracelet, an intricately designed silver one resembling a snake. If the head of the snake was pulled away from where it rested against its body, a small silver dagger was revealed – he’d told her how he found it at an antique shop in a heavily magical arrondissement of Paris run by an old man who’d brought it back from his travels through Spain many years before.

“I love it, Reg,” she had said, words muffled by his dress shirt as she pulled him into a tight hug, his own arms wrapped around her tightly, his nose buried in her hair. Severus, who had broken away from his studies as an apprentice potioneer for the evening, had shot him a look, not so successfully hiding his accompanying smirk behind his glass.

(Y/N), finally pulling away and missing Regulus’s familiar warmth the second she had, gave him a watch - silver with a black leather band, much like the one he had worn in school. The back was engraved with the date of his graduation, and the first few lines of his favorite poem. It was, perhaps, two years too late for it to be considered a proper graduation gift, but he hadn’t been able to attend his own graduation ceremony - having been off on some hair-brained scheme that had left him with unending nightmares, chronic pains that wracked his body and a nasty limp no healer had been able to do anything about, save for suggesting he use a cane. It was probably then, several days before he would turn twenty, and nearly a year since he had lost almost everything, that Regulus first started to realize how he truly felt for the young woman who had been his best, and sometimes only, friend for much of his childhood.

The following year, at nineteen, (Y/N) found herself being offered a job at the Daily Prophet. Just a short twice-weekly anonymous gossip column.

“We’ll sell papers by the dozen!” the frenzied editor had exclaimed, hastily shoving a quill behind her ear and grasping (Y/N)’s hands, pulling her out of the chair she had been sat in and dancing the pair about the room, (Y/N) laughing with glee as the other woman spun them about the cramped office in delighted half-mad circles, “Just think!” she had continued, spinning (Y/N) back into her seat and sending the wheeled chair skidding to a sudden stop next to a pile of haphazardly stacked papers and books, “You’ll have access to so much more with your connections!” And it was true. While the column entailed the fairly simple business of chronicling some of the juicier bits of information she, as a member of the 28, was privy to, it was enough to spark an interest in pursuing a further career at the paper, and the former Slytherin did so with all the ambition and fervor that could be expected of any of her peers.

Shortly after turning twenty, with still no sign of any impending engagement, she was offered a more permanent position as an investigative journalist for The Prophet. With the new job came an increase in pay, and (Y/N) found herself moving out of her parent’s home and into a small flat not too far from the office.

“Are you sure, darling?” her mother had asked when (Y/N) had suggested doing so over breakfast one morning.

“Oh, yes,” she replied, pouring milk into her tea and stirring in the sugar. She offered a smile to Millie - a new housemaid hired only a few weeks before - as she placed a fresh batch of toast on the table, “It should save a small fortune in floo powder, being able to walk to work in the morning, and I’d like the opportunity to better learn my way around the city.” her mother relented, agreeing that it was probably a good idea for (Y/N) to do so, reminding her that her room would always be available to her should she choose to stay over. It wasn’t long after moving into her own apartment - only a few blocks from the office, and with excellent views of London, according to her realtor - that (Y/N)’s morning walk to work included a stop at a small local café for a coffee and a pastry on the way.

Three days before she turned twenty-one, Kieran announced his engagement to a pretty witch who had been in her dorm during her seventh year. She was a half-blood, raised by her pureblood father after her mother’s untimely death when she was a child. After the announcement was made in that morning’s edition of the Prophet, all five members of the Grey family and Kieran’s fiancée, Serena, sat gathered together in the sitting room of the Grey family’s townhome. They waited with baited breath for some sort of retaliation - be it letters or uninvited visitors hoping to announce their displeasure to the gathered family. Serena’s family, however, was wealthy, and her father was from a well-respected family with enough sway within the ministry for it to be a very bad idea to speak out against the match if you valued your career and social standing.

The match was accepted, and only a few short months later, they were married.

(Y/N) turned twenty-three without incident. Maybe some slight sadness at the sight of all of her friends getting married and starting families of their own, except it was rarely because it was what they wanted. It was all done in the name of ensuring the future of the 28, (Y/N) couldn’t help but thank Morgana that she wasn’t among the year’s collection of blushing brides destined to be absolutely miserable in the next few years – if they weren’t already.

“Just be glad your parents haven’t set you up with someone like Rodolphus,” Narcissa had said to her over a late lunch one day, barely suppressing a shudder as she thought of her brother-in-law, “Bella was never the most stable, but with him.” she trailed off, a haunted guilt look in her blue eyes - she still felt guilty, having found some measure of happiness with Lucius.

“I suppose you’re right,” (Y/N) set down her tea cup, gently placing a hand over Narcissa’s, “as you always are in these situations.” she older of the two gave a tight lipped smile, still upset about her sister’s match.

It was something that had become increasingly apparent with each wedding attended and each birth announcement received that the best any daughter of The 28 could hope for was to not end up in the same situation as Balatrix Lestrange (née. Black). These women, these bright young witches who could have made so much of themselves if only given the chance, were worth little more than the children they would give birth to and the pleasure their husbands could take from them. Damn their own hopes and dreams.

By twenty-four (Y/N) had received a promotion at work and had decided to focus more fully on her career. One of her informants, a mousy man with the unfortunate habit of dousing himself in cheap cologne in an attempt to hide the stench of his rotting teeth, had gone missing the week before, his dirty rented room above a sleazy pub in knockturn alley the only evidence he had ever existed at all. Rumors of something dark brewing in the shadows had gained new credibility with the poor man’s disappearance. Whispers of a return to the dark arts and a truly pureblood wizarding society had begun to spread among the more extreme members of the 28. Some questioned her family’s standing as proud pureblooded Slytherins after her brave Gryffindor sister had made a few unwise comments at a few too many events.

“Well,” She and Kieran would say, “I don’t know what you expect, she’s only a child,” a carefully timed sip of their whiskey or champagne or tea or coffee and then “and besides, I’ve never met any Gryiffindor who doesn't speak before fully considering what it is they’re saying.”

If that wasn’t enough, the allusion to how foolish a child’s opinions could be, and how little control she could be expected to have after an evening of sneaking sips of champagne off of trays held by waiters expected to say nothing, or from glasses of fire whiskey left unattended after games of cards was often enough, and usually met by an appreciative chuckle and some vain recollection by whomever’s conversation they’d had to intervene in. A well place complement to their hosts, and the subject was dropped in favor of the typical gossip that was passed around.

The year (Y/N) turned twenty-five, Serena hosted a small get-together. There was a nice dinner, cake from her favorite bakery, and her closest friends and family all wishing her a happy birthday. Her parents had given her a delicate gold watch that had belonged to her grandmother – her favorite grandmother, the one who would wordlessly help her escape from balls and galas with a sly wink and an amused smirk. Kieran had given her a new typewriter, its shining green enamel and the gold inlay of the letters twinkling under the warm light of the candles at the dinner table. He had smirked as she unwrapped it,

“Since you do so much writing outside of work,” he paused theatrically, “I thought you might like something to make it just the littlest bit easier on your quills and ink.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes at her brother, “That’s lovely, Kier,” now it was her turn for theatrics, “Care to tell me how it works, or…” she trailed off, gesturing to the instruction booklet that had come with the typewriter - the instruction booklet written entirely in Czech.

“Haven’t a clue, sister,” Kieran’s smirk screamed mischief, “You’ll have to figure that one out for yourself.

Severus had sent a card home with Claire on the train, busy with his own family and with his students, he had been unable to attend in person, but he would have rather died than face his pregnant wife if he hadn’t at least sent well wishes for a happy twenty-fifth birthday to one of his closest friends.

Claire had given her an oval-shaped locket she had found at a muggle antique shop the two sisters frequented together. Inside she had placed a small photo of the two of them from Kieran and Serena’s wedding. Both girls were smiling brightly as Claire moved to whisper something to (Y/N) before they dissolved into fits of giggles. The champagne (Y/N) had been drinking all evening, and that Claire had, more likely than not, been sneaking, almost certainly having to do with how easily the sisters laughed that night.

Serena’s gift that evening was somewhat less traditional. In a small plain paper gift bag filled to the top with crumpled tissue paper in different shades of green, was a corny t-shirt you might be able to find in a variety of muggle clothing shops. On the front of the cream-colored shirt, in big black letters, were the words ‘World’s Best Godmother’. Underneath the shirt lay a strip of photos from an ultrasound appointment, and a card with a message inscribed in Serena’s usual elegant script in black: ‘Won’t you be my Godmother, Aunty?’ it read. Standing, (Y/N) quickly swept her sister-in-law into a tight hug, laughing softly as her brother wrapped his arms around them both, and nodded her head with a bright smile on her face, tears welling in her eyes.

“Of course,” (Y/N) laughed delightedly, “I would be honored.”

Regulus’s gift, however, had been her favorite. It was a first edition of one of (Y/N)’s favorite muggle novels, a novel she had first read sitting on the train next to an older boy with dark brown curls and a carefully neutral expression painted across his handsome face. It was on that first trip to Hogwarts that (Y/N) had decided she had found her best friend, and Regulus had decided that he would allow no one to so much as look at the younger girl the wrong way.

Regulus’s gift of the book was met with a shy smile from (Y/N), who knew exactly how Walburga could be about such things, and when she kissed him on the cheek Regulus had to fight off the pink tinge flushing his cheeks – his heart skipping a beat.

“Thank you, Reg.” she had whispered to him later that evening, her head resting against his shoulder as they sat curled together on a loveseat in front of the fireplace. Outside the rain poured and the wind thrashed the branches of the old oak tree they had climbed together exactly once when (Y/N) was thirteen and Regulus was fifteen.

“Any time, Dove.” Regulus glanced down only to find (Y/N) asleep, her head still resting against his shoulder. Gently he pressed a kiss to her forehead, picked her up, and brought her to her room. His leg would be killing him in the morning, but for one more moment with her, it would be worth it.

At twenty-six, one of (Y/N)’s colleagues, a young man she had known in school, asked her out for dinner. She might have agreed if it weren’t for the warnings of the older girls at work. Ones with whom he had a bit of a reputation with, as the sort of man who expected too much from a first date and didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

The prideful fool should have known better, given the look of total contempt and disgust on (Y/N)’s face, but he continued to push, to beg, and whine until she had her father call in a favor with her editor.

“Please, Father,” she had begged during dinner one night when he had joined her at the Leaky Cauldron. Her mother had been at some charitable event or other, and the father and daughter had elected to get dinner together in the city rather than having Mrs. Turner stay late. “He won’t leave me alone,” she tried again, “and I’m sure Rowle has plenty of assignments he could do far away from me.” Her father Joseph chuckled, then agreed, taking a bite of his roast dinner and chuckling again at his daughter’s obvious relief.

He and Montgomery Rowle had been friends during their days at Hogwarts, and it took little convincing from him to have Mr. Rowle send him off on an assignment to somewhere he was unlikely to return from. It was a bit extreme, perhaps, though it had ensured he never bothered anyone again, and it made for a much quieter office - and that, at least, was something everyone could appreciate.

It was at twenty-seven that (Y/N)’s life was set in a very different direction all together from what would have been expected given the last few years, and in no way had such an upbringing as the one so carefully curated by her parents, nor the following few years of unwed bliss, prepared (Y/N) for her mother's announcement. To be quite frank, it's unlikely anything would have been able to prepare her for such an announcement.

In fact, had she known such a thing would be the main point of discussion at the monthly luncheon with her mother, sister and sister-in-law, she likely would have come up with some doubtlessly brilliant reason for being quite unable to make it this time, and for them to please accept her apologies. Likely it would have been something to do with the paper, or perhaps her faucet had spontaneously developed a leak and the plumber was only available, unfortunately enough, at the very time of the four women’s tête-à-tête.

Instead, (Y/N) had taken the day away from the paper as she always did. She'd had an appointment earlier, and had stopped into one of her favorite boutiques after. She'd found a dress - a lovely wool one in cream, the skirt delicately pleated and fell gracefully to her ankles, while the bodice was tightly fitted perfectly accentuating her curves - and had gone home after, changing into that very dress before heading out to meet for lunch, her heels clacking purposefully against the pavement.

She'd handed her camel coat, wand tucked neatly into an interior pocket, to the kind older man at the coat check, offering him a gracious smile

"How has your Lou been?" she politely inquired, "not still sick, I hope?"

"Oh," the man chuckled softly, carefully placing the coat in the closet behind him, "no, healer said she'll be right as rain in a day or two." he responded. (Y/N) opened her mouth to ask if she could do anything before being met by her sister, who literally slid into the room, arms flailing as she skidded to a sudden stop.

Energetic thing that she was, Claire had barreled into the foyer, nearly crashing into her sister, pulling her into a crushing hug, cheeks still flushed from the cold, hair damp from the misty rain that had only just begun moments before.

"(Y/N)!" she exclaimed, laughing as she was shot several dirty looks from a group of older witches sitting nearby.

The sisters had made their way into the dining room then, chatting amiably as they sat at their usual table. Anne had been waiting already, a glass of wine in one hand.

That should have been her first clue. Instead, lunch had continued as it normally did, and then Anne made her announcement.

Taglist: @bleepeats-15

#sirius x reader #regulus black x reader #sirius black x reader #regulus x reader #the brothers black #harry potter #arranged marriage #arranged marriage au #series masterlist #x reader #regulus black x reader smut #kind of slowburn #childhood friends to lovers #unrequited feelings #slytherin reader #pureblood reader

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bamboozledbird · 6 months ago

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IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU (Reader's Version) // Prev. / Chapter 5 / Next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Scott McCall, Lydia Martin, ofc, omc Pairing: Eventual Stiles x Reader, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 10.2k Warnings: Canon typical gore/violence, parental death (rip to your fake mom), depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes), depictions of a panic attack, animal death Tags: Canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author is a chaotic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: You can always smell ash long after the fire is gone. Perhaps, that’s why you still can’t breathe without choking on the past. It’s been four years since your mom died. Four years since she burned alive. Four years since you didn’t. You survived, but they must have buried your heart with her because most days you feel like a shadow, some horrifically sad creature caught halfway between a ghost and a lamb for slaughter.

You can’t scrub the bitter smell of hospital from your memories, not even with denial. Maybe, that’s why death and disease follows Stiles wherever he goes now. It’s been eight years since his mom died. Eight years since he didn’t. Eight years since he decided that he wouldn’t let anyone he loved die ever again. He survived, but Beacon Hills’ bloody underbelly is making it pretty damn hard for him to keep his promise.

Time never stops turning. The grief never dissipates. Children soldier on—but in a town where all the monsters under the bed are real, and old family secrets rattle in every closet, how long can two fragile, breakable humans survive?

Maybe, the real question is: How long will they want to?

Chapter Summary: You start to unravel some of the secrets hidden in Beacon Hill's other world, and Stiles manages to worm his way into discovering some of your own.

A/N: this took a minute, so i hope the length makes up for it! comments and reblogs are love, and i am tinkerbell. also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight) for the full lore version!

Tag list: @eaterof-concrete

Your anger fizzled with every mile you drove. By the time you finished your third loop around the Preserve, it was just a light simmer of irritation. The void was quickly filled with a different emotion: curiosity. There was a little dread in there too, perhaps also a touch of nausea, but the concoction was still potent enough to distract you from your...whatever that was with Lydia. Now that you were alone, trees blurring together in a ribbon of yellowing-green through your dash, all you could think about was the fire Derek’s family died in. Well, that, and another fire that was always lurking somewhere in your mind, hiding in the shadows, just waiting for the chance to jump out and strangle your heart.

Beacon Hills was a small town. A town where, until very recently, bad things hardly ever happened. What were the chances of two houses going up in flames four years apart? Of two houses burning down to the foundation in the blink of an eye? Of two homes becoming charred rubble and chilling memorials to the lives lost inside? As far as you knew, they were the only unnatural fires that’d occurred in Beacon Hills in the last century.

It could all be a coincidence, of course. Nothing. Just a delusional, grief-driven conspiracy. It would be best if you accepted that now before you fell too far down this rabbit hole. It’d taken you two years to finally realize that the police were never going to figure out what really happened to your mom, and those two years had been filled with a series of devastating misdirections, hundreds of dashed hopes and unanswered prayers to a god you no longer believed in. You knew better than this. You did. You knew better than to hope.

But…maybe. Maybe there was something there. If there was an elaborate plot afoot, you knew just the right conspiracy nut to turn to.

The last time you believed in magic, you were six. You had run the entire mile-and-a-half to Maggie’s dad’s store, hands bloody and cupped into a small nest. You’d almost choked on your quiet, congested whimpers, but after a few minutes of blubbering, you’d finally managed to spit out a few words, “You know how to fix him, right? You know everything.” There had to be a spell, you’d thought, with all the wisdom of a first-grade education. There had to be some magic flower or special potion that could make everything better.

You hadn’t noticed the look on Maggie’s face when you finally opened your fingers, but Maggie had to have been panicking once she saw exactly what needed to be fixed—cradled in your palms, was a tiny, twitching field mouse you’d found on your way home from school. His little chest had heaved so slowly as he laid limply in your hands, as if he’d already accepted his fate. You’d been so young then, too young to realize that Maggie was only nineteen and faked her confidence more often than she felt it. Nineteen had seemed so old at six, and now it was only three years away.

Maggie had known, of course, that the poor little guy probably wouldn’t live long enough to see nightfall, but she’d made the fatal mistake of looking into your big wet eyes: still so full of hope and belief in the impossible. Instead of telling you the truth, she’d just said, “I got this," and took the mouse to the backroom—where all the magic happened. You never ended up seeing the mouse again. You realized now that probably meant he died, but you appreciated Maggie letting you live in the land of make-believe for just a little while longer.

But that was ten years ago. Today, you knew that Mags was only mortal and Willowbark couldn’t actually heal fatal rodent wounds—but you were still hoping, against all hopes, that Maggie actually had the answers this time.

“Mags?” your brow crinkled as you searched for Maggie and her wild curls. Mags often got lost in the midst of all the chaos, just a small blip in a crowded collection of odd, Victorian-esque relics. You could usually spot at least a glimpse of whatever loud color Maggie was sporting that day. The yellows and pinks were always stark against the dingy backdrop, but today the only colors you could see from the front door were varying shades of sage, oxblood, and charcoal. “Maggie?”

A muffled cry sounded from the storeroom, “Back here.”

The door to the backroom was slightly ajar, and the purple lighting from the mini-greenhouse inside spilled through the crack. It cast a mesmerizing strip of dayglow lavender over the dangly earrings and mood rings for sale next to the register. “Bring me the shears, will you? The pink ones by Giz.”

You dropped your backpack behind the glass counter and drifted towards the sounds of Gizmo’s trumpeting snores. The stretch for the pruning scissors was a bit precarious; the little prince was batting his paws at something in the depths of dreamland and had no presence of mind for your fragile skin. You snagged the shears with minimal carnage and ran your finger along the cool edge, staring at the gleaming surface, “You’re into all local history, right? Not just the made-up stuff?”

Maggie took the shears from your lax hands and squatted next to the potted yew tree on the floor. It was just starting to blossom, red berries dotted sparsely around the spiky leaves—ripe for whatever ridiculous offering Maggie had planned. Maggie blew a ringlet out of her face and fixed you with a stern frown, “My ancestors were witches, and Dragons absolutely did exist. Just look at ‘dinosaur’ fossils from the—”

“Do you know anything about the fire the Hale family died in?” you looked down at your hands so that you didn’t have to see Maggie’s reaction.

You traced circles around a rosy stain on Maggie’s workbench, likely from ground flower petals or dripping pomegranate seeds, shoulders hunching towards your ears as you continued, “I mean, you’re around the same age as the older sister, right?” Laura. You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name, and the hypocrisy was stifling. You hated when people tiptoed around death, when they used pretty euphemisms like that could make what actually happened any less brutal. Less evil. Less unfair. But there was no softening grief. Death. Murder. There was no candy coat sweet enough to cloak the taste of rotting—and yet, you still couldn’t say her name.

Maggie went still briefly and then continued clipping branches, ignoring or not noticing the couple of leaves stuck to her fuzzy sweater. “Why?”

You gritted your teeth and stared a burl in the wood underneath your fingers, “Why do you think?”

Sighing, Maggie spread her clippings across the maple worktop and picked at a few yellowing leaves, “Where is this coming from, babe? I mean, that was a long time ago. I’m almost thirty, you know—ancient by most standards.”

You didn’t smile. Couldn’t. “Do you know anything or not?”

“No,” Maggie sounded genuine, but she kept her eyes on the red stains underneath her fingernails, “nothing more than what was on the news.”

The fact that Maggie didn’t make a quip or a stupid pun was even more telling than her refusal to look in your direction. You folded your arms over your chest and leaned your hip against the doorframe, “Sure.”

“Are you okay, babe?” Maggie wiped the berry residue off on her skirt, and the long hem swished around her ankles as she crept towards you. Her hand was cautious when she placed it on your rigid shoulder, “You aren’t skipping your meds again, are—”

Your eyes flashed as you shook off Maggie’s light touch with a jerk of your shoulder, “Is it possible for me to have a single feeling without everyone jumping down my throat about my meds.”

“I just worry,” Maggie said softly, and she reached for you again, waiting for you to pull away. She tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear when you didn’t. Your limbs were still stiff, and your face was still stony, but you let Maggie grab your hand. It was slightly sweaty, probably from all the indoor-gardening, but there was some comfort in the circles she smoothed over your knuckles. “You know I’m a worrier. Comes with the conspiracy theorist in me.”

You looked down at your feet and dug your toes into the concrete floor, “And my mom’s dying wish—I know.”

A bit of hurt quivered in the corners of Maggie’s reassuring smile, even though she tried her best to hide it, “That’s not the reason I do it.”

Your entire frame slumped with guilt, “I know.” And you did; you did know. You made Maggie drive you to the library every weekend before you got your license, and in return Maggie stole about a dozen of your sweaters once she realized you were finally the same size—Mags wasn’t just your mom’s weird friend from the neighborhood; she was family. She taught you how to make pie crust and scones, and she always read ‘happily ever after’ in the lines of your palms when you needed something to smile about. Maggie did a million little things for you without any appreciation, and you tried to remember every single one as you sat on the floor in front of the ‘Local Culture’ shelf.

Your nose scrunched as you looked over the titles on the spines, searching for anything that sounded even remotely real. Maggie knelt next to you, patch-work skirt billowing around her knees, and watched your fingers drum against the floor.

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” Maggie bumped your shoulder with her own, and you grunted a little response.

“Nothing you can help me with.” Evidently, you thought with only a bit of bitterness.

Maggie didn’t say anything for a long time. You almost forgot she was there, and then her bracelets clacked together as she shifted. “Here,” Maggie pulled a thick journal out of the depths of her baggy cardigan and held it out with a complicated expression on her face—something halfway between a frown and a smile, “I think you’ll find this one particularly interesting.”

You looked down at the title and rubbed your thumb over the engraved font, “‘A History and Detailed Account of Beacon Hills Bloodlines’?”

Maggie nodded and shoved her hands into her skirt pockets, “Goes back all the way to the beginning—not literally, obviously. I don’t think they wanted to get into the whole ‘God vs. Big Bang’ debate, but it dates back to when the town was founded.”

“That’s…interesting, I guess,” you flipped through the pages and bit down on your tongue to squash the sneer curling across your lips. It was a nice gesture. You knew that—but what else were you supposed to do when the ‘History’ and ‘Detailed Account’ fell open to an artistic diagram of 'local werewolf packs’ genealogy lines. You were a little interested to see if the names were entirely fictional, or if the journal was an accurate record of Beacon Hill’s very own Werewolf Trials. Probably the first, you’d remember learning about extra hairy men and women being burned at the stake in social studies.

Maggie huffed out a little laugh and pushed her glasses back up the bridge of her nose. “I know you won’t believe everything in there, but who knows,” she shrugged and held out a hand for you to grab onto, “maybe you’ll finally be enlightened.”

You took her hand and hummed, “While you’re feeling so generous and bad for me ‘cause I’m functionally an orphan, could I get some more of that wolfsbane gunk?” You batted your lashes over the edge of the leather cover and grinned your most adorable smile—the one that dusted off a rare view of your dimples, “It can be my birthday present.”

It was an obvious ploy, but Maggie just laughed and poked one of your dimples, “Your birthday is months away.”

You picked up the speed of your blinking, approaching butterfly-wing territory, and rocked onto your tiptoes, “An early birthday present is still a birthday present.”

Mags watched you through narrowed eyes for a moment, “You don’t even believe in werewolves.”

You shrugged and smirked, “It works on humans too.”

“Please, please don’t make me an accessory to murder.” Maggie gripped your shoulders and shook you a little, fighting a smile, “I would not fare well in prison. They limit your internet privileges there—no Wi-Fi, babe. No Wi-Fi. I would be completely alone with my thoughts.”

“The horror,” your eyes glittered with your grin, and for a sweet moment you forgot about the journal in your hands and all the questions it wouldn’t answer. “It’s not for me,” you admitted, grimacing as Maggie’s lips puckered. The pursing of her lips, the hollowing of her cheeks—that always came before a very long and arduous inquisition. Maggie could be relentless when she wanted to be.

“And whom would you be giving such a precious gift to?” The thickness of her brows only magnified the suspicion in Maggie’s tapered expression, “A gift you called—what was it? ‘Useless’ and ‘stupid’ less than 24-hours ago?”

“Just because I think it’s stupid, doesn’t mean it’s a bad gift for someone else. I thought the Sonic Chia Pet I gave you was stupid, and you loved it.” You knew you won when Maggie started walking away from you towards the storeroom. You still had no idea how Curio Killed the Cat stayed in business when Maggie handed out inventory like candy, but presently its troubling business model was a blessing in disguise.

“Don’t disparage him,” Maggie crooned over her shoulder, “it’s bad luck.”

“If everything is sacred, nothing is,” you sniped, doing your best Vulcan impression.

Maggie smiled brightly as she hopped over the counter, sticking out her tongue, “I don’t think everything is sacred—just all the things I like.”

Speaking of things Maggie liked—you tucked your first gift under your armpit and held out your hands, palms cupped together. Your mouth curved into a cheesy grin as you said, “Trick-or-Treat.”

Maggie rolled her eyes, but her puckish spark dwindled when she looked at the vile of wolfsbane. It was balanced between her thumb and forefinger, glass reflecting the light, and you felt a bit like you were accepting the One Ring and a quest you weren't prepared for. “Be careful, okay?” Maggie hesitated before dropping the vile into your waiting hands, “I know you love Buffy, but resurrection isn’t so easy off-screen.”

You were a little startled by the concern wrinkling the corners of Maggie’s eyes. She looked almost more worried now than she did when you asked her about the Hale fire. “Like I said,” you carefully eased the wolfsbane into your corduroy skirt, “it’s not for me.”

Maggie's eyes combed over your face, searching for something, and then she sighed, “Just…don’t let anyone drag you into something stupid. I don’t care how cute he is; no boy is worth the risk of ruining your gorgeous face. It’s your money-maker, babe.”

There was a lot to unpack in those three sentences; you didn’t even know where to begin. There was, of course, the implication that you were going to join some kind of Scooby-Doo gang that dealt wolfsbane on the side. While the thought of going ghost hunting with a pair of boys who couldn’t make it to class without tripping over their feet was, in fact, asinine…that wasn’t the part twisting stubborn knots around your ear canal.

Your face was dragged down by a broody pout, “For your information, I’m not giving it to Stiles; it’s actually for a guy who isn’t the leading cause of pulmonary embolisms in Beacon County—and I don’t think either of them are cute.”

That wasn’t strictly true. You did think that Scott was cute, just like you thought Gizmo was cute when he pleaded for treats. You could see the appeal of Scott McCall, why Allison liked him, but you hadn’t thought someone was cute like that in a very long time. A person generally had to actually look at people to think they were cute, and you hadn’t looked beyond forcing one foot in front of the other and your nubby nails in years.

And as far as Stiles went…honestly, you hadn’t really considered the concept of Stiles as an actual person until Maggie had to go and imply it. You supposed, now that you were thinking about it, he had an objectively nice face: big eyes, button nose, nice jaw—but when you saw him in person, it was almost always covered with an infuriating smirk or making obnoxious sounds. You usually just wanted to shove it away from you. Sometimes, when Stiles was being particularly difficult, you even thought about flicking him right in his long-lashed, honeycomb eyes. You wondered if the Sheriff would arrest you if you—

That’s right, your eyes rounded with the thought, Stiles is the Sheriff's son.

The recollection rang through every single one of your thoughts and echoed along the caverns of your skull, sparing you from ruminating on something far, far scarier. You were much more comfortable with deduction.

Your brow furrowed as you pushed yourself over the counter to grab your backpack—sure that Maggie would misinterpret your impromptu exit, but too lost in through to really care—Stiles is the Sheriff's son. You forgot that sometimes. They were so different, after all, and you were certain that Stiles had broken the law at least a few times in his life, but he was. Stiles was the Sheriff's son, and he probably knew things that he shouldn’t. Things that were only kept in confidential files. Fortunately, you didn’t need to think that someone was cute to use them for information.

“Methinks the Lady doth protest too much,” Maggie chirped. She was fiddling with her branches in the back again, picking the berries and dropping them into a little stone bowl.

You scowled at the berries like it was their fault you were in this predicament, “Gertrude sucks.

“And yet she was correct,” Maggie tossed a berry at your forehead, and it landed dead-center on the tip of your nose, dripping a small trail of crimson juice onto your cupid’s bow. Maggie laughed until a burst of snorts consumed her giggles, and you scowled deeper as you wiped your nose clean with your sleeve.

“And yet, she’s the prime example of doing something stupid for a boy.” You made a point of flipping Maggie off before trudging towards the door.

You pushed the exit open with your shoulder—rushing to get home to your notebook and pens. Ideas had a way of slipping away from you; you liked to make them real. Tangible. Inked lines and loops that couldn’t be erased.

Maggie cupped your cheeks before you could slither away to your car, startling you out of your head. “Don’t be Gertrude. Don’t be stupid,” Maggie said, incredibly solemn, but the twinkle of mischief in her eye ruined the 'Yoda effect'.

You pursed your lips as your eyes flitted towards the side, “I’ll do my best to not marry my dead husband’s brother-killer.” The door swung shut behind you, cutting off the trill of Maggie’s laughter.

You spent the rest of the night on your bed, sitting cross-legged with your notebook spread open across your lap. You tapped your pen against your knee and watched the blades on your ceiling fan spin into a fuzzy Saturn ring until your eyes watered. You were trying, and failing, to think of a way to ask Stiles for help without him making a big deal about it—contemplating if it was truly worth all the aggravation.

Sighing, you sketched random swirling lines in purple ink. They interconnected in a pretty pattern that eventually took the shape of the maze on your pendant. There was no way out of the labyrinth without breaking down a wall; it was hopeless, a path that never ended. People who entered the maze would be doomed to walk in circles until they littered the ground with their decomposing skeletons—and oh how you envied them.

Stiles would never let it go; you were pretty damn sure of that. He would poke, and prod, and stick his upturned nose into your business until he'd thoroughly invaded your privacy and got all the answers to his meddlesome questions. He could never ju—

The sound of paper tearing dragged you out of your pitiful brooding, and you sighed. Your pen had ripped through the center of the maze. You held the page up to the light, and it shone through the hole, blinding you momentarily.

There was no escaping the labyrinth—there was only pushing straight though.

You spent a lot of your time observing people lately. It wasn’t as creepy as it sounded, at least you hoped it wasn’t as creepy as it sounded. It was just…ever since Stiles dragged you back into the present—kicking, screaming, and bitching the entire way—you had been…overwhelmed by how alive everything was. It felt like so much had happened in the last four years. Everyone had gone on living while you’d hidden away in your mind and rotted in your room.

You couldn’t put a name to the strange feeling twisting in your chest. You were angry, of course, so angry that people had the audacity to just… live, like there wasn’t a gigantic, bleeding void in the world that had yet to scar over—that might never truly close—but there was something else mixed in with the bitterness, something sweeter.

There was a certain kind of beauty, you mused, in the way they enjoyed such silly things. There was just something about the way they found joy in sparkly nail polish, and their favorite song, and a boy looking in their general direction that had you choking on a foreign warmth. Everyone had something, and it was beautiful to see people grow their worlds around the ugliness while you weren't so consumed with shrinking yours.

Leaning back against your locker, you watched two freshmen girls walk side-by-side until a flock of tropical-scented, lip-gloss-coated sophomore girls passed them. The taller of the two trailed after them, linking arms with a blonde in the back of the pack. The shorter one watched their hair swish over their shoulders until they walked around the corner, absently tugging at a beaded bracelet on her wrist the entire time.

In three weeks, she’d start eating lunch alone in the library, hiding in the dark book closet with outdated textbooks as her only companions. In five, they wouldn’t speak unless they had to. You gave the girl a weak smile when she accidentally made eye-contact. Sorry, babe, I read your future. You didn’t even need to see the girl’s palm.

You pushed yourself off of your locker and shook your head a little, regrouping your thoughts as you slid into your seat next to Stiles. He looked tired. He was slumped over his desk, chin propped on his folded arms, and his eyelids hung heavily over the exhaustion coating his directionless gaze. He barely acknowledged your presence, grunting a little and nudging your foot with his.

You hid your smile behind your English binder and turned in your seat to face him. “Hey,” you paused, bundling the meager bits and pieces of courage in your chest, and then said, “your perpetual nosiness—that extends to your dad too, right?”

Stiles’s head lulled to the side, cheek pressed against his folded arms, evidently too drained to sit-up. He trailed his squinted gaze over your face, eyes hooded and unblinking, “Why?”

“No reason.” You drummed your pencil against your desk and watched the long red arrow tick forward on the clock above the whiteboard. Stiles watched you fidget with a little sleepy smirk eased into the corners of his mouth, patient and still for the first time since you’d met. It was a shame you couldn’t revel in it.

You lost the stalemate after your desperation became too thick to swallow, “I need to see a case file. There’s like…nothing on the internet or in Maggie’s local history sagas.”

That got his attention. Stiles leaned forward, glimmering with intrigue and ill-intent, and said, “Which case?”

“None of your business,” you retorted reflexively. Stiles gave you an amused look and cupped his cheek in his palm, waiting for the inevitable apology. You withered against your chair and muttered, “Does it matter?”

He snorted and lifted a shoulder, “I have a right to know what I’m potentially putting my life on the line for; breaking and entering is a very serious crime, y’know.”

You huffed and glared a little at your clasped hands, “Somehow I know you’ve done worse.”

Stiles didn’t deny it. He just grinned proudly and scooted closer to you, “Seriously, what’s so important you’re willing to steal something from the police?”

“Not steal,” you corrected, a bit too petulantly for your liking, “just…borrow indefinitely.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles pursed his lips and almost went cross-eyed scrutinizing your face, “so what’s so important you’re willing to ‘borrow’ classified information from the police ‘indefinitely’?”

You paused, not entirely sure how to answer his question without spilling over the edges and ruining everything. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly, bowing your head a little. You picked at a hangnail until it was tender and inflamed, “Just a hunch, really. It’s probably nothing.”

Stiles tapped his fingers against his desk, fast and furious, and let out a dramatic puff of air, “I could help you if you’d, y’know, tell me literally one single thing about it.”

“I don’t need your help,” you scoffed, feet sliding out in front of you as you sunk into your chair.

He cocked his head and hummed, looking far too smug for 7:45 in the morning, “Besides the whole ‘stealing my dad’s keycard and making it actually possible for you to read it’ thing, right?”

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you mumbled, stalling the inevitable. It felt a little too much like losing to admit that you needed him—even though…you definitely needed him. It was a rather unfortunate fact you were fruitlessly still trying to deny.

Stiles rolled his eyes, neck too, and grabbed his backpack from the floor, “Forgive me for having a hobby.”

He opened his backpack, and you imagined, just for a moment, the zipper latching onto his mouth like a singularly-tentacled alien. It would solve all your problems; you could zip and unzip him whenever you wanted. If only. Sighing, you dropped your head against your knuckles, “Which is…irritating me?”

“Putting the pieces together,” Stiles dropped his coffee-warped, dogeared copy of Metamorphosis onto his desk and flipped to the assigned chapter. His eyes flicked from right to left, pace ridiculously fast, as he scanned through the pages. If it were anyone else, you would’ve assumed it was all for show. “I was a jigsaw kid,” he murmured, nose still stuck in his book.

Your lip stung as you gnawed on the cracking center, “If I tell you what I’m looking for, you’ll help me?”

“That,” Stiles punctuated his statement with a dramatic page flip, “and I might need a tiny favor from you.” He held his pointer finger and thumb together, almost touching, and flashed a toothy smile over the bent cover of his book, “Just an itty-bitty, very small, totally not a big deal favor.”

Your face turned thoroughly sour, “Oh god.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, like he didn’t just intentionally plant the seeds of dead bodies and false alibis in your mind two seconds ago, and huffed, “I just want to check on Lydia, okay? I think I’ll have a better chance of getting in through the front door with you.”

Your smirk flattened, “Why?”

His mouth hung open for a second, and then he shook his head firmly, peering at you through pinched lids, “You first.”

You fixed your gaze on your shoes, shifting your foot from left to the right, watching the fluorescent lights bounce off of the burgundy leather. The extra shine only made the scuffs on the toes more pronounced. “I want to look into the Hale fire, okay?” Your voice got trapped in your throat, so your tone wasn’t as biting as you wanted it to be, “Happy?”

You would’ve been content to keep staring at your boots until class ended, but your attention snapped back to Stiles when he inhaled sharply. He looked baffled, and maybe even a little green in the face, and you were starting to feel a little queasy yourself—nerves tended to turn your stomach upside-down and inside-out all in the same excruciatingly slow flip. His mouth was already ajar, but it took him several red-hand ticks to finally speak, “Why?”

“Nuh uh,” you crossed your arms and sat upright, rolling your shoulders back, “you go now.”

Stiles was still looking at you with an odd expression on his face, a little too distracted to be difficult. He answered you without any inflection in his voice, “She didn’t show up for homeroom.”

Your intestines unspun with your faint inhale and then immediately dropped to the floor along with your heart as you let out a weak, trembling exhale, “...and?”

Stiles recovered from his momentary lapse in vexation and leaned onto his forearms, "And it’s your turn again.”

You wished you had a simple answer for him, and, even more so, you wished you were a better liar. “There’s kinda no way to answer that without trauma dumping all over you,” you mumbled, intensively examining the fine ridges in your nails.

“I can handle a little trauma.” Stiles rapped his knuckles against the top of his head and smiled a little, “I’ve got nothin’ but space up here.”

People always said that—that they’d be there for you no matter what, that they could handle anything—and then they got a real good look at the ugly of it all, at the dirty hair and rotting kitchen, at the prolonged silences and self-absorbed isolation. People usually took off running pretty quickly after that. At least, Lydia had.

“There haven’t been that many residential fire fatalities here. Just two cases, actually.” You chewed on your thumbnail and shrugged, “I know they said the Hale fire was an accident, but…maybe there’s a connection.” You swallowed, and your boot squeaked against the floor when you kicked at the ground, “Or maybe I’m just a dumbass with too much spare time.”

Stiles stared at you, and you could see the exact moment he connected the pieces. You were expecting the usual nauseating sympathy, the well-intentioned kindness that always flirted with the edge of pity, oftentimes landing smack-dab in the middle of it—but there wasn’t a drip of pity in his eyes. They were filled with grief; for you or for someone else, you didn’t know. Maybe it didn’t matter. More importantly, perhaps, his eyes were shining with…relief, pure and simple relief that nothing else needed to be said.

“I’ll get you into the file room,” Stiles said, low and soft in his throat, and he didn’t look away from you until Scott slid in-between your desks. They did a complicated series of high-fives and hand-shakes with a few ‘knucks’ thrown in here and there for good measure.

Before Scott sat down behind Stiles, he smiled in your direction. You looked past him, assuming Allison was behind you, and watched a red-breasted robin flit around a tree through the window. You saw Scott’s hand move in your peripheral vision, and when you tore your eyes away from the streak of scarlet feathers and blue sky, your lips tipped into a timid smile. Scott was waving at you; he was smiling at you. You didn’t know when your world went from no friends to two, but it felt oddly…normal. Smiling back at Scott, dodging Stiles’s kicks at your feet, trying not to laugh at their goofy faces. It felt like it was part of your routine, exactly the same as organizing your pens and pencils on top of your desk at the start of class, and just like that: normal twisted into terrifying.

You chewed on the end of your pen when you felt Stiles’s gaze on the side of your face, “So…why do you want to see Lydia—besides your typical stalker behavior, obviously.”

“You’re gonna feel like such an asshole,” Stiles grinned a little and nudged your toes, but there was something strange tucked in the corners of his mouth, something a bit grim, a bit afraid. Whatever it was, his cheeks didn’t dimple with his smile, and you gnawed on your lip once you realized that you not only noticed their absence but you missed them.

You peeked at him from under your lashes and frowned when you saw that the crinkles at the corners of his eyes were gone too. Stiles’s grin eroded away to little more than a flat line once he started speaking again, “Jackson was attacked by…something last night—they’re saying mountain lion, but you and I both know that’s bullshit—anyway, she was pretty freaked out when my dad got there.”

You stiffened, spinal column drawing into a taut line from the crown of your skull to your tailbone, and your blood went cold. You already knew Lydia hadn't shown up for school today. You always knew—you felt Lydia’s absence just as fiercely as her presence. The air was just different somehow. You didn’t even have to look for her anymore; an innate rabbit-sense always reared its head when Lydia was too far away…when she was too close. Your instincts couldn’t agree on anything. They couldn’t decide if Lydia was a rabbit or a fox, and it was exhausting—but at the moment all you wanted, all you needed, was to make sure that Lydia hadn’t been torn apart by a monster with sharp claws and serrated teeth.

“And she isn’t here,” you finally said, barely above a whisper.

“And she isn’t here,” Stiles echoed, just as quiet.

“Okay,” your head bobbed with a decisive nod, knees moving before your mind had the chance to scold them, “let’s go.”

Stiles’s jaw unhinged alarmingly fast and comically wide, “Wha—now?”

You pushed everything on your desk into your backpack with a broad sweep of your arm and jerked your head towards the door, “Come on, before class starts.”

Stiles blinked at you for a few moments and then floundered for his things when you started walking out of the room without him. He stumbled into a desk in his rapid, ever-so clumsy efforts to catch up with you and twisted around to salute Scott’s empty chair. Apparently, neither of you had noticed his exit. It seemed it was a perfect morning for ditching class, but you didn’t dwell on the consequences for long. Your focus was single-minded and unwavering, and Stiles had to jog to keep up with your stalwart stride.

“Since when are you so helpful,” he muttered, slightly out of breath.

“I told you,” you gave him a wry smile and shoved the exit door open with your back, holding it for Stiles until he was halfway through the frame—and then you promptly stepped out of the way and watched the door swing shut on his backpack. Your lips twitched with a grin, “I’m a nice girl.”

Stiles yelped a little and looked over his shoulder, ensuring all his limbs were intact before yanking on his straps. His backpack smacked into his shoulders, and the heavy textbooks inside slammed together with a satisfying thump. You snickered and dodged his attempts to kick the back of your knees.

Glowering, Stiles switched tactics and tried to step on your nimble feet. Tragically for him, all the fire in his indignation was lost to his plush pout, “Since when?”

You rolled your eyes and waited next to his jeep, anxiously tracing little swirls in the dirt caked onto the passenger door, “Since I met you.”

You missed the look on Stiles’s face, but that was for the best. His honeyed smile would’ve changed your mind, and you had an ex-best friend to attend to.

****************************

The jeep was quiet for the first few minutes of the drive—at least, it was as quiet as a decrepit clunker could be. There were various clangs and squeals in-between the engine’s low rumble, and a soft indie song filled the silences in-between, but the air felt still. Stiles was intently focused on the road ahead, thumbs drumming against the steering wheel to a beat of his own making, while you picked at your cuticles, cycling between anxiety and denial. It was a subliminal game of chicken that Stiles eventually lost.

After a few false starts, Stiles blurted out, “You ever gonna tell me what happened?”

You stared straight ahead, through the bug-splattered windshield and down the winding street, “Nope.”

“Fine. That’s fine.” Stiles flexed his fingers against the steering wheel, straightening them to their impressive full-length, and then wrapped them around the wheel again. His grip was as tight as the grit of his teeth, “I don’t even want to know anyway.” You lulled your head to the side to smirk at him, but you kept your mouth thoroughly closed. Stiles’s gaze flicked in your direction briefly, and then he directed his eye roll towards the road, “I don’t. Keep your boring secret.”

You settled further into the passenger seat and propped your feet on the dash, grin warm with satisfaction, “I will.”

The beat of Stiles’s thumbs sped up, thundering against ‘9’ and ‘3’ while you hummed along to the trickle of piano and acoustic guitar strumming through the cracked speakers. The time on the dash display flickered from 8:15 to 8:16, and Stiles let out a long, drawn-out groan, “Will you just tell me! It’s killing me. Seriously, I’m going to credit you in my epitaph. ‘Here lies Stiles Stilinski: Another Victim of Gaslighting, Gatekeeping, and Girlbossing.’”

“They say you always remember your first,” you sighed dreamily, battering your butterfly lashes. The mole on the hinge of his jaw jumped with a harsh swallow, and you grinned.

Stiles snorted and then immediately grimaced like he was irritated with his mouth for having the audacity to laugh in the midst of his despair. “Good to know I’m just part of a pattern.”

“I don’t know about that,” you hummed, resting your temple against the window. The morning sun warmed your skin and washed your face with a glimmer of gold that glittered with the devilry in your eyes. You smirked at Stiles and poked the mole just below his earlobe, “I have yet to meet anyone as homicidally inspiring as you.”

He pulled a face to hide his smile as the jeep puttered to a stop against the curb, and you looked over his shoulder, blinking slowly. You hadn’t realized you were so close to Lydia’s house until you were parked in front of it.

The colonial estate loomed largely through the window. The long white pillars stood oppressively alongside the double entrance, and the meticulously manicured lawn screamed ‘keep off’ louder than any sign or barbed-wire fence. Lydia’s house had always been more like a monument than a home: an art installation, an antique, something to be admired not loved.

Tilting your head, you squinted at the familiar windows and counted along the second floor until you found Lydia’s room. The heavy purple curtains were drawn closed, and you were a little surprised that Lydia hadn’t redecorated in the last couple years. It was probably different on the inside; sixteen was a little old for dollhouses and princess crowns.

Growing up, Lydia’s room was stocked with every Barbie accessory on the market, and yet you always played Barbies at your house. Every single time. When her dad was home, Lydia’s house had teetered between too quiet and too loud. A constant vague unease hung heavily in the air, even with the volume on her CD player turned all the way up. No boy band could drown out all the screaming and icy silences, but you'd tried. Oh how you'd tried. It happened so often, you’d eventually gotten used to the noise, but you could tell it’d bothered Lydia, no matter how unbothered she’d tried to seem.

In comparison, your house was the Dreamhouse. It was so warm before it became empty. Your mom always had something baking in the oven, and Lydia had never looked more at home than when she was tucked on your window seat, plate of brownies by her side, with your mom’s gentle hands braiding her hair out of her face. You hadn’t ever minded sharing; Lydia needed the attention more than you did. She was so much softer than people gave her credit for, far more fragile than they’d ever know.

In spite of her current taste in boys, Lydia used to be a steadfast romantic. She'd always wanted to reenact the romance novels stacked on her nightstand, a little heartbreak before the inevitable happily ever after. She used to read so voraciously there was a new plot to perform every day. You were also a bookworm, but your tastes had inspired morbid hits such as Black Widow Barbie and Dreamhouse Zombie Outbreak. You'd usually take turns, or Barbie ended up falling in love with zombie Ken until he chomped on her arm.

“Not her brains,” Lydia had always insisted, “Barbie is the brains of the relationship.”

Lydia, you'd argue, Lydia was the brain. The only one that mattered.

Warm skin on your knuckles gently drew you back into the present. Stiles’s brow was pinched with concern, and his hand lingered on yours until you brushed him off with a shake of your head—but, as you’d come to learn the last couple weeks, Stiles Stilinski was nothing if not relentless. He leaned into your side as you walked along the lengthy driveway, sending you stumbling a few paces to the right. You glared at him, but it was watered down with stubborn affection. His mouth curled into a lopsided grin, and you forgot about the nerves wriggling up your esophagus until Stiles rang the doorbell. They came back full force when you heard a pair of high heels clicking towards them.

Lydia’s mom peered out the door. She looked confused as she took in Stiles’s smile, stretched far too wide to look even remotely casual. Then, her gaze landed on you and her face broke out into a bright grin, “Y/N?”

You’d almost forgotten how beautiful she was; beauty ran just as deeply as old money in the Martin family. Lydia was born with her mom’s golden-red hair and hazel eyes, and they had the same dimpled smile. It was always difficult to see anything beyond the brilliance of their perfect teeth and incandescent skin.

“Come here,” Mrs. Martin pulled you into a tight hug and cupped the back of your head with a steady hand. Your arms remained stiff by your sides, voice sticky in your throat. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been hugged like this; the realization hurt more than you thought it would.

After a moment, your shoulders slumped, and you turned your face into Mrs. Martin’s shoulder. She still smelled the same, like patchouli and luxury, “Hi.”

She held you out at arm's-length, hands on your shoulders, and shook her head, “There’s no way that this beautiful young woman is the same little girl who tried to keep a frog colony in my guest bathroom. I can’t be that old.”

“You literally look exactly the same,” you smiled a little and rubbed your bicep.

“It has been far, far too long.” She smoothed out the wrinkles in your sleeves and then stepped back into the doorframe, “What can I do for you?”

“I…” your mouth went dry, and you looked everywhere except Mrs. Martin’s face. Your eyes flashed between the silver door knockers, the winding ivy, the sculpted shrubs. Everything was exactly the same. Nothing, not even the house, had noticed your absence.

“We came to check on Lydia,” Stiles nudged your shoulder, and you blinked a few times. Mrs. Martin was watching you with big emphatic eyes—and you hated it.

You swallowed and nodded, “Yeah…we brought her homework.”

“Come in.” She paused and pinched the bridge of her nose with freshly manicured nails, “She took a little something to relax herself, so please excuse…well, just be prepared.” Mrs. Martin sighed, and for the first time it looked like the last four years had actually aged her. She attempted a smile, but it was shriveled at the corners, “You remember the way, don’t you?”

A nod rolled up your neck to your head. You couldn’t find the words to tell Mrs. Martin that you weren’t the same girl anymore. You almost felt like her in this house: small, wild, still full of dreams. You crept up the curved staircase slowly, delaying the inevitable, and ran your fingers along the iron railing. You broke your arm falling off of it nine years ago. It was a nasty fracture that put you in a cast all summer, but it’d seemed worth it at the time. At least, you’d thought so. Your mom and Mrs. Martin hadn’t agreed with your assessment at the hospital.

You felt a twinging urge to run to the top of the stairs and slide down the railing until you became dizzy—and just like that, you were seven years old again, and you weren't scared of death or ending up alone.

“You coming?” Stiles called from the top of the stairs.

You nodded stiffly and pushed past him to the last door on the left. You held your hand on the doorknob and pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, scowling at the anxiety crawling under your skin. You were being ridiculous. It wasn’t like you were the one who ended up in an ambulance last night.

You rapped your knuckles against the door a few times, even though it was already cracked open wide enough to catch a glimpse of the raspberry walls and flower chandelier. “Lyds–ia. Lydia,” you cleared your throat and peeked into Lydia’s room, “it’s me. I mean, it’s Y/N.” Stiles nudged you in the ribs, and you sighed, “And Stiles.”

Lydia was face-down on her four-poster bed, slowly combing her fingers through her unbrushed hair. She smacked her lips together a few times, and then her head popped up from her mountain of throw pillows, “You still haven’t explained what the hell a Stiles is.”

You snorted and shot Stiles a pointed look. He pursed his lips and glanced around the room until he spotted a little bottle of pills on top of her vanity. He read the lengthy label and let out a low whistle, “Bet you can’t say, ‘I saw Sally sell seashells by the seashore.’”

Lydia swung her legs over the foot of her bed and leaned forward, eyes sparking with bullheaded determination. “I saw….I saw…” The light in her eyes faded as she drifted off to a place no one else could see.

You sat down next to her and grabbed her hand. You didn’t have to tell your body to move; it knew before you did. Finding Lydia when she was lost, it was like…swimming to the surface, shivering in a storm, bracing for a fall. It was an instinct so deeply rooted in your soul you couldn’t rip it out without rupturing an artery. You watched Lydia’s eyes focus on your face, felt her fingers lace with yours, and all you knew was the slow thump of Lydia’s pulse against your thumb.

Lydia squeezed your hand and swiveled to face you. Her eyes were still cloudy, but something warm dawned behind the fog. You felt the pit in your stomach roll. Lydia sighed happily, “There you are. I was looking for you.”

“Well,” you almost choked on the lump in your throat and struggled to support Lydia’s weight as she went boneless against your side, “here I am.” You searched for some assistance with Lydia’s rapidly sinking frame, but Stiles was busy poking around every nook and cranny in the room. “Stiles,” you snapped.

He wrenched his hand away from Lydia’s bottle of Dior perfume, purple just like the rest of the room, and clasped it behind his back. “What?”

You gestured violently towards Lydia's wilting spine and rolled your eyes when he tripped over a discarded boot in his, frankly pathetic, haste to get to Lydia’s other side. You gently maneuvered her until she was propped up against her pillows.

“Don’t go away again, okay?” Lydia licked her lips and looked like she was about to cry—so much like a scared little girl, your heart clenched. “I keep losing you.”

“I,” you stared at her with wide eyes, and the bottle of pills enveloped your peripheral vision, “I just wanted to see if you were alright…after last night.”

“Last night,” Lydia slurred, nuzzling back against her pillows.

“Yeah, last night,” Stiles folded his arms over his chest and arched his brow, “remember anything about it?”

“I remember…” Lydia looked like she was going to cry again, eyes glassy and round, but the chemical high quickly swept over the tide, “I remember a mountain lion.”

Stiles’s head tipped back between his shoulder blades, and his cheeks slowly puffed into pink little domes as he held his breath. Apparently, there was one thing more powerful than Stiles Stilinski’s obsession with Lydia Martin: his impatience. Stiles’s lips puckered as a loud sigh whooshed through his teeth. He crouched down to Lydia’s eye-level, “You remember seeing a mountain lion, or you remember them telling you it was a mountain lion?”

Lydia hummed and nodded until her hair fell in front of her face, “Mountain lion.”

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles reached for a stuffed giraffe next to her shoulder and shook it in her face, “what’s this?”

“Mountain lion,” Lydia’s head bobbed sharply.

You snatched the stuffed animal out of Stiles’s hand, scowling as you bludgeoned his arm with the giraffe’s head. “Leave her alone. She’s doped out of her mind.”

“Clearly,” Stiles snorted, watching Lydia curl a strand of her hair around her finger, completely entranced by the frizzy strands.

“What did you want her to say?” You smoothed a few stray hairs sticking up from the crown of Lydia’s head back into place and met Stiles’s gaze, face impassive, “Werewolf?”

He opened his mouth and gaped like a particularly brainless fish. Before he could come up with a coherent answer—or any kind of answer, actually—Lydia’s text-tone chimed. Stiles dove across the bed for her phone, but you smacked his hand with the giraffe before he could touch it. “You are so not reading her texts, lonely boy.”

“I was just trying to help.” Stiles flopped onto her vanity chair and crossed his arms, squirming sullenly, “She can barely string two words together, let alone an actual thought.”

“I’m sure whatever it is can wait until she’s good and hungover tomorrow.” You glanced down at Lydia’s phone and paused. It was a video file. From an unknown number.

“Hey,” Lydia poked her head up and pointed at Stiles until the weight of her arm became too much to bear. It fell on top of her stomach like a limp noodle, “You.”

“Me,” Stiles squeaked.

You muted the video and made sure Stiles was sufficiently distracted by the curl of Lydia’s finger before you pressed play. Nothing happened at first. The video was shot in a strange, almost voyeuristic style, and the lighting was terrible, so dim you could barely tell that the camera was facing a large window. You squinted and made out the video store’s sign flickering above the door. So, this was from last night. Weird—but at least it wasn’t revenge porn; that had been your first guess.

You’d almost given up on finishing the video, and then the camera angle moved. Two red eyes flashed in the darkness, a large…something smashed through the glass, and you bit down on your thumbnail so hard blood welled through the sidewalls.

It was a goof, obviously. Some kind of poorly edited creepypasta. A cruel prank someone sent Lydia after they heard what happened last night. Had to be. Your hands shook as you sent yourself the video, and then you deleted it from Lydia’s phone. Your number, you realized once you stopped seeing red, was still saved as ☀️✨Babe!!!!✨☀️ in Lydia’s contacts. It took you longer than it should have to delete the sent message.

“If you’re done fighting your erection, we should get going.” Your voice sounded remarkably even, considering how scattered your mind was. It was certainly more composed than the babble spewing from Stiles’s mouth.

“I do not have—it’s not like—I wasn’t—she thought I was someone else.”

“Ah,” your phone felt heavy in your pocket, “real boner killer.”

Stiles sighed through his nose, “New rule, you can't make fun of anything I do or say when Lydia's in my fuckin' lap. Starting now."

He must’ve known something was wrong when you didn’t argue. That, and the way you practically sprinted out of the house to avoid seeing anyone else. Your hands were still shaking when you crawled into the jeep, and Stiles shot about a dozen little furious, concerned glances in your direction, but you couldn’t seem to move your tongue.

Your bottom lip quivered. Your chest tightened until your ribs corseted your lungs. The screech of your ground teeth sent an unpleasant chill down your spine, but you’d rather choke on a chipped tooth than let the beast howling in your throat escape—the last thing you needed was to cry in the passenger seat next to Stiles Stilinski.

You were clearly losing your mind; everyone said it was only a matter of time—watching a loved one burn to death tended to have that effect on a person. Not that you remembered much, but you were clearly off your rocker if you were having vivid, day-time hallucinations of red-eyed monsters roaming the streets of Beacon Hills.

You wiped your sweat-damp palms on your dress and bounced your leg up and down, driving your heel into the floor over and over again—and then you felt a solid warmth over your knee. Your eyes were a little wild when you followed the trail of Stiles’s arm to his face, and the divot between his brows deepened when he met your gaze, “Hey, she’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

Your head jerked with a quick nod, and you sucked in a few shallow breaths, “I know.” The air got stuck in your chest, and your heart flapped erratically as the back of your eyelids played reruns of a familiar film starring your narrowing trachea. You dug your toes into the dusty floor mat, scrambling for any kind of grasp on reality, and choked on your words, “Her mom always…had…the good shit.”

Stiles kept his hand on your knee and then shook his head, pulling over against the curb and putting the jeep in park. “You don’t have to talk, but you gotta breathe.”

It took you a moment to realize that he was squeezing your kneecap in even intervals. You inhaled and exhaled with the flex of his joints until the panic receded enough for embarrassment to heat your cheeks. You slammed your head back against the seat and stared at the steel roof. You hoped that if you ignored the tears bubbling along your lash line, they’d instantaneously evaporate before they could spill onto your cheeks, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I don’t usually…this hasn’t happened in a long time.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Stiles chewed on his cheek and pulled his hand back into his lap. He drummed his fingers against his kneecap and then spoke softly, “I used to get ‘em too. Sucked.” Stiles stared out the dashboard, watching but not really seeing dead leaves swirl in little circles over the asphalt, “Happened a lot after my mom died.”

You froze for a moment, and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring. You realized, belatedly, that you hadn’t ever heard the Sheriff talk about his wife, not even once in the last four years, even though he wore a gold band on his left ring finger. It hadn’t even occurred to you to ask.

You never had the right words to explain it. For a long time, you spoke in ripples at therapy, incomprehensible circles that skirted the point in an endless loop—but you realized, as you got stuck on the honey in Stiles’s eyes, you didn’t need the right words here. With him. In fact, you didn’t really need any words at all. “Me too.”

Stiles watched your eyes steadily, and his fingers stilled against his legs, “Yeah?”

You nodded and swallowed a little, “Yeah.”

A smile tugged on his mouth, tangled with too many paradoxes to parse in the soft, short moment humming between you. You smiled back at him, far more timidly, but that wasn’t a surprise. He was brave, you decided, much braver than you. It was contagious.

Your tongue darted out, licking your chapped lips, and you clung to the fragile current of courage lapping against the back of your teeth. “We just stopped talking.”

Stiles glanced at you, clearly confused.

“Lydia and I.” You knotted your fingers in the hem of your dress and tugged on it every time you felt the stopper in your throat start to swell, “We just stopped being friends after my mom died. That’s why I didn’t…I mean, there’s not really a story to tell. We were close, and then I woke up one day, and we weren’t anymore.”

Stiles turned until he was facing you, leaning against the door and struggling to find a comfortable angle for his long legs. “Most people…they’re okay with the funeral part ‘cause it’s pretty simple—y’know: hold hands, bring food, pretend no one’s crying. And then after comes, and they can’t figure out what to do because it’s over, but it’s not.”

“Limbo,” you mirrored his position and pulled your knees to your chest. You rocked the soles of your boots from heel to toe, like small patent leather boats adrift on a sea of faded nylon, “It’s limbo, and everyone else is so incredibly, hideously alive.”

The relief was back in Stiles’s eyes, and you were swimming in it. He nodded and bent his knees, scooching his feet until the toes of his sneakers were pressed against yours. “Yeah," he exhaled, and the moment felt important, like something you were supposed to remember on your deathbed. You tried to memorize the look on Stiles's face, but you didn't know where to start. How could you etch infinity?

“It wasn’t just her,” you admitted out loud for the first time.

“Yeah,” Stiles shrugged a little and gave you a grin that brought the dimples back to his cheeks, and you couldn’t help but smile at their reappearance, “but we can pretend it was, just for today.”

You let out a breath that felt like a laugh and lifted your toes, dropping them on top of his and pressing down until they were pinned beneath the tread of your boots. Stiles narrowed his eyes and wriggled his feet free, fighting your scurrying ankles with his tongue trapped between his teeth. His triumphant cry when he finally caught the tip of your laces was just enthusiastic enough to coerce another laugh through your clamped lips.

The soft smile Stiles gave you while you laughed made his body go lax and the back of your neck warm. You quickly bent over to retie your laces, and he turned to restart the engine.

“I should probably get us back to school,” Stiles ran his hand over his head. “My dad'll kill me if I get marked truant again.”

“It’s parent teacher conferences tonight,” you recalled as the words left your mouth. You slunk down in your seat, chin catching on the seatbelt, “I’ve never skipped school before. I have no idea what my dad’s gonna say.”

Stiles’s attention shifted from the road to your profile, “Really?”

“What?” you crossed your arms over your chest and blew your hair out of your eyes.

“Nothing,” Stiles tried to hide his smirk, but it was too sharp to cover with a cough, “it’s just…hasn’t everyone skipped at least once?”

“What would I even do?” The corner of your mouth tugged into a dry smile, “Visit my catatonic ex-best friend?”

Stiles nodded agreeably, and then his head danced from side to side, rolling over other options, “Or bowling. Bowling is fun.”

You grumbled a little in your throat and sunk further into the cradle of your hips, “I hate bowling.”

Stiles grinned, “Yeah, me too.”

Pausing, your bottom lip wormed its way between your teeth, “I’d play D&D with you, though.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” you watched the sun disappear behind the tree line over the hill and ignored the feeling of being examined like a bacterial petri dish.

“See, we are friends. The best of friends, actually. Two peas in the proverbial pod.”

And, well, you couldn’t really disagree.

#stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski imagine #dylan o'brien x reader #dylan o'brien imagine #teen wolf #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf fanfiction #teen wolf imagine #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski x you

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absolutebl · 1 year ago

Text

This Week in BL - Top 3 Are HEATING UP

Organized, in each category, by ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Dec 2023 Wk 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Honestly, 3 are neck & necking for top position! They are all so good in different ways. But The Sign had me hooting with laughter this week, so it scooped #1.

The Sign (Sat YT) ep 4 of 10 - This show is literally everything (except straight) all at once. It's BL, queer, band of brothers, romcom, erotica, paranormal, fated mates, mystery, suspense, slasher, and horror. It’s the king of genre mash-up chaos. I have no idea what I’m watching but I’m ON this ride. Is it a roller coaster? Is it a haunted house? Is it a twirl & hurl? Is there candy floss? Am I even tall enough? Who tf cares. All through the second scene, I was laughing. It was legit funny. Billy has great comedic timing. Guess he’s not just a pretty face.

Everyone should be watching this. Sure, it's madness but there is genius in it.

Last Twilight (Fri YT) ep 6 of 12 - Yech. August may be one of GMMTV’s least likable characters ever (and that is saying something). Meanwhile, MOAR language play! They spoiling me!

Mhok letting Day go then walking away at the party hurt so bad.

Argh this show is great!

Ep 6 so that kiss was right on schedule. I’m looking forward to the boyfriend eps before doom & pain in the new year. Carry on GMMTV.

Speaking of...

Cherry Magic (Sat YouTube) ep 2 of 12 - Oh they’re great. It’s great. It’s paced oddly, moving quickly through most of the key scenes of the original JBL in these first 2 eps. I think it’s intending to encompass more of the manga series than that one did. Which is good, cause that will get us all the way to The Library Kiss (TM). It's the best kiss in the manga. I also like the sides in this show (better than the JBL version).

My Dear Gangster Oppa (Thurs iQIYI) ep 8fin - What a lovely slightly unhinged little show. Tew, can we talk? Un-ironic suspenders, that takes courage. Also, the revolver was a crazy gun choice.

Final thoughts:

This show is just as ridiculous as its title. About a gaymer who falls in love with one of his in-game teammates, who just happens to be a IRL gangster. A real gangster, the kind that actually kills people regularly. The lead pair is doing their best with a ridiculous story and shoddy script, but I enjoyed it. Although I was grateful it wasn’t very long, what we got was oddly satisfying if, frankly, a little bit silly. Recommended. 8/10

That said, what's important about this BL is not the show, but the production and style. Let me explain... no, too much, let me sum up.

This is a chimera BL. Regarding characters: it has Japan's style otaku + Korea's style gangster + Thailand's style friendship group. It used Thai talent + Korean money (Kakao) & IP (adapted from a manwha) but aired on a Chinese channel globally (iQIYI). I'm delighted by the eclectic insanity of this production and truly doubt that any other genre but BL could ever produce like this. It's like diplomat's BL and it's the great wonder of our age that it happened at all. This BL deserves its place in the history books on production alone, even if that place is only in the footnotes. A remarkable little monster.

For Him (Thurs iQIYI) ep 3 of 10 - The sides are… messy. Using the same actor for the old bf is… odd. But in the end, this show leaves me smiling. Which means, I like it despite myself.

Bake Me Please (Mon Gaga) ep 4 of 6 - It's decent. It’s basically what I wanted Antique Bakery to be when I first watched that way back when (not to mention Bite Me). But there’s been so much BL since then that, for some reason, this is falling flat. I think it’s moving too fast for a Thai series. Although, say what you like, Ohm has to be one of the best soft kissers in the industry. He's just good at mouth tenderness.

Ugh, that doesn't sound right. But you know what I mean.

Twins the series (Fri GaGa) ep 7 of 10 - I love how First is so upset when Sprite starts chatting and being nice to Koh. Sprite is just a sweet easy-going likable boy. I enjoy Sprite as a main character, he’s a bubbly little communicator. And they had a cute kiss.

Pit Babe (Fri iQIYI) ep 5 of 14 - Because there was more Alan and Jeff and they were more key to the plot I was more into this ep. I do compare it to green smoothie down the pants in the Trash Watch.

Cooking Crush (Sun YT) ep 3 of 12 - Look OffGun are truly great. But I’m just not sure we need them in BL anymore. That said, it’s nice to see Off as "the one with the crush" for a change. Also, this show is only good when OffGun are on screen together, otherwise it kinda, well, sucks.

Night Dream (Sat YT) ep 1 of 6 - Cafe setting featuring a cook and a writer. *Seems awfully familiar.* Except these two are exes and this is a reunion romance. It’s stiff and very pulp but not bad (no crap sound effects) and I am a sucker for a reunion romance. That said, Rookie Thailand is not to be trusted, proceed with caution.

Absolute Zero (Weds iQIYI) ep 12fin - I'm grateful this is over. It was tense but for the wrong reasons - sadness and confusion. This final episode was fine, but that’s because it was mostly them being together + flashbacks. Plus all the familiar actor faces of the grown-up friends (hi, Karn my lovely, still stunning I see). But 2 of 12 episodes is not enough for the 10 of suffering and confusion that came before.

In conclusion:

A man is killed on his 10th anniversary resulting in a time paradox, for which the only solution is him never meeting his childhood sweetheart until later in life. Both lovers cycle back to the past at different ages, so that they each become their own 1st & 2nd great loves, but every time it ends in pain, until each also endures 10 years of separation. Finally it gets fixed, but leaves them with multiple memories of time's failures like temporal PTSD, and everyone around them has chronic deja vu. Me? I got both. This is one of those BLs that is high-quality with great acting but poor story. If you like your BL dwelling, maudlin, and tense due to angst and suffering, then you might enjoy this. But I just regret it, 6/10. Recommended only if you like confusing time travel emo pain.

In which case, just watch Tokyo in April is... instead. Give over Thailand, Japan does it better.

Middleman’s Love (Fri YT & iQIYI ep 6 of 8 - While our main couple isn’t working for me... the side couple isn’t working for me either. I really wanted to give LeoTai a chance, this is the 3rd show I’ve seen them in, and still nope. I like Jade a lot more when he’s sad. He’s a much more pleasant screen experience depressed. I would like him to stay hurt for a couple of eps, just so I can enjoy this show a tiny bit more. But then he just goes unhinged again. Argh. I just don’t like it.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) Pisces of Me ep 17 of 24 - Codependent boyfriends in middle school planning for high school dealing with stuff. Including other boys being into them.

Playboyy (Thurs Gaga) 5 of 14 eps - Dear Playboyy, it's not you, it’s me… I hate you. You’re about as deep (and as palatable) as a shot glass of cum. While I'm sure you’re someone’s kink, you're my weakest link. Goodbye. DNF

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

VIP Only (Taiwan Fri Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - It’s cute but I don’t think BL in this short format is Taiwan’s strength these days. And this is quite slow and dull. Perhaps they should have whacked it down to 6 eps, not 10.

Sahara-sensei to Toki-kun (Japan Fri Gaga) ep 3 of 8 - This is one of those JBLs that I should like on paper but is failing me. The drag bit was ridiculous but handled gently. The kiss was… well… something wasn’t it? It’s all very odd. I like the photographer cutie character.

It's Airing But...

The Whisperer (Sun ????) 10 eps - Thai horror BL that ALSO involves cheating (what joy is mine). I don't think even the perfect single dimple can motivate me to watch. Word is... it's terrible.

7 Days Before Valentine (Weds WeTV) 10 eps - Giving me Luminous Solution vibes. I'm waiting to binge if it's safe.

Beyond The Star (Weds iQIYI) 8 eps - House of Stars meets Boyband. I was NOT impressed with ep 1. Been told I shouldn't bother.

What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) 10 eps - I find this series more fun to binge, so I'm waiting until after it completes its run next week.

Dear Kitakyushu (Thai/Japan movie) in theaters in country only, I know nothing about distribution.

Behind the Shadows (Korea movie) this is a historical I was interested in, but I've been told they kill the gay so I'm OUT.

Next Week Looks Like This

Still coming:

12/23 Dead Friend Forever (Thai horror) iQIYI

Original 2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED). With the end of the year upon us I'll do an "announced for 2023 but never happened list" soon.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

He so pretty.

I forgot how likable TayNew are, and frankly I think New is a better version of this role for me, personally. I like him a lot. He's a conscientious sweetheart. And a good egg. (Cherry Magic)

Ah the rooftop my old friend. (Last Twilight)

I would like to point out that it's no accident the naga's sex dream happened in the shower, he's a water creature after all. (The Sign)

(Last week)

#the sign the series #was very hot this week #this week in bl #bl updates #Last Twilight #Thai BL #cherry magic #my dear gangster oppa #my dear gangster oppa review #for him the series #Bake Me Please #antique bakery #twins the series #cooking crush #offgun #Absolute Zero review #bl reviewed #bl reviews

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linkspooky · 6 days ago

Note

as the resident staple Bad Victim Enjoyer:tm:, have any notable thoughts on Wicked? your thoughts are very enjoyable and crunchy, also hope you're doing well

NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED: A Character Analysis of Elphaba as a Bad Victim

Wicked is billed as the untold story of the Wicked Witch of the West. The original novel is a reimagining of the world of Oz which runs on child logic in L Frank Baum's books, into a dark, political fantasy where the world of Oz is controlled by the Wizard a dictator who is at the head of a massive propaganda machine that focuses on scapegoating capital-A-Animals, a group of talking Animals, as to being for blame for all of society's ills. Elphaba is born into this world and shaped by the political climate, and her condition of being born with green skin and sympathies with the plight of the Animal lead to her being labeled as the enemy of all society. The "Wicked Witch" is a title given to Elphaba to make her a political scapegoat, the same way that "Good Witch" is given to Glinda when he joins the wizard's propaganda machine.

There are three versions of the story, the book, the musical, and the as-of-now incomplete movie version. However, we are going to be focusing on the musical version because I like to pretend the book does not exist. The Musical is divided into two acts, act one focusing on Elphaba's school life leading up to meeting the wizard and deciding to turn against him the act which got her labelled as the Wicked Witch, and act two takes place after a timeskip where several tragic events in Elphaba's life which serve as the explanation for why she acted towards Dorothy the way she did in the Wizard of Oz.

The ostensible point of both the book and the musical is to humanize a character who was otherwise a one-dimmensional villain in a children's fairy tale. There's no deep reason for why the Wicked Witch of the West wants the silver shoes in L Frank Baum's novel besides the fact that they would have granted her immense power. In the MGM movie the Witch is given an expanded role in the book to make her a main antagonist, and her motives become a little more layered - she appears before the munchkins to avenge her sister's death and then is upset when the shoes she came to claim from her sister appear on Dorothy's feet instead. Margaret Hamilton's witch also claims to want the shoes because of the magic contained within, and despite a legendary performance the character doesn't have much more depth in spite of all of the additional scenes.

So, the musical asks the question what could possibly motivate someone to torment a twelve year old girl over a pair of shoes. In doing so not only does it add depth to a world of black and white good and evil that runs on child logic, it also shows the way the concepts of "goodness" and "badness" are made up terms that can be used to manipulate the public and our perception of things.

Ozian: Glinda, why does wickedness happen? Glinda: That's a good question; one that many people find confusifying. Are people born wicked, or do they have wickedness thrust upon them? After all, she had a childhood,; She had a father, who just happed to be the governor of munchlinkland.

Which finally dovetails to my point, that Elphaba and the way she is victim blamed and scapegoated for all the tragic things that happen to her life, makes her what I define as a "Bad Victim."

What is a Bad Victim?

A bad victim is a fictional character who is victimized in some way or is a victim of something, and is negatively characterized for their reaction to their trauma. This term is most used in conjunction with "good victims" to compare two victims who suffer from similar circumstances but are treated differently by the narrative, most of the time with a black and white view.

A good victim is usually someone who endures trauma and suffering without any sort of negative reaction especially one the audience would find distasteful, and remains kind no matter what. There is nothing wrong with characters who choose to remain kind in the face of an unkind world, they are not less interesting as characters. The term "Good Victims" really arises from the way readers tend to treat these characters differently, by overly criticizing other characters the so called "Bad Victims" for not remaining morally perfect while enduring suffering.

A good example of a good victim (haha) would be Dorothy herself from both the movie and L Frank Baum's original children's novel. Dorothy is a twelve-year old whisked away to Oz, who is besotted by trial after trial as she tries to make her way home. She is characterized by not only her determination in the face of all these trials, but also by her good heart which allows her to befriend the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion. In fact, Dorothy is so innocent that even though she went to the Wicked Witch's castle to get her broom, the famous melting scene happens because she was trying to save her life. Dorothy noticed that the Witch had caught fire and threw a bucket of water on her to save her, only to kill her because she's so old and wicked her body fluids have all dried out.

Dorothy is terrified, threatened, and genuinely breaks down in the movie when she sees Auntie Em appear in a crystal ball looking for her while captured by the Wicked Witch, but in spite of that remains the same twelve year old girl who just wants to go home.

This is where I surprise everyone who reads the blog titled Bad Victims Enjoyer, but I really like Dorothy's character. The Wizard of Oz is my favorite movie and children's book series, and on top of that there weren't a lot of children's books I read growing up where the main character was a little girl who saved the day by showing kindness and compassion to others and by making friends with outcasts.

Dorothy doesn't even appear in the musical itself, but she is still an important character because she is the good victim to Elphaba's bad victim. The way there stories interact are fascinating to compare to each other because they are opposites, Dorothy is an innocent and remains an innocent over the course of the story as her story plays out presumably the same way it did in the movie. Dorothy gets to exist in this childike, fairy-tale version of Oz, where bad witches are ugly and the wizard is a kindly figure who grants your heart's desire, and all you need to do to get home is follow the Yellow Brick Road.

Elphaba exists in the dark political drama aspect of Oz that Wicked focuses on instead, but she didn't start out there. She started out where Dorothy is, as a girl who wanted to follow the yellow brick road to meet the Wizard and have her heart's desire granted. The movie even emphasizes this by adding in a scene when she's young of her reading a storybook and telling her younger sister about how the wizard sailed in to save Oz on a hot air baloon grants "your heart's desire" if you ever get to meet him.

Elphaba and Dorothy are two main characters of opposite sides of the story (and for simplicity I'm going to talk about the movie version of Dorothy). They both begin with the notion that they are living in the magic realm of Oz ruled over by a just wizard, and that their world operates on children's fairy tale logic. Act 1 Elphaba is a mirror to Dorothy in several ways, including the fact that they both get Disney Princess "I Want" songs.

Their songs "The Wizard and I" and "Somewhere over the Rainbow" are both essentially about the same topic, they're fantasizing about escaping their current life to somewhere better.

Someday I'll wish upon a star And wake up where the clouds are far behind me Where troubles melt like lemon drops Away above the chimney tops That's where you'll find me (Somewhere Over the Rainbow) AND I'LL STAND THERE WITH THE WIZARD FEELING THINGS I'VE NEVER FELT AND THOUGH I'D NEVER SHOW IT I'D BE SO HAPPY I COULD MELT! AND SO IT WILL BE FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE AND I'LL WANT NOTHING ELSE 'TILL I DIE HELD IN SUCH HIGH ESTEEM! WHEN PEOPLE SEE ME THEY WILL SCREAM FOR HALF OF OZ'S FAVORITE TEAM: THE WIZARD... AND I!!!! (The Wizard and I)

They both don't fit in to their lives, though Elphaba is an extreme example. In the introduction of the movie Dorothy annoys several farmhands and even runs away from home when a neighbor woman threatens Toto's life. While Elphaba is desperate to go to Shizz to escape an unhappy home where her sister is favored heavily over her.

They both sing about escapism, for Dorothy it's about escaping her literallly sepia toned life in Kansas to somewhere over the rainbow. For Elphaba it's about having her power recognized by the wizard after Madame Morrible tells her she has a chance to be good.

I'LL WRITE AT ONCE TO THE WIZARD TELL HIM OF YOU IN ADVANCE WITH A TALENT LIKE YOURS, DEAR, THERE IS A DEFIN-ISH CHANCE IF YOU WORK AS YOU SHOULD YOU'LL BE MAKING GOOD

The difference is of course that Dorothy comes from a happy home. There is never any sign that Elphaba's father has any parental affection for her, but after Dorothy runs away she's quickly shown a vision of Auntie Em worrying about her through a crystal ball that sends her home.

From the moment Dorothy crosses into Oz, her and Elphaba go on parallel journeys. Journeys where they are told by a magical mentor that meeting the Wizard will solve all of their problems, and along the way encounter a scarecrow, a tin man, and a cowardly lion. When they at last meet the wizard they discover he is a phony, only to learn that the power was inside of them all along.

Their stories involve a pair of magical slippers, and they are both characters who transverse between world, Dorothy is from Kansas and crosses into Oz after hitching a ride on a twister, and Elphaba is the daughter of the Wizard who was also originally from Kansas as well.

Both of these stories involve the same character, follow the same general script (a girl takes a trip to the emerald city in order to meet the wizard and ask him to solve a problem), and involve the same characters (Glinda the Good Witch, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion) but they take wildly different turns.

Their stories end completely opposite, Dorothy is finally allowed to return home and reunite with her loved ones after realizing the power to return home was inside her all along while Elphaba flees from Oz permanently with Fiyero and is unable to even let Glinda know that she's still alive.

The reason these two characters who both start out innocent girls get wildly different endings is not because of any moral failing on their part, but because both girls exist in different stories. Dorothy is the protagonist of a children's fairy tale, and Elphaba the protagonist of a tragedy where a character is brought to ruin by her own fatal flaw.

Why are bad victims bad - ?

I'm going to posit that it's not anything the bad victim did in particular, but the framework of the narrative surrounding them. In a normal story, a main character is usually allowed to make as many mistakes as they want before they finally learn their lesson. Whereas in a tragedy, a main character is ruthlessly punished for their flaws.

Dorothy is a small child who befriends everyone she meets, but Elphaba is no less moral of a person. In the first act of the play, we see her sympathizing with Professor Dilamond, and selflessly helping the lion cub. In fact, what drives Elphaba too tragedy is that there are certain moral lines she absolutely refuses to cross.

Yet one story is a little girl's journey home, and the other story is a protagonist's journey to becoming a villain. The difference again is not any internal quality that Dorothy has that Elphaba is lacking, but the circumstances surrounding them, and the reactions of the people around them. It's a concept that Wicked goes at length to deconstruct, that good and bad are just made up term, meaningless labels whose only meaning comes from the people who use them.

GLINDA Well, I'm a little muddled. The Munchkins called me because a new witch has just dropped a house on the Wicked Witch of the East. And there's the house, and here you are, and that's all... GLINDA And so what the Munchkins want to know... GLINDA (CONT'D) ...is, are you a good witch, or a bad witch? DOROTHY Oh, but I've already told you, I'm not a witch at all -- witches are old and ugly. What was that? GLINDA The Munchkins. They're laughing because I am a witch. I'm Glinda, the Witch of the North. DOROTHY You are! Oh, I beg your pardon! But I've never heard of a beautiful GLINDA Only bad witches are ugly.

Wicked plays with this concept a lot, in her introduction song Elphaba sings about how she wants the professor to recognize that she's so good inside despite her ugly outsides.

AND ONE DAY HE'LL SAY TO ME, "ELPHABA, A GIRL WHO IS SO SUPERIOR, SHOULDN'T A GIRL WHO'S SO GOOD INSIDE HAVE A MATCHING EXTERIOR? AND SINCE FOLKS HERE TO AN OBSURED DEGREE SEEM FIXATED ON YOUR VERDEGRIS WOULD IT BE ALRIGHT BY YOU IF I DEGREENIFY YOU?" AND OF COURSE THAT'S NOT IMPORTANT TO ME "ALRIGHT! WHY NOT?" I'LL REPLY

Glinda wanting to be validated as being good through what are ultimately very empty gestures of kindness that are more about the attention she receives from said gestures is a running theme through act one, which manfiests in her role as "Glinda the Good" in act two being based off of a lie.

Morrible: And Glinda, dear, we're happy for you! As Press Secretary, I have striven to ensure that all of Oz knows the story of your braverism! How I vividly remember... THE DAY YOU WERE FIRST SUMMONED TO AN AUDIENCE WITH OZ, AND ALTHOUGH HE WOULD NOT TELL YOU WHY INITIALLY WHEN YOU BOWED BEFORE HIS THROWN HE DECREED YOU'D HENCE BE KNOWN AS GLINDA THE GOOD OFFICIALLY! Fiyero: That's not how you described it to me. Glinda: Oh no, not exactly, but Whispers we'll talk about it later. Morrible: THEN WITH A JEALOUS SQUEEE THE WICKED WITCH BURST FROM CONCEALMENT WHERE SHE HAD BEEN LURKING SURREPTITIALLY!

A lie Glinda's schoolmates like Boq and Nessarose should be aware of because they saw Glinda leave with Elphaba to the Emerald City after being invited by the wizard.

Elphaba and Glinda both share this quality of wanting to be validated as being good (Elphaba sings about it in her disney princes I want song), but they take opposite paths as Elphaba becomes scapegoated due to her actions and Glinda after choosing to stay with the Wizard and become a part of his propaganda machine becomes the good witch of the north.

Glinda and Elphaba are similar, primarily because of that desire for validation, to be seen as someone good that drives Elphaba's actions as much as it does Glinda's - not just being a good person, but the attention gotten from being a good person. Ironically for opposite reasons, Elphaba has been attention starved all her life so she sympathizes with the outcast and joins the Animal cause because of that. Elphaba has always been spoiled all of her life and because of that has few relationships of substance, which... also makes her attention hungry.

STILL... WITH THIS PERFECT FINALE THE CHEERS AND THE BALLYHOO WHO WOULDN'T BE HAPPIER? SO I COULDN'T BE HAPPIER BECAUSE HAPPY IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN ALL YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE... WELL, ISN'T IT? HAPPY IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOUR DREAMS COME... TRUE!!!! Ozians: WE LOVE YOU GLINDA IF WE MAY BE SO FRANK! Glinda: THANK GOODNESS! Ozians: FOR ALL THIS JOY WE KNOW WHO WE'VE GOT TO THANK! THANK GOODNESS!

Whereas Elphaba once again, wants validation too. She's felt ugly and unloved her entire life. She doesn't believe it when Fiyero chooses her over Glinda, she thinks Fiyero is lying. She frankly tells Dilamond she has no friend, and Glinda that her father hates her.

ONE QUESTION HAUNTS AND HURTS TOO MUCH, TOO MUCH TO MENTION WAS I REALLY SEEKING GOOD OR JUST SEEKING ATTENTION? IS THAT ALL GOOD DEEDS ARE WHEN LOOKED AT WITH AN ICE COLD EYE? IF THAT'S ALL GOOD DEEDS ARE

It's a flaw both Glinda and Elphaba share but Glinda doesn't face nearly the same drastic consequences that Elphaba does, because Glinda is not the protagonist of a tragedy.

It's not about who Elphaba and Glinda are but the narrative surrounding, in a meta-textual sense, and in the actual events of the story itself. There's a scene where Boq almost calls Elphaba by name during the song of the Witch Hunter, because she's a person he knew during high school, but then immediately stops himself because giving her a name doesn't suit the story he's trying to tell of a wicked witch who needs to be punished.

Boq: And, this is more than just a service to the Wizard. I have a personal score to settle with Elph... with the witch! Crowd Cheers. IT'S DUE TO HER I'M MADE OF TIN HER SPELL MADE THIS OCCUR SO FOR ONCE I'M GLAD I'M HEARTLESS I'LL BE HEARTLESS KILLING HER!

It's a stark contrast to Glinda talking about Elphaba to the muchkinlanders celebrating her death and insisting that she was a person who had a mtoher and a father and a childhood. Elphaba is a person you can sympathize with, but the wicked witch must be punished. Boq even reframes Elphaba saving the lion cub as somehow robbing him of his courage by not letting him fight his own battles. What matters is not the actions themselves, but the narrative surrounding the actions that makes a bad victim bad.

To connect this back to Dorothy, Elphaba is someone who shares several traits in common with Dorothy who just happens to through circumstances be the protagonist of a much more tragic tale. Elphaba is no less brave or strong or moral than Dorothy, but she over the course of her story is worn down until she becomes the villain in Dorothy's story.

Part of me wonders if the similarities between the two of them is what pushes Elphaba to the point where she starts to punish Dorothy. Dorothy reflects the innocence Elphaba had in act 1 of the play when she was convinced the world she lived in was a wonderful place and the Wizard cared enough to help the Animals.

Elphaba: I'd better go. Doctor Dillamond, if something bad is happening to the Animals then someone has to tell the Wizard. That's why we have a Wizard! SO NOTHING BAD Both: NOTHNG ALL THAT BAD Dillamond: NOTHING TRULY BAAAAHHH... Sorry... Bad. Elphaba: IT COULDN'T HAPPEN HERE, IN OZ...

It may just be Dorothy's innocence that compels Elphaba to antagonize her, because she represents the innocence that Elphaba lost. Dorothy gets to retain her innocence and go back to her happy home in Kansas, not because she is a better person but just because of the different circumstances between them.

Elphaba: Oh, for Oz's sake, stop crying!!! I can't listen to it anymore! Oh, you want to see your Aunt Em and your Uncle What's-his-name again?! Then get those shoes off your feet!!! Little brat... takes a dead woman's shoes; must have been raised in a barn! Chistery! Oh, Chistery, there you are. Where are the others? Chistery motions away. Chistery, please... if you don't at least try to keep speaking you will never... She Sees Glinda. Go away.

I keep saying Elphaba is not less moral than Dorothy, but that's not exactly true as she does commit moral wrongs. She terrorizes and tries to kill a twelve year old over a pair of shoes. However, until that point Elphaba was a moral person. What delivers her to that point, what pushes Elphaba to that extremes is because up until that point in the play Elphaba refused to compromise on her morals one bit. She became the enemy of society not because of any selfishness on her part, but because she chose to stand with the Animals and become the wizard's enemy to help their cause.

Elphaba's story stands in opposition to the just world phenomenon which is reference a few times in the play itself.

LET US BE GRATEFUL, LET US REJOICIFY THAT GOODNESS COULD SUBDUE THE WICKED WORKINGS OF YOU KNOW WHO! ISN'T IT NICE TO KNOW THAT GOOD WILL CONQUER EVIL? THE TRUTH WE ALL BELIEVE'LL BY AND BY OUTLIVE A LIE [...] Ozians: YES, GOODNESS KNOWS THE WICKEDS' LIVES ARE LONELY GOODNESS KNOWS THE WICKED CRY ALONE NOTHING GROWS FOR THE WICKED THEY REAP ONLY WHAT THEY'VE SEWN

The just-world fallacy, or just-world hypothesis, is the cognitive bias that assumes that "people get what they deserve" – that actions will necessarily have morally fair and fitting consequences for the actor. For example, the assumptions that noble actions will eventually be rewarded and evil actions will eventually be punished fall under this fallacy. In other words, the just-world fallacy is the tendency to attribute consequences to—or expect consequences as the result of— either a universal force that restores moral balance or a universal connection between the nature of actions and their results. It is often associated with a variety of fundamental fallacies, especially in regard to rationalizing suffering on the grounds that the sufferers "deserve" it. This is called victim blaming.

"No one Mourns the Wicked" is basically the munchkins singing about the Just World Phenomenon, that Elphaba was only reaping her just rewards for being evil because bad things only happen to people who deserve it.

Whereas in reality, the world is a confusifying place and good actions can result in bad results. Elphaba certainly has her flaws, she's reckless and impulsive, on top of being self-righteous and there's an element of selfishness to all of her actions because she wants love and validation like any human being.

However, the play is making the underlying point in that the moment you attempt to define her as good or bad you are robbing her of her humanity and those human motivations that matter. You are simplifying a person down to a storytelling trope so you can fit them into your narrative of the world.

And that is what a bad victim truly is. It's trying to judge a victim as good or bad, like good is something you are and not something you do.

#wicked #elphaba #glinda #glinda upland #wicked musical

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