#well cause when you go somewhere else it becomes that often my identity even in my mind is just westerner or non american or english speake

[beneaththebloodylake]

「You're thinking 'people from Kansai are stingy' aren't you. ... Actually it's just me who's personally stingy.」

literally me but with uk/europe/whatever distinction americans decide to assign me

[blookmallow]

hi i binged through all of salad fingers for the first time in like 8 years and im fixating again here are. My Theories. pls talk to me if anyone else has Thoughts or wants to discuss things. this is really long i am sorry :’ ) 

also shout out to the salad fingers wiki for helping me keep track of details and also for this 

-----

thought: salad fingers is not violent on purpose he did not mean to kill that kid 

this is less a theory and more “if you slander my boy with accusations i will Get you” but listen. i see people going “but he mURDERED A CHILD!!” because of the oven incident but listen. listen to me. he didnt mean to and cannot be held to the same standard of morality and understanding consequences as a. person who isn’t..... in whatever situation and mental state he has going on

- yes, the kid getting trapped in the oven was his fault. but it was not intentional or malicious and i sincerely doubt he understands what happened or why. 

he was asking for help reaching the fish (there’s no reason to believe he wasn’t just genuinely asking for help. he tears up in gratitude. theres no evidence of him Tricking People Maliciously in any other context i do not believe he would do that) and was distracted by the rusty nail, causing him to let go of the door. it wasn’t “he cares more about rust than about a child’s life” or something, i dont think he can actually hold “hey look at that i gotta check that out” and “i need to hold the door open so the child doesn’t get hurt” in his head at the same time, rust is his favorite stim/an impulse thing that takes over everything else and his perception of reality and the things going on around him changes very quickly and easily. more on that later. but the important point here is it wasn’t a malicious plot, or a neglectful careless action, he literally did not realize letting go of the door would cause harm 

he stabbed himself accidentally with the nail and passed out for a while (the fact that he immediately bled that much is concerning too, he probably has hemophilia which is. a medical condition outside of his control, as well) and after all that he had completely forgotten about the child altogether (and says “i must have dozed off” so he doesn’t even understand he passed out. and might not remember the nail thing in the first place) 

we don’t see what happened after this, we don’t know how he responds when he investigates the fish and inevitably finds an unexpected charred corpse in there, but i guarantee he won’t remember why its in there or understand that its a corpse. we dont see it again so its. entirely possible he didnt recognize it as a person and either just disposed of it or, uh, ate it. but if he did, it wasn’t with the knowledge and comprehension of it being A Corpse or the memory of how it got there 

theory: on salad fingers and memory / comprehension of death and consequences 

more on that subject

- we see him frequently doing things and then immediately forgetting he did it or forgetting what was happening. he accidentally squishes the bug (which also was not malicious or intentional, he intended to pet it but just. went too hard) and has no understanding either that its dead, or that he killed it. she has gone flat and gooey for some unknown reason. that’s strange. she needs to go have a wash, that’s no way to be. 

he eats the jeremy fisher puppet at one point and then immediately goes “where have you gotten to??” 

he even briefly forgets hubert cumberdale’s name and immediately comes up with another one without realizing it, and then later goes back to hubert cumberdale again with no mention of barbara logan-price 

he refers to the same little yellow guy as “young child” and also Auntie Bainbridge later on. he keeps up the fantasy of... whatever the fuck yvonne was being his child for a pretty long time but then when he arrives at “auntie bainbridge” ‘s house he suddenly forgets why he’s there, and even apparently forgets what yvonne is and uses  ‘her’ as a window rag instead and never mentions it again (I also don’t think she was in the sandwich at the end either. it’s hard to see but the sandwich contents are vaguely brown and theres a visible lump in the black goo behind him. i like the idea that the lil yellow guy made the sandwich for him) 

salad fingers is constantly subconsciously adjusting his reality to fit Whatever Makes The Most Sense At The Time and does not consistently remember things (sometimes even major things. he remembers his puppets the most consistently and still even forgets hubert’s name) or have a concept of cause and effect 

i think he possibly has some sense of recognition, “I’ve seen this person before,” but doesn’t always remember Why he knows them, and his mind just automatically fills in the blank with whatever makes sense to him. he doesn’t remember who the yellow guy is, but knows he knows them Somehow, so, ah, of course, it must be auntie bainbridge out for her sunday stroll :) and he knows he’s there for a reason, but not what that reason was, so he decides it must be time to clean the windows 

- milford cubicle was already dead when salad fingers opens the door, but he has no idea that hes dead. this isn’t even a cause for concern. my, he must be tired, that’s all. he kept milford there until he rotted away, too, so there was never a point where he realized anything was wrong (until he became skeleton. more on That later too) 

- he finds a corpse buried in the yard and rather than confronting the confusing and alarming reality of that situation, why it must be kenneth, back from the great war! at no point does he understand kenneth is definitely dead

theory: kenneth vs glass brother

i think he really did have a brother named kenneth who probably died in the war. could be some subconscious connection between “recognizing” a corpse as his brother, but i dont think he realizes any of that. i think the glass family is probably a trauma based hallucination, but a... well, reflection. pun not exactly intended lmao. on how his real family was and how they treated him

i dont think glass brother is the same brother as kenneth, since salad fingers interacts with them completely differently 

kenneth is a corpse that salad fingers projects a personality on and speaks for, while glass brother seems independent and malicious toward him. i think he had a good relationship with kenneth (so, when salad fingers imagines that he’s here, it’s cause for celebration and he’s projecting onto something inert and “safe”) and also had another brother (who was probably his twin) who bullied him and acted violently, so when that trauma resurfaces, he hallucinates a vicious Other that he cannot control or speak for.

it also tracks that the abusive brother was his twin - he sees himself reflected in the mirror, and something in his own face reminds him of that lost brother until it “becomes” him

he refers to kenneth as his younger brother, and sees him as a being that does not look like him, while glass brother is literally his reflection, so it would make sense if he had one identical twin and one younger brother 

ive seen theories that he had a real sister named bordois too, but i think him calling the bug “little sister” was just. a term of endearment or one of his little odd language quirks, he seemed to be talking to it more like a pet than like a sibling 

theory: regarding mable

- ok people are saying salad fingers killed mable at the picnic but i Really Don’t Think He Did

we never see him acting out violently when he gets scared. he tends to try to escape situations that stress him out, he shrinks, he cries, he goes into his cupboard (which is. incredibly upsetting given the fact he was almost definitely abused by his family) 

he takes on a kind of Authoritative Tone often, he gets sort of ruffled up and disdainful toward things, but that’s not what he does when he’s scared

when he’s actually distressed (rather than irritated) he tends to break down and retreat. this includes when other independent beings act in ways that unsettle and upset him 

so i dont know where the “he freaked out and killed her” idea is coming from. he suddenly goes from outside at the picnic to having a breakdown in his house so. he most likely just ran 

i think the Only time we see him act out violently is when he decides he has to punish marjory for not getting a haircut like he asked - he tears her hair out, but for me that scene was particularly concerning because it was so unlike him. that was an anger response, not a fear response, though, and he tends to be harsher toward things that he’s actually controlling (I don’t think we ever see him decide to Discipline something that was independent from him other than the horses, and he didnt hurt them) 

ordinarily when something irritates him he just goes “hmph! so distasteful. how rude. i shan’t have this behavior, you know” but doesn’t really actually do anything about it, and moves on

anyway we never see mable again so i think either he freaked out and ran away and she just didn’t come back, or he scared her and she ran away, or both 

there’s a dress visible briefly when salad fingers is making his Flesh Boy which could be mable’s (he did comment he liked it) but it’s not 100% clear, and that doesn’t necessarily mean he KILLED her for it. she could have changed into something else and left it somewhere and he found it. she could have died under unrelated circumstances, and salad fingers found her - he doesn’t comprehend death, so. probably he decided they’ve made amends now and she’s given him her dress as a token of friendship, or something 

i dont think it really looks that significantly like hers but the fact that it stands out so distinctly from the rest of the Pile could mean something 

but i just feel like if he had killed her we would’ve seen her corpse again, he doesn’t have a concept of murder, or death at all, or consequences, and his memory doesn’t hold out that consistently, so if he killed her, he probably would have calmed down later and then forgotten what he did and came up with a new way to explain the corpse in front of him - oh, how rude of me, mable’s here dozing right off and i havent even offered her a blanket. let’s get you to bed

like, he probably would have dragged her home with him, with the intention of being a good friend/host to his guest, not understanding what happened. he kept milford cubicle around a really long time  

it wouldn’t be like him to have any concept of hiding the evidence

speaking of milford 

theory: regarding milford cubicle 

salad fingers keeps milford’s corpse around until it starts rotting, and then after a very confusing series of events, the corpse is suddenly a skeleton, which surprisingly alarms salad fingers considerably, and then he goes out to find a whole bunch of himselves eating various bits of gore. they give him a present, which is a hat very clearly made of milford’s skin 

my conclusion: salad fingers, in some kind of dissociative fugue state, skinned and ate the remains of milford cubicle himself and turned the remaining skin into a hat. he also saves some of it to make hubert cumberdale (the real boy) later as well, probably forgetting where it came from. he does not realize he’s done this or remember doing it, so his scrambled mind tries to make sense of it with other selves eating unknown flesh, and a lovely hat appearing (which he doesn’t seem to notice is made of flesh) 

you can also see milford’s original name tag in the drawer later on when he’s building the flesh boy, so. he kept that after the mysterious disappearance of milford’s flesh, apparently. more evidence that that skin is probably also his

some other scattered thoughts regarding the most recent string of episodes and salad fingers’ mental state: 

ive been trying to figure out what the fuckhell happened with the yvonne incident and everything that happened in the birthday episode

im really concerned for salad fingers’ health and mental state, as it seems to be deteriorating 

some yvonne theories ive seen:

1. he ate the burned corpse of the kid who died in the oven, and it made him very sick, which ultimately resulted in a charred mass he couldn’t digest - he steadily gets worse, until his body finally ejects it (yvonne’s “birth”) and after that his health starts to recover again. since the oven incident happens really early on, all the times he mentions his stomach being upset after that until he becomes deathly ill would make sense, so i think this is plausible 

2. the hair he found in the cupboard was actually a parasitic worm that grew in his stomach after he ate it and became yvonne. i think this is Possible, it is a really strangely wormy looking hair, but it doesn’t move and he mentions stomach pains before this, so it seems less likely to me 

3. i also saw the concept that salad fingers is a trans man who suffered a miscarriage at some point in his past and yvonne represents that, and i can definitely see where the idea is coming from but i do think something really physically happened to him in the present time, i dont think it was all a trauma-based hallucination, since the yellow guy reacts to the black ooze and something was definitely making him severely ill 

so. i Don’t Know what the fuck that was about but i think the burnt corpse theory makes the most sense 

on that note: there’s a lot of cannibalism imagery in salad fingers 

we have no IDEA where he’s getting food from. im pretty sure its been confirmed that he is Not a zombie, we see him bleed, pass out, sleep, etc so it seems like he must be a living person who has ordinary needs. but we see him eat... his own puppets. hairs. sand. the soup glass mother instructed him to make, which made him very sick. he has a working oven but doesn’t seem to have consistent access to water. he had a fish somehow but who knows where it came from. it’s very likely he doesn’t get food often and some of his hallucinations and mood swings could be caused by starvation (and when he does eat, it’s things that are outright inedible or probably not good for him) 

the burned corpse disappears and is never mentioned again (though salad fingers is very sick afterward). milford’s flesh disappears and salad fingers violently hallucinates multiple selves gorging themselves on unknown flesh

and what concerns me the most about that is that he loses a lot of time in that episode 

he passes out in the woods and when he wakes up, it looks like a shit ton of time has passed

we don’t know how much is reality and how much is his warped perception, but it looks like a tree has grown and his physical condition has deteriorated 

he looks really, really unhealthy and haggard for the rest of the episode 

i think he had a huge dissociative episode and lost possibly weeks of time, probably due to starvation, and he ate milford cubicle and very possibly other people as well 

so my question is. how often does this happen to him

and what happens to him during that state? does he become violent and dangerous without being aware of it when he returns to himself again? or has he just been ravenously scavenging corpses when he gets desperate enough? 

its possible dr papanak is another personality he has, one that’s “buried out in the woods” that he becomes when he’s in a really, really bad mental and physical state 

he looks much better in the next episode (though that’s also when he has his outburst with marjory. could be that he’s still staving off the violent urges/hasn’t fully come back to himself after the last incident) and I’m really hoping the fact that he was able to finally stand up to his family (at least in some sense) and smash the mirrors could mean he’s making steps toward recovery after whatever the hell all that was 

there’s not really much space to do anything with his life or get much help given the circumstances but watching him slowly losing himself even more is Awful :( 

i hope we get more episodes im so desperate for more information now 

lastly, some random observations 

i tried to read this newspaper and it looks like it’s actually written in french, which is interesting given that salad fingers seems to be british (but fond of france, and seems to speak french or at least knows one phrase) 

i wonder where he got this, or whether it ever meant something significant to him

theres a lot of evidence that he can’t read (takes no notice of the “harry” nametag and immediately names him something else, “reads” a letter that is actually a newspaper clipping in another language he’s holding upside down, “writes” a letter that is just scribbles) so i dont think he learned his one french phrase from this or anything but, still. vaguely interesting. maybe he has been to france before and brought this back with him for some reason. maybe he’s actually in post apocalyptic france and was just originally from england. We Don’t Know 

theres a weird little face in the. heater? whatever that is in the background for a second and i dont like it  

salad fingers leaves horace in charge, but then sees him (as a live horse) in the woods, but then comes back to find him both still on the shelf (as a toy) and in the room (as a live horse, now with his, uh, surgery scars) but doesn’t seem to notice this and doesn’t comment on it 

i dont know what the hell that means other than possibly his reality is even less consistent and logical than usual/a reflection on his mental state deteriorating 

[rayofsunas]

valentines | diluc [3]

A/n: good evening everyone!! I know this story is kinda a slow start to things, but dw reader is actually in this chapter lol. my plan is too write one more part, which would be the finale :) let me know how you guys are liking the series so far <33 I feel like Diluc is sooooo ooc, sawwy... AND I also can’t remember if the Dawn Winery is Diluc’s home, but pretend it is for this if it isn’t- anyways, enjoy and stay safe!!

Summary: the ever so stoic diluc thought he was being secretive when sending anonymous letters and gifts to you during the week of valentine’s day but turns out everyone in mondstadt knew it was him, though thankfully had tight enough lips to not spill the beans to you. kaeya is of no help, so you go seeking answers yourself.

Parings: Diluc/Fem! Reader (for my other mini-series, there will be some gn ones!)

Warnings: valentines (yes, I’m late, shoot me), fluff, Diluc and Kaeya have a mother (the only reason this is a warning, is cause she’s a mood and I love her), swearing

Word count: 4.5k (I’m so proud and happy with this chapter :))

The letters were vague at first and you usually received them early in the morning, at first there was one. But now there was more than one letter, sometimes Cecilia flowers and even little gifts in a delicately wrapped box along with them. You assumed the writer was a serious night owl to have prepared this all and had sent them when you were asleep, leaving them as a sort of gift for you to wake up to in the morning. 

Though, originally, when you received the first handful of letters, you were creeped out, nervous for obvious reasons.

Who was this stranger sending letters of unworthy praise and admiration? Was their identity that much in danger, to have to be anonymous? And without an address as well... 

The more you read his or her letters, you learned that over four days, they were no threat. They couldn’t have been. Whoever they were, most likely was a young teen, caught in the webs of affection for the very first time, nervous to dip their toes into confrontation out of fear of being rejected. 

But the more you scanned the letters at night, reading them over like a series of detective novels, searching for any kind of clue, you realized this person was far too intelligent, smooth, and straight to the point, to be any kind of lovesick teen. That scenario, that possibility wasn’t possible in your mind. 

The only thing that made them seem like a confused teen was the fact that they sounded lost within their feelings, although straight to the point it was hard to decipher exactly what they were saying. Their words were often hidden behind a thick wall of glass; you could see them, but it was hard to grasp exactly what they were, the true meaning of it all. 

Was his or her adoration for you, really, truly love?

Was praising your skill too small of a thing to feel completely doused in love over?

You were never too sure. 

-

letter one.

I know this may seem odd, coming from a stranger. But I can assure you I am not a creep of any kind. I can’t help but say, I admire your skills in battle; you’re a force to be reckoned with. Please accept these Cecilia’s, I hope they aren’t too much nor are you allergic.

Best wishes.

This was the very first letter you received. Something you solely took for another Knight who you unknowingly, until now, of course, caught the attention of. You assumed that they were just praising you because they wished to be like you, of course, you accepted it with open arms. Praise for such a low profiled Knight felt nice.

letter two.

Hello. I realized I never specified an address for you to possibly reply to my letters with. It completely slipped my mind, my apologies. If it isn’t too much of a hassle, you could leave your letters at Barbatos’ Statue and I could do so as well. I also realized that sending letters to your home may seem... very weird and unsettling. I am sincerely sorry, my intentions weren’t to scare you. I am no creep, I can assure you we are acquaintances. Though, I would prefer to keep my identity hidden for right now. I look forward to hearing from you.

Best wishes. 

This letter was completely apologetic, its entire body and being were sincere you could tell. Yes, you would agree, the letters sent directly to your home were unsettling. But if they were an acquaintance and they had no ill intentions, you had no reason to panic. 

letter three.

I received your letter and I’m very glad to hear you’re no longer panicked or creeped out. Those were never my intentions... I appreciate your willingness to communicate with me. It’s very kind and understanding of you. Also, to answer your question, I am a man. I hope that does not disappoint you... Looking forward to your next letter. 

Best wishes.

You were happy to finally figure out more of who this anonymous person was, and knowing they were a man helped you learn more about who they could be. The list of suspects you were acquainted and or friends with, decreased significantly. You didn’t have many guy friends or acquaintances. You could only name a handful. Was he even amongst that handful? People had different meanings of friends and acquaintances after all...

letter four.

I know this may seem too early, we’ve only been properly conversing for a day or two. But, I would like to say you’re one of a kind and I found myself lost for words when writing to you. I hope you’re faring well. Please stay safe. I heard there was a pretty nasty bar fight last night that transitioned into a bloodbath in the streets. Lots of people are upset right now, politics I assume... Nonetheless, stay safe. 

Best wishes.

He was right. You weren’t cleared for such information, but you had heard talk from some of your fellow Knights that there was a pretty bad bar fight that carried out into the streets late last night. Multiple people had ended up in the dungeons, some still walked the streets whispering their opinions on an ancient conspiracy, though, you were unsure of what that exactly meant. 

Poison, sicknesses, and night terrors were a few of the most talked-about stressors for the fight. Who was to tell which ones were true though, if any. You assumed the truth was riddled in there somewhere though, it had to of been. Rumors often stemmed from an over extreme truth. 

What an unfortunate thing to hear, especially the week of Valentine's day. A week of love, already filled with a bitter hatred, not a good start. Thankfully, you had the letters, they kept you hopeful. The other person on the receiving end could also feel hopeful, so you hoped. You just hoped the situation wasn’t the start of something worse brewing.

Sadly, you weren’t cleared to investigate like you had heard Captain Kaeya was; despite how curious and nosy you were. Unfortunately, you were stuck with paperwork and training the younger Knights; you enjoyed the latter. But those were your duties this week, you couldn’t afford to stray from them. 

Hopefully, your anonymous admirer was alright and well. 

-

You hated to admit it. But over the last five days, you had become smitten. Some say, love at first sight, was impossible, a silly tale told to hopeless romantics who would believe anything. For someone who was not one of those people easy to fall in love with, truthfully, you were starting to believe the tales.

This anonymous man was so kind, well versed with words, so well versed that they moved mountains. You know for sure they had moved your heart. He wasn't willing to share a simple thing; his name. But he’d practically told you his life story, thrown it into your palms easily. Though vague, it was enough to help you understand him better and feel ultimately closer.

You’d learned he was a well-known guy, and as much as he accepted and loved the attention sometimes, it was tiring and draining the majority of the time. He’d said he was a protector of Mondstadt, someone who deeply cared for the townspeople and they're well beings. He’d make any deal, cross any sea, walk through hell with his head held high, just to protect them. He was also a brother, though never specified if he was older or younger, you assumed he was older when he said that he had a very annoying brother; only an older sibling could understand another's annoyance caused by a younger sibling. You could blame personal experience from your time around the younger Knights. You felt like an older sister to a lot of them without that older mentor figure. They weren’t all annoying, but they could share similar qualities at times when they didn't pay attention or learn paperwork completion formats.  

A name came to mind as he shared his vague life story. 

Kaeya Alberich. 

He was all of those things, except maybe for the last one. You knew Kaeya and Master Diluc were brothers, very close in age, but they weren’t blood-related, so twins were off the table; one was older than the other. Something was telling you it was the more flirtatious brother. He was the more outgoing of the two, spontaneous, he would surely be one behind the letters, right? But then wouldn’t he just approach you like normal? Hmmm. Maybe not. He did like to act mysterious, but maybe he was scared of rejection, who knows with Captain Kaeya. He was very hard to read. You couldn’t even tell half the time if he truly meant what he’d say when flirting with you or if he was just saying those things to tease you, maybe even make someone else jealous. 

You were curious, so you decided to approach him. Corner the Captain and demand an answer. He’d have to give you one, you wouldn’t leave his side. So that’s what you did, after your duties had finished around five in the afternoon, you waited outside the Knights headquarters. Hopefully, you’d catch him going in and out sometime soon, it was growing late. 

It was nearing six-thirty when you were getting ready to leave headquarters. Thinking, maybe this could wait tomorrow until you could catch the Captain at a reasonable time. But then he came strutting out of headquarters, his uncovered eye glistening with mischief, a smirk plastered on his handsome face. 

“Captain Kaeya, a word?” You interjected stepping in front of the man, stopping him from bounding down the steps deeper into the city. 

His face broke out in a grin, “Ah, Y/n! Nice to see you again, miss me did you?” 

“Not hardly, Captain.” You said, hoping you wouldn’t get in trouble for practically back-talking your superior. Your own Captain would never let you hear the end of it, the blonde man was a strict one. 

“You wound me,” The cryo user feigned pain. You could only chuckle nervously. “So, what is it you wanted to see me for?”

Your face heated up, burning like fire. “I have a question.”

“Shoot.” He said, hand going to rest sassily on his hip. 

“Are you the one writing me letters?” 

He laughed, sending waves of embarrassment through you. It shouldn’t have but now you felt stupid. Even if you held no romantic feelings for the Captain, he was way out of your league. He probably knew that. 

“Me? You flatter me!”

“No... I mean it,” You stated. “Is it you?”

His face turned serious. “Sadly, not.”

You huffed, heart, dropping to the floor. “Damn it,” You muttered, moving to sit on the stone steps of the Knights headquarters. Kaeya stayed standing, shadow blanketing over you, oddly silent. No flirtatious rebuttal, nothing, just silence. Odd. 

“You know something I don’t, I know you do.” You said, head hanging low. He laughed again. So, you were right.

“Of course, beautiful, I know a lot of things you don’t.” He taunted, eye dripping in mischief. 

“Very funny, Captain.” This wasn’t very funny, not at all. You weren’t laughing.

Suddenly, the Captain spoke up, “Speak to Diluc, I’m sure he knows, he has a very keen eye.”

Master Diluc? Wine tycoon Diluc? What did he have to do with this? He was always off doing his own thing, was it possible he knew anything at all?

“Master Diluc?”

“That’s what I said, yes.”

“You think he’d know who this person is?” You wondered. 

“Like I, he knows about lots of things, one being people.”

“Captain, I don’t like games, please just tell me.” You pleaded, eyes meeting his singular visible one. 

“When you beg, it’s cute,” He said catching you off guard. “See Diluc, he’ll know.” With that, he turned around and began walking off. 

“Wait!” You abruptly stood. “Do you know where I can find him?” 

“Dawn Winery.” You nearly froze on the spot. 

Dawn Winery? Wasn’t that Master Diluc’s residence? You possibly couldn’t, not at this hour either. Archons no...

“I’m sorry,” You hurriedly followed after the retreating figure. “I can’t possibly go there at this hour.”

“And why not?”

“Umm, Captain obvious, it seems inappropriate! People would think I’m going for other intentions!” Oh, if news got out that you went to Master Diluc’s residence late in the afternoon, and people assumed you had other intentions, this would surely be the end of you.

“But you’re not and you know that,” He said. “Are you always such a rule follower and strung up? Archons, you’re Diluc, but a girl version...” He commented.

He did have a point, but if someone saw a young woman entering the Dawn Winery of a bachelor late in the afternoon, suspicion would rise. It’s very conspicuous.

“Yes but-”

“Toodles, beautiful!” You stood still like a statue of ice, heart racing. 

“Bastard...”

-

Against better judgment, you ended up making the short walk to the Dawn Winery. You were hesitant to knock on the large doors though. Scared shitless, beyond nervous, only thinking what would others think? What would Master Diluc think? He’d probably shut the door on your face, leaving you like a frazzled idiot.

You probably stood pacing outside for fifteen minutes, before mustering up the courage to knock on the door. But you never got the chance, because you saw a woman with brown hair and a few gray strands peeking out of one of the first-floor windows. She had a small smile on her delicate face as she watched you. How long had she been there for...?

Your heart dropped the minute you’d been caught pacing, leaving you standing frozen. Eventually, the woman disappeared from the window, leaving you confused. But then the door whipped open with a gentle force and there she stood. 

She was a taller, slender woman with broad shoulders, wearing a simple dark green blouse black pants, black heeled boots with golden vine details were on her feet, making her even taller. If it weren’t for the gentle smile she gave you, she would’ve looked terrifying. 

“I saw you pacing outside for a while, I figured you’d muster up the courage to knock eventually.” She said without introduction.

Oh my... was this Master Diluc and Kaeya’s mother... She didn’t look like either of them, but who knows. You wanted to die, that’s for sure.

“I’m so sorry Miss,” You apologized. “I was just-”

“No worries!” She cheered, hands clasping tightly together. “Which one of my boys are you here for?”

So, she was their mother? Oh my... You shouldn’t have come like this, no not now. 

“Master Diluc...” You whispered nervously. Her smile only brightened, she was happy to hear that. 

“Ah I see, are his girlfriend?” Your chest wanted to explode.

“What?! No! I just, have a question for him...” You practically shrunk under her grey steel gaze and for that, began backing away from the intimidating, yet a kind woman. You were hoping to put some distance in between you two, but she moved along with you. “It’s not of importance to be here so late, I just- Kaeya sent me here and-”

“Ah I see, that one is trouble, I’m sorry you had to deal with him...” She seemed visibly distressed by the mention of the Cavalry Captain. You could relate. 

“It’s no problem, ma’am.” You reassured.

“Are you a Knight?” She suddenly asked, still no proper introduction. 

You nodded your head, her smile widened and brightened. 

“A respectable woman you are,” She praised. “And you’re beautiful? If one of my boys don’t marry you right now-” She carried on, you nearly choked on your saliva. “I’m sorry, I get carried away sometimes, I forgot to introduce myself!”

“My name is Victoria.” Finally, you thought. A name to fit her face. 

“Are you the boys' mother?” You suddenly asked. Manners, you reminded yourself. Remember to have manners and keep your curiosity to yourself. 

“Archons no!” She announced loudly, you jumped. “I’m a family friend of Diluc’s mother. You see, the boys were quite young when she passed, and they needed someone to help look after them, Master Crepus was quite a busy man. I stepped up and became a mother figure.”

“Ahh, I see,” You nodded. “I salute you for being able to help raise such gentlemen, must’ve been hard...” 

She laughed, “Not entirely, at first yes, but then it came naturally,”

“Where are my manners!” She suddenly exclaimed, grabbing your hand. “Come in! Diluc will be arriving soon, he’s out taking care of business.” With that, she dragged you into the mansion. 

The door slammed with a loud bang, and Victoria began walking through the downstairs level, almost excitedly. 

“Oh, um, thank you, ma’am.” You bowed your head in respect, watching confusedly as she disappeared into a hallway, before returning with a bottle of wine. 

“A drink?” She offered, showing off a bottle of wine, that just so happened to be the Ragnvindr’s specialty. 

“No, thank you, ma’am. I’m afraid I have an early morning tomorrow, a hangover would be a troubling start to my day.”

“Very good decision.” She praised, scrambling out of the room to look for what you assumed was a glass for her wine, leaving you once again alone. 

Glancing around the main entrance, you were left staring at very few portraits on the wall, framed maps, and personal memorabilia. One thing that stood out to you the most, a black insignia with a star and white skull, a Pirate insignia...

“A pirate insignia?” You whispered to yourself, confused. Captain Kaeya always told stories of pirates, his grandfather being one specifically. You always assumed he was lying... He wasn't. Maybe you should take back your disbelief in him. 

“That’s mine,” Victoria announced proudly, making herself known again. You jumped, startled, before turning to face the beautiful woman. She returned with a glass-like you thought she would and nearly emptied the entire wine bottle into it, cherry red contents filling to the brim.

You retract your statement about Captain Kaeya, he was still a fibber. 

“You were a pirate?” You asked, astonishment bubbling in your chest. You had so many questions for her, you secretly hoped Diluc would take even longer, just so you could listen to her stories. 

Victoria hummed, plopping onto a cherry red armchair, you still stood. 

”Badass...” You whispered to yourself, taking a seat on the nearby loveseat. 

”Thank you.” She beamed. 

“In my younger years of course. I haven’t been on a Pirate ship in a while. I haven’t seen my crew in years, either...” She reminisced. 

“You can’t be a day over thirty-five,” She smiled at your praise. “Why did you give it up? Being a Pirate, though uncertain at times, seems like loads of fun, filled with adventure.” She shrugged, taking a sip of her drink. 

“The boys lost their mother around the ages of eleven or twelve and I had just returned from months at sea,” She began. “They had run away from home to get into mischief when they met me at the gates; I think they’d been cooped at home for a while, they were grieving still....”

“Kaeya was excited to see my crew return home, infatuated with our stories. He clung to me for hours, with so many questions. Diluc on the other hand was just happy to finally not be bothered by his little brother,” 

Little brother? Kaeya? Wait did that mean-

“Master Crepus found them after he’d come searching, they’d been missing for hours and he was worried for obvious reasons. He attempted to take them home, Diluc was willing, Kaeya though clung to me. So, Master Crepus offered me a slower-paced life, looking after the boys and help keep them in check,” She continued, a smile on her face. “I agreed. They looked like they had gone through a lot and needed a mother figure. I was more than happy to look after them, I’d never had kids.” She ended her story there, swishing the red contents in her cup. 

“I guess that's the answer to your question,” 

“I was busy being a mother.” You smiled. Her story was inspiring, she was filled with pride despite leaving something she enjoyed behind, you could tell.

Leaning forward in your seat, you admitted, “You’re very admirable, I admire your drive to raise the boys. You’re an amazing woman and mother.”

“Thank you,” She blushed. “There is no perfect woman, no perfect mother, but your admiration for me is very telling, you share my qualities. If I’m as amazing as you say, you’d be an equally amazing mother to your own children.” Your face warmed at her compliment. 

“I’ve never thought about having children before... But, thank you.” She nodded, raising her glass in salute, before throwing the contents into the back of her throat. 

“A young girl such as yourself, curious, strong, loyal- You should accompany me one day if I ever find myself returning to swashbuckling adventures,”

“You’d be a great second mate.” The brunette admitted, sharp eyebrows wiggling with excitement. Was she hinting, no, offering for you to join her?

“I’m flattered. But I’m not so sure it would be right of a Knight to suddenly turn into a Pirate,” You giggled, she joined in. “No offense.”

“None was taken, sweetheart! I can understand. A Pirate would never think to become a Knight,” She explained. “Two different worlds, different rules, loyalties, and such.” 

The silence was deafening, but you had so many questions for the woman. Would she ever return to swashbuckling? Had she ever had any cool encounters? Did she feel like a badass? Archons, so many questions, very little time. 

“I believe I never caught your name, how rude and selfish of me.’ What’s your name beautiful?”

“Y/n Y/l/n, ma’am.” You said proudly. 

She smiled, “A pretty name for a pretty girl.” She praised, steel-gray eyes glistening like the stars. 

The door closing loudly caught your attention immediately, you stiffened on the spot. 

Master Diluc...

“Oh!” Victoria exclaimed, standing to her feet. “Diluc has arrived, my my, we talked for a long time,” Retreating towards the door, all you could hear were her heeled boots thumping against the wooden floorboards, matching the thumps of your beating heart surely. You watched uncomfortably as she helped the wine tycoon shrug his jacket off, poking fun at him every now and then. You could see by the way he tried to brush her off that he was flustered, he still hadn't seen you though, Victoria was persistent in her pestering; a mother's love, am I right?

“Diluc,” she started, voice echoing and bouncing off into the walls, traveling into the living room. “A beautiful, intelligent woman is here to see you. She says it’s not of importance, but with a woman of her beauty and admiration, you’ll make this the most important day in your life!” With that, her boots moving could be heard again and she was suddenly in the living room, a huge smile on her face, standing behind the loveseat you were sitting uncomfortably in. 

Another pair of boots could be heard, a heavier set this time, a jingling was heard as well, maybe keys? You weren’t sure... 

“Mother-” The tall man shut his mouth immediately as soon as he’d set his eyes on your figure. “Oh,” He approached, continuously looking between Victoria and you, probably wondering what the hell was going on.

“Miss Y/n,” He bowed his head respectively, though you were confused. You should be doing that instead, he was your superior in more ways than one. Standing to your feet, nearly tripping as well, you decided to greet him the same way, remembering your manners in your starstruck state. You couldn’t tell if it was from Victoria's story or the fact that Master Diluc was standing in front of you. Probably both. “W-what’re you doing here?” Master Diluc a stuttering mess? What an uncharacteristically shocking sight...

A slap sounded throughout the room, Victoria’s hand making contact with Diluc’s shoulder, ushering him forward, that’s what it was. “Diluc stop stuttering! Why are you suddenly flustered, huh?!” She exclaimed loudly, her son just stared at her embarrassed. Face turning shades of red. You giggled to yourself quietly.

“Mother!” 

“Sorry!” Her hands waved out in front of you, various gold dangling bracelets and chains on her wrists making a jingling sound. “I should be going now,” Te brunette then turned to you, taking your hands in her slender ones. “After talking to this eye-opening Knight, I think I should write to a few of my old comrades.” You smiled happily, hands squeezing hers gently. She was staring at you with pride as a mother would to their daughter. 

“Goodnight Y/n. I hope to see you again soon,” She waved you off, moving towards the stairs. “Come find me when you’re ready to leave behind those Knightly duties and join me for a voyage at sea, I’d love to show you my ship one day.” She beamed.

You nodded, seriously considering her offer. You hoped you as well would see her again, rather sooner than later. She was great company. You loved her deafening presence, an admirable woman she was. “Good night, ma’am.”  

As soon as she was gone up the stairs, Diluc awkwardly turned to face you. 

”She asked you to join her on her voyages I see.” He stated, trying to spark conversation. You nodded, fingers fiddling.

“Ya know, I’m considering that offer. It sounds fun.” You teased with a shrug, voice filled with sincerity. 

Master Diluc sent you a soft smile, “Yes. Life at sea does sound quite tiring, but I’m sure the adventures are worth it.”

“Agreed.”

Another deafening silence, Diluc looked like he wanted to say something.

“Can I get you anything? Wine, tea, juice...”

Not that though... You couldn’t help but giggle at the last part, he blushed. 

“Maybe next time, I’d love to be graced with your mother's presence again, maybe hear a few stories.”

“I’m sure she’d love that. Mother has many to tell.” He admitted with a proud smile,

You couldn’t wait to hear those stories truthfully, so entranced. You had never faced adventures quite like Victoria, never had even considered it, now you were though. Curse Victoria and her entrancement, though not literally, you held too much admiration for the woman to ever wish ill on her. 

”So, what can I do for you?” Diluc suddenly asked.

”Oh right!” You were left flustered. So wrapped up in your conversation, you had completely forgotten what you had come here for. Archons, what the hell.

“I had a question, but-”

You paused. 

Diluc’s eyebrows raised. “Yes?” He seemed to be hanging onto your every word. He was waiting for an answer for a long time. It seems he’d have to wait even longer...

“...I seemed to have forgotten.”

[🏷] TAGLIST (if you want to be removed from/added to this specific taglist let me know!)

@gladly-olus​ , @kyquu , @craptainlou , @mintydump , @chscklvr , @irisxiel , @minh0ree , @whatishappinesswhatislove , @rrintarou , @sorenthousand , @cvsmix , @nonniechan ,

3.7.21, rayofsunas

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So You Want To Play A Fairest

(Portrait of Erin Peters by cantankerousAquarius. The character originally appeared in Night Horrors: Grim Fears, published by White Wolf; catch my take on her in New Avalon)

Previous Articles: So You Want To Play A Beast, So You Want To Play A Wizened, So You Want To Play An Elemental, So You Want To Play An Ogre, & So You Want To Play A Darkling

You ever wonder, flipping through a Monster Manual for D&D, or a Bestiary for Pathfinder, why nymphs and hags are both always, always, women? It’s older than you know. Dig into the sordid history of tabletops and you’ll find sylphs that Gary Gygax wrote, Chaotic charmers who use mind control to reproduce with non-sylph men; you’ll find the legacy of the matriarchal drow, who follow a mad goddess, and you’ll find the medusae, whose sexual dimorphism is so complete that their men are beautiful and can turn stone into people.

Dredge deeper and you’ll find the tales that Gygax and his wretched ilk based such creatures off of.

You ever wonder why we assign such powerful Gender to creatures of beauty and horror?

Fairest don’t. They know, every time they wake up from a nightmare that is also a wet dream. They know, every time they get hit on at the bar and have to decide how they’re playing this. They know, every time they look in a mirror and see not their own face, but the ten thousand horrors that made it beautiful.

If you are very patient, and lucky, and kind, they might tell you why.

If you aren’t, they may show you.

This article draws primarily on Changeling: the Lost and Winter Masques, as well as Swords at Dawn and Night Horrors: Grim Fears. Other sources, when used, will be cited. It requires Content Warnings for sexual violence, sexual slavery, abuse, gaslighting, addiction, substance abuse, self-harm, self-image problems, mentions of fascists & fascist ideology, and just, so very much incel bullshit.

Bonus Material Part Two: The Seeming Part

The end of this article, just past the customary Sample Fairest, will include some additional material intended to help you select a Seeming for your character and otherwise build them up as one of the Lost, much as So You Want To Run A Spring Court included material for Courts as a topic.

Take Me To Wonderland - Fairest Overview

Fairest is the fourth Seeming presented in Changeling: the Lost and possibly the most confused about its own identity. Its sections in Winter Masques present depths and nuance that are completely absent in core, essentially making Winter Masques required reading for Fairest players in a way that no other book is - especially since Fairest keep getting written in a particular way alluded to in the Ogre article, which I will expand on later in this article. Fairest is numerically well-represented in canon and popular in the fanbase, home to many memorable character concepts, but its bones with folklore and tradition are weaker than it fronts as.

Ogres and Darklings claim an innate relationship to physical violence; so too do the Fairest claim a relationship to violence. The violence of Perception and its dark twin, Judgement; of Rumor and its mad dog, Prejudice, the violence of Lies and their merciless master, Truth. Fairest, alone among the Lost, have casual access to the resources of a society that refuses to service or acknowledge Changelings, and with access to that society comes both opportunity and temptation. To be Fairest is to wield power that many other Lost cannot, but the opportunity that power offers is a lie; a Fairest can smile until her face breaks like a mirror, but she’ll never be “sane” enough for the masses to see her as anything but a useful pet.

Life’s Lush Lips - Homecoming As A Fairest

Fairest can make the dubious claim of having the least clear memories of Arcadia amongst all the Lost, with Darklings and Beasts jockeying for second place. This isn’t to say that the experiences Fairest have are necessarily more intense or more inherently traumatic than that of other Lost, but rather that the abuse Fairest suffer is so emotional, so targeted at their perception of their selves and their situations and their self-image, that the memories which do form are inevitably colored by those emotions, coloring the dreams they have of Arcadia with both the emotional resonances they had at the time and with their later attempts to grapple with their own trauma and transformation. For many Fairest, who cannot trust even their strongest memory dreams, attempts to understand their own Durance must rely either on the word of their Keepers (and Faeries lie, oh, how they lie), or on reverse-engineering their own behavior to try and conceive of a trauma that could cause it.

Inevitably, however, some things are seared into their minds. For almost all Fairest, their Keeper is high on the list of things they remember with absolute clarity. Other facts, shattered and scattered, vary more widely. Erin Peters remembers stretched years kept in a cold, dark room lit only by her own hatred; every detail of her cell is scorched onto the back of her eyes, but the otherworldly balls her Keeper took her to blur together like food coloring in syrup. The slaves of the Candle Countess have terrible nightmares of the choices they were confronted with, the decision, offered over and over again, to become complicit in the Countess’s cruelty or to be victimized by it. Metallic Flowering from the Shining City struggle not to use drugs to mimic the rush of pleasure they’ve grown used to receiving for performing their jobs well; they also scream in terror if people touch them. A Draconic and a Shadowsoul both remember being used for the sexual pleasure of alien horrors; the one dreams of coiled scales and terrible teeth, the other a lifetime of lurking in an alien maze, tasked to perform the duties of a living trap for the “wicked” and “unwary” who had not yet shed the last vestiges of kindness.

There are no “wild” Fairest. For worse and worse still, to be Fairest is to have been defined by the inescapable and all-consuming attentions of your abuser, and it is this more than anything that other Lost so often fail to understand about the Fairest. Their Keepers heap them with reward and punishment, manipulating the Fairest with honeyed praise, godly wrath, gaslighting, neglect, withholding food, wondrous rewards, drugs from beyond the realms of earthly pleasure, and other hooks and crooks designed to make the Fairest dependent upon their abuser. It is hideously effective, and the first obstacle, maybe even the mightiest, that a Fairest faces to their escape is the simple horror and joy of being alone again. Their masters will try other tricks to keep them in place - tempting them with pleasures, horrific punishments, oh-so-sincere apologies - but before a Fairest can escape into the Hedge she must face, in her mind’s eye, the lonely flight back to the Iron Lands.

The memories that draw Fairest home often have parallels to their experiences in Arcadia. A slave in the Shining City bites into an otherworldly pastry and recalls her grandmother’s pie in its place; the bride of the Demon Lover, curled up under the sheets, thinks about the broken smile of the boyfriend she left behind at home. A Dancer remembers the roller rink where he fell in love with skating, while across the endless tides of the Fairest of Lands, a Shadowsoul holds on like grim death to years of work at haunted houses, scaring kids for fun and for Halloween. Fairest, so famous for their skill at words, struggle to articulate to other Lost why this should be so. Darklings assume it’s because these memories are less intense than Arcadia, and that the Fairest are fleeing to safety. Beasts get it a bit more right by thinking that these memories taste like home. The truth of the matter is that those memories have an intrinsic and nameless meaning; the highs and lows of Arcadia are divine, flawless, absolute, and therefore worthless. They are the proclamations of merciless gods. What draws the Fairest home, more than pain and pleasure they can have on their own terms, is the understanding that those gestures - for weal or for woe or for anything else besides - were made because someone cared about them, personally. Once they fully internalize that their abuser views them as disposable, the Fairest comes home to someone who won’t.

Three Kiths And Flowering Is One And A Half Of Them - Fairest Kiths

Yeah we’re about to be like that about it.

All Fairest can excel in the social arena; their Blessing can be used to flare almost every social roll in the game, and Fairest can never be caught off-guard in a social context (they suffer no untrained penalties to social rolls). With the sole exception of Empathy (usually rolled with Wits) and sometimes Streetwise, there’s no time a Fairest can’t fall back on their words and expect to win through or at least buy time. This is, as you might imagine, a godsend when it comes to attempts to pass in mortal society; Fairest can usually front, charm, bluff, or Manners(tm) their way through things like renting an apartment, nailing a job interview, asking their roommate to do the FUCKING DISHES, or getting stopped by a cop, but both the books and the fanbase miss something here. While Fairest are superb at active social events, they’re no better at keeping a lid on themselves (Composure-based rolls) than mortals are - and given both the nature of their trauma and the fact that they are, you know, Lost, Fairest have a lot more to keep a lid on day-to-day than the human society they’re trying to blend into. Thankfully, Fairest are pretty good at being able to politely leave a situation and go somewhere else to scream, shout, cry, or have a psychotic break, as appropriate.

Of course, Fairest can’t make something from nothing. As discussed in So You Want To Play An Ogre, you can’t win a social game someone else refuses to sit down to, and social rolls shouldn’t be mind control. All the Glamour in the world can’t make your roommate do the FUCKING DISHES if they’re deep in the throes of executive dysfunction, nor can it make the cashier at Walgreens fail to card you for wine when their computer literally won’t advance without an ID. People who are keyed up about honeyed words or whose own trauma came at the hands of manipulators and abusers might refuse to play that game on the terms the Fairest is setting, which makes it hard to, as it were, turn this problem into a nail. Lurking down this path as well is the specter of becoming like the masters who made you this way; if you get used to saying what will get people to listen to you, eventually you start seeing people as enrichment puzzles that dispense the things you want. Madness waits down that road, and it waits for Fairest with a giant spiked bat, thanks to their Seeming Curse.

There’s no pretty way to say this so I won’t: Fairest are always on the verge of losing their minds. Their curse hits them with a flat penalty to all rolls against losing Clarity, which means that Fairest lose Clarity faster than other Lost and they do so more consistently. This necessitates a balancing act with avoiding becoming heartless manipulators; Fairest must engage in control-seeking behavior in order to stay mentally well, must be able to trust and rely on people close to them, structure their lives, and anticipate important changes or they end up on the fast way down. Other Lost often don’t understand this need or the Fairest curse to begin with, and so Fairest end up in unofficial support groups for one another, similar to those run by Darklings except no one will admit it’s a support group even at gunpoint. Woe fucking betide the friend or life partner who gets between a Fairest and her “book club”, “girls’ night”, “D&D campaign”, or other excuse for this vital community support.

Fairest Kiths are...bad. They’re bad. This is the part of the article where I’m supposed to talk about thematics and symbolism and metaphor, and I cannot do that here, because they are bad. Fairest has three viable Kiths that are actual Fairest Kiths, one that’s a Beast Kith who got lost and wound up here by fucking mistake, and a pile of garbage bigger than my self-esteem problems. I’m almost tempted to only talk about those four Kiths and save myself the time but I suppose I should show the work like I’ve done for all the other Seemings, so here we fuckin’ go I guess.

Flowering - This is it. This is the Fairest Kith. If you want to roll any other kind of Fairest you must first pass the trial of justifying why you’re not playing Flowering. In theory, Flowering draws its mythic heritage from nymphs and dryads, charming flower sprites, Knights of Flowers, and the like, but in practice Flowering’s only mechanical effect is 9-again on Persuasion, Socialize, and Subterfuge with no qualification or requirement, which doesn’t just make you better at everything Fairest is good at, it makes you better when you spend Glamour to flare it too. Want to represent a biobahn sith’s hypnotic dance? Flowering works. Want to create a vampiric Fairest with a sultry voice? Here comes Flowering. The siren at the bar who smells like sea air and gunpowder? Flowering. Everything is Flowering. Even the things that aren’t Flowering are Flowering because all Fairest Kiths have a social focus, which is Flowering’s undisputed arena of mastery.

Bright One - In theory, Bright Ones represent beings of light in the vein of Victorian fey (which...ugh...Victorians), but their Goblin Illumination is, how you say, useless, only becoming vaguely useful for a total of 2 Glamour as a passive defense that took you 2 turns to set up. Anything you want to represent here can be found in Flowering and with Elements or Communion (Light).

Dancer - You know how Flowering gives you bonuses on all social rolls? Would you like those same bonuses but on 1 less skill and only on rolls that “involve physical grace”? No? Run Flowering here and give your character a Dance specialty in one or more skills.

Draconic - One of the game’s premier melee options and a Beast Kith who took a wrong turn and ended up getting a free makeover intended for someone else. Draconic in theory represents Fairest as dragons, monster girls, demons, and in general at their most physical, but that idea sorta...falls down a bit? Draconic’s bonuses are all about Brawl and all the sample Draconics are swordsmen, which might suggest to the discerning reader that someone in the office wasn’t reading their own fucking game. Draconic Fairest don’t make bad melee boys if you invest in Lethal Mien, but honestly this is Dual Kith bait; slap it on your Hunterheart or your Razorhand and go apeshit.

Muse - Close but no cigar. In theory Muses are, well, muses; figures of inspiration, mentorship, teaching, creative fire. Their Kith Blessing is strong but requires access to mortals, which is complicated and roundabout on the best of days. If you have an idea that you think is Muse-shaped, use Playmate instead.

Flamesiren - Behold, we enter the realm of Okay(tm). Flamesirens are what Bright Ones wanted to be, and their hypnotic aura is actually a pretty neat tool; with cunning you can make it a one-sided penalty, and even if you don’t it’s an interesting method of de-escalating a social or combat situation by subjecting everyone to the tar pit that is your presence. If your concept involves light and color and you’re resistant to Flowering, Flamesiren will do more than nothing.

Polychromatic - Polychromatics don’t have a lot of roots in mythology; their modern inspirations are, well, Manic Pixie Dream Girls. But they get a shout-out here for being the only Fairest Kith who can muster up decent emotional defenses; not only can they magically boost their Composure rolls (and non-Composure rolls to resist magical and mundane emotional attacks for that matter), but others get a flat penalty to Empathy rolls against them, which makes them talented dissemblers. You’re still probably better off with Flowering - in a world of passive Kith Blessings, Polychromatic’s is extra passive - but I can see this Kith passing muster, and even being worth the two dots to Dual Kith in-house.

Shadowsoul - This one’s insane. Ostensibly Fairest Does Darkling, Shadowsouls get their Wyrd to Intimidate rolls which could be the whole Kith on its own and still be worth the slot, but in addition to that they get 9-again on Subterfuge (matching Flowering and Darklings there) and access to Contracts of Darkness, one of the most powerful in the game line, as an Affinity Contract. Is your Fairest spooky? Would you like them to be spooky? Here’s your one-stop shop.

Telluric - This is a Kith made of ribbon bonuses. In theory related to stars and celestial light, Telluric’s bonuses to rolls “with precise timing” isn’t...really worth considering. Run ‘em as Flamesiren and move on.

Treasured - In theory also able to muster emotional defenses, Treasured are Fairest who are literally made into works of art. They’re Okay(tm) but in their niche are beaten out by Polychromatic with a better effect for less resources.

Playmate - The last Real Fairest Kith(tm), Playmate appears in Night Horrors: Grim Fears where White Wolf tries to sell it as Peter Pan, but its powerful team-oriented bonuses mean that Playmates are useful anywhere Muse is wanted and more places besides. The front woman of an indie rock band could be a Playmate; so too could be an idealized baseball captain, the director at your local theater, the middle manager of a sinister conspiracy, or the night shift lead at a research lab. Do people do a thing in teams? Playmate does that thing.

And She Had Huge Titties, I Mean Massive Badondadonks, Absolutely Enormous Bazoggahoggas - Lost’s Canon Fairest

Remember when I said we had to get back to this after So You Want To Play An Ogre? Now we’re getting back to this. I’m not gonna re-state my caveats from that article and I’m not really gonna go back over the bit about So White Wolf Was Run By Fucking Nazis because, in all honesty, I do not have the fucking time to restate all of that in new words. Give thanks that OPP got out alive and let’s get right down to it.

Fairest have a very consistent characterization in canon that is only really challenged in Winter Masques; the narrative put forth in Lost is that Fairest, being attractive, have an uncomplicated power which privileges their lives. Which is a rather bloodless way to describe how White Wolf kept writing and publishing Fairest as heartless abusers and manipulators getting their jollies and emotional needs met by casually destroying their fellow survivors, manipulating them through sex appeal, outright lies, cattiness, cruelty, and betrayal. Much as simply queering Ogre does not help Ogre in and of itself, queering Fairest only takes you from incel and Nazi propaganda about women into...incel and Nazi propaganda about twinks, femmes, & in general anyone with the temerity to be found attractive by straight white people.

I’m not bitter, you’re bitter.

So what do you do at your table, with your Fairest concept? Lemme open up by saying that like, Fairest qua Fairest is perfectly solid, and if it wasn’t there wouldn’t be an article here; Fairest has a lot to say for itself about feminized violence, about your personhood being reduced to a product for the consumption of others, about emotional abuse & neglect, gaslighting, and sexual assault, but the conclusion White Wolf arrives at (”Fairest have unalloyed power over mortal and Lost society and they abuse that power”) is super fucking obtuse and betrays a serious lack of concern for what the Fairest undergo. It ignores the way a Fairest’s ordeals will force her to confront her relationship to her own gender and alter her willingness and ability to be consumed, disconnect her from her former society while also isolating her from her new one, and these questions are important for you if you’re looking to play a ‘classic’ Fairest.

But that leaves some hanging questions. Male Fairest face the almost inescapable fate of “failing” maleness on patriarchal terms; even the most strapping, broad-chested, athletic Adonis of a Fairest has become a man of layered words and reflexive empathy, whose Manly Stoicism(tm) is a cracking facade at best and entirely abandoned in a more typical circumstance. Men who become Fairest thus face a second journey after their escape from Arcadia; confronting what being men means to them and building their gender identity back up from the rubble it’s become. The temptation to accept success on society’s terms is always going to be present, and it’s always going to be offered like it’s possible, but it’s a losing game for these Fairest; they simply cannot be the men that other men demand they become.

Now, the discerning and loyal reader is surely about to ask, hey Vox, where’s the butch Fairest I was promised back in the Ogre article, to which I respond WE’RE GETTING THERE but I gotta use this as a bridge to talk about something that cuts across Fairest of all genders, be they cis or trans. Lost 1e makes a lot of hay out of the idea that Fairest “are rarely conventionally attractive”, and core even provides some interesting written concepts for that...which make it into exactly none of the art. Every published Fairest is conventionally attractive for various definitions of conventional, be it as a supermodel or a waif, but that leaves the question of Fairest who genuinely are not - and, tragically, Fairest who were not, and were then made into someone more easily consumed by their Durance. You know what I’m about to say, and I know you know I’m about to say it, but I’m gonna say it anyway: all bodies are beautiful, but Fairest know well that beauty and attraction aren’t the same, and neither are beauty and happiness. All Fairest, from the roundest bear to the most wide-eyed waif, are the products of Keepers who valued their bodies in that state, and that idea is going to haunt them day in and day out for the rest of their extended lives. There is no such thing as a Fairest with an uncomplicated relationship to their body, and that White Wolf seems to think that an uncomplicated relationship is their default state is...disgusting, frankly.

Which brings us, at long last, to butch Fairest (also bear Fairest but I’m gonna stick with the one set of terms or I’m going to go mad and this will never be published), who have a complicated journey ahead of them. On the one hand, the assertion of control and ownership over their own bodies, their own identities, cannot be overstated. On the other hand, elements of those bodies are going to be completely out of their control; a nascent butch Fairest may well hit the gym to get swole only to discover that she literally, physically cannot, that she has been Assigned Dex Build At Durance. Hauling your corpse out of Arcadia with an extremely feminine appearance shaped by your Keeper might complicate attempts to present in a more masculine manner or even just to appear androgynous, and those complications can be discouraging. For those that stick to it, this journey will take them two places; one is the bared-teeth, bloody-knuckled assertion that this life is theirs and you can have it if you can fucking take it, and the other is into the ranks of the Freehold’s retained warriors, usually in Summer or Autumn, though a vibrant representation of Spring knights will make it seem as if Spring has more butch Fairest than it actually does. These Fairest are aware, or will become aware, of how much of their job involves de-escalating or pre-empting violence; a focus on Physical stats or skills is not necessarily common, but hyper-specialization therein likely is. A butch Fairest is a lot more likely to have, say, Brawl 4 (Multiple Opponents) and no other Physical skills than she is to have Brawl, Weaponry, Athletics, and Stealth, in part or in whole because her first weapon of choice is going to be an Intimidate roll.

At every turn you’re able to, challenge White Wolf’s narrative about Fairest by asking yourself what your Fairest wants, why they’re this way, what they’re frightened of, and how the way they behave relates back to these. They’re not products; they’re people, just as hurt and Lost as the rest of their peers.

Princesses And Pastries - Fairest In The Courts

Fairest have a complex relationship to the society of their fellow Lost. On the one hand, they have the same need for community, support, companionship, understanding, honesty, and material aid as all Lost; a Fairest is not magically proof against being homeless, against starving, against the dangers of existing in the modern world without things like a photo ID or car insurance, and Freeholds provide all of these things. On the other hand, the thing most Fairest fear most, even if they can’t articulate that fear, is their own power - social influence, emotional trust and betrayal, status, political power, and authority. Fairest are all too aware that being good at this game does not make them immune to it - after all, that’s the lesson they learned at the hands of their Keepers.

What follows from this is a complex dance of interactions that each Fairest in some ways has to feel like she’s managing on her own, even if she’s not (and she rarely is; those support groups exist for a reason). If you give a Fairest a doughnut in a social setting, she will lick that doughnut even if she doesn’t intend to eat it right away, solely to hear someone else say something along the lines of “well it’s yours now”. As Fairest filter into Freehold society and take up social roles at all levels of power - officers, messengers, ��ambassadors’ to mortal society, secretaries, pledge-smiths, teachers, monarchs - their responsibilities and rewards become their doughnut. That Fairest make a big deal out of both their job and the benefits that come with it is rarely, as other Lost sometimes think, about aggrandizement or reveling in power for its own sake; it’s about the sheer relief and assurance of hearing someone say, to the Fairest’s face, that this is her doughnut and no one is going to take it from her.

Younger Fairest tend to flit between two or three Courts; their initial selection may be based entirely on friendships, Vibes, or a gut-check decision based on an initial pitch by that Court, and Fairest can go quite far even in a Court that doesn’t quite actually fit their needs. Eventually, though, those Fairest who survive their youth will gravitate towards a Court whose ideals speak to them, even if its current social order isn’t living up to those ideals. If they’re going to be condemned to live as exiles in the world of their birth, the Fairest can at least be the person she wants to be, god damn it. Fairest aren’t any more or less vulnerable to a toxic Court environment than other Lost, but they’re good at detecting it beforehand. Unfortunately they’re also good at telling themselves they can change it.

Spring - Though early Spring joiners are of course rare in general, Fairest are among those Lost who more commonly choose Spring as a first Court. Spring’s highly social focus and chaotic internal organization is almost tailor-made for the skill set of your average Fairest, but therein too lies a sense of threat; for many Fairest, Spring can remind them of their Durance, and their joining of the Court is as much motivated by fear of a powerful cultural body as it is by any genuine Desire, maybe even more so. Many such Fairest end up caught in Spring’s middle-road trap, spinning their wheels without recovering or worsening more or less until they finally die, but when Autumn can sniff out the fearful ones it puts a lot of work into cooperating with Spring to get them out and where they can be helped.

Summer - More Fairest dabble with Summer for dreams of glory, or because they want to believe in Summer’s apolitical sales pitch, than ultimately stick with Summer. Those that do stay often serve as officers, as the Sun’s Tongue or the Arrayer of Distant Thunder, and as Court sorcerers. Fairest skilled in Contracts of Separation can make for surprising Jaegers, hounding their prey down more like a private investigator or a serial killer than a traditional hunter, but while striking this is fairly rare. Fairest who stick with Summer are those who are looking for its high ideals and are often among those rare Summer Courtiers who can competently articulate both those ideals and their pitfalls without falling prey to cynicism and bitterness.

Autumn - For those Fairest who hurt others to feel safe, Autumn is waiting. The Leaden Mirror can be attractive to young Fairest because it’s easy to perceive Autumn as atomized, defined by personal relationships rather than webs of political influence, but when the Fairest discovers those webs the existence of Option Two: Resort To Violence as an acceptable tool to the Ashen Court is perversely reassuring rather than threatening. The image of the Fairest as a witch, tempting and threatening, clings to them in Autumn but it’s honestly not their most common role; Autumn employs its Fairest as rumor-mongers, the Other Woman who seems a little too familiar with your husband, therapists & counselors, oneiromancers, and ambassadors to Hedge communities. The work Autumn does is harsh on Clarity, and Fairest are especially vulnerable to that harshness, but if the Court invests the time in helping its Fairest members, the self-awareness and self-confidence it offers can be a godsend that no other Court can give them.

Winter - As the Court which is actually selling what Fairest think Autumn has - to wit, the ability to simply say “no” to all social interactions with no justification required - Winter has a strong undercurrent of Fairest membership at all tiers of its power. Fairest often end up directly involved in Winter’s money-making enterprises, and flourish as Squires and Armigers with their fingers on the pulse of the Court’s morale. Winter’s hands-off approach displays a tremendous amount of trust in its Fairest from their perspective, and the demeanor of the Coldest Court - Winter’s indifferent equality - has a potent, merciless appeal. The trap of drowning in Sorrow sucks more than a few Fairest under, but if their peers can be there for them there’s always a way back out.

This Is Not A Pipe - Fairest And Lost’s Themes

My many thanks to Izzie M for her extensive help on this section. I’m not sure I’d have been able to grapple it down, emotionally or intellectually, otherwise.

Fairest go through some intense shit, and the shit they go through can never fully be addressed, never fully be recovered from. It’s no mistake that Fairest, like Wizened, are among those Lost likely to never fully gain resolution with or from their Keeper, and this is because they embody the dark truth that no matter how much progress you make, how much you heal, your trauma has changed who you are as a person and you will be dealing with it until you die. But, as alluded to extensively above in the discussion of Fairest and gender, Fairest also embody the way in which society will attempt to stamp you, mold you, turn you into a product to be consumed or an archetype to be placed into its churning machine, and its attempts to reshape who and what you are and can be are, in themselves, a form of trauma and abuse.

Fairest deal a lot in expectations. They’re expected to be perfect victims, they’re expected to be happy (because they’re beautiful and attractive, because they can front as Doing Okay, because they have a form of access to ‘normal’ society), they’re expected to want romance and sex (since everyone else wants those things out of them), to perform emotional labor, to be available, intimate, understanding, to keep up appearances. Fairest escape the chains of their Keeper only to be clapped in the chains that extend into the eyes and minds of their peers, and they cannot move without hearing the clink of them.

Fairest are primed to represent victims of ongoing emotional abuse and neglect; sex slaves and victims of child abuse might find themselves in Fairest, as might husbands or wives of abusive partners (and boy, re-living my bullshit there was a bonus prize I didn’t want to receive for writing this article), children pushed to over-achieve (here overlapping with Elemental) until they break, pastor’s daughters and cult kids (here overlapping with Beast), and others. However, Fairest also hit their thematic stride when talking about trauma from a society that will not give you an exit. A trans person is first punished by society for “failing” to perform their assigned gender, then made to perform their new one to expectations that they cannot set, do not control, and do not consent to; such a person might easily be Fairest, as might a man breaking under the expectations of Maleness, a college student losing their mind in finals week with no one to help, or even more ‘ordinary’ sex workers expected to perform emotional and physical labor for a society that rewards their work with violence and dehumanization.

Fairest are people with complex internal worlds and they damn well know it, but the temptations to let others define them are numerous; society promises all manner of rewards for being who and what it wants you to be, for wanting the things it tells you to want, for being the kind of person who wants and does those things. To be Fairest is to know at any time you can start faking it and receive those rewards insofar as they’re actually on the table, but it is also to know, every second of every day that you’re performing that role, that it is fake. If you can’t find a community with which you can be genuine...well. You can always get more hurt, and in this way Fairest also bring another theme of Lost into focus: that the Lost owe compassion and understanding to their fellow victims, because failure to care can only hurt both them and everyone in their blast zone.

Feet Pics For Legos - Coping As A Fairest

Fairest are among those Lost who are most concerned with their day-to-day social interactions and safety rather than their immediate, very physical environmental safety. They are perhaps the Seeming most likely to live in a group setting (in an apartment with roommates or romantic partners, in a house shared between multiple households, splitting the bills in a condo, with their parents), and are definitely the Seeming most comfortable with the idea of living with mortals who aren’t ensorcelled. Indeed, Fairest don’t tend to do well living alone; even a Fairest who wants or needs a private place to be, choosing to keep a home in which others cannot lay a claim, will likely crash at friends’ places, sleep over at the Freehold commons on some pretext or another, stay the night with a lover, or otherwise have a place to flop down while surrounded by other people. Having other people - their greatest reality check - around the place helps keep the Fairest centered in the real reality, better able to pick apart the mortal from the Wyrd from their own unrelated hallucinations, and a Fairest who is isolated - or who is permitted to isolate herself - quickly begins to dissociate and may soon be incapable of caring for herself until someone can get her back into the present.

Those invited over as guests to a Fairest’s home may note a lot of concern for those she lives with. She likely schedules the event well in advance, is clear about the boundaries of those she lives with (”That’s Brenda’s room, the door stays shut.”) and in general treats her communal home with a lot of respect and love. Respecting these boundaries and in turn having her own respected is very validating for the Fairest and is vital to be able to feel safe and at ease in her own home, and impressing their importance on guests further reinforces that this is, as it were, her doughnut. While not dismissive of their own literal physical safety per se, a Fairest’s anxieties rarely center around her body being violently attacked by strangers. For those that do have such anxieties, they may choose to solve that problem by simple expedient of rooming or living with someone large and scary.

Another detail of note which is touched on in Winter Masques is that Fairest tend to seek out life’s little pleasures. Though they are not necessarily wealthier than other Lost, how a Fairest chooses to spend her money tends to follow particular patterns. Rare is the Fairest who doesn’t have clothing they like, a phone that works, a wallet or purse that can actually hold all of their stuff, and in this regard most Fairest without a special interest in fashion as a hobby in and of itself will have an aesthetic that is self-expressive but serviceable and hard-wearing, but any place the Fairest haunts, frequents, or lives in will get little touches everywhere. Fairest spend the little bits of extra money for good toilet paper, soft soaps that won’t hurt the skin, good shower supplies, high-quality razors, boots that won’t wear through - and they spend their serious money on their hobbies and preferences. A Fairest with a passion for cooking scrimps and saves to get a fully-stocked kitchen; a Fairest who likes building and connecting invests in Legos or Hot Wheels and creates elaborate environments for them. A gamer Fairest has headphones that can vibrate your constipation away and a fiber optic connection to ensure that lag will not stand between her and your doom. The reasons for this are manifold, and Lost’s canon writing suggests that Fairest seek pleasure to alleviate a desire to return to Arcadia. This is, to put it mildly, a stupid assertion; rather, the Fairest provides her own pleasures in part because it is one of the most emotionally clear ways to lick the doughnut, and in part because it reminds her that she can be happy under her own power, can seek pleasure, stimulation, engagement, without placing herself at another’s mercy - ironically making it easier to go out every day and do exactly that as a member of her various societies.

As a Fairest settles in she tends to look for “her” people, and quite often they’re good at compartmentalizing this, wearing different hats and having different feelings about those hats without feeling fake or distressed about the bare fact of that. She’ll have her personal friends and family, like her housemates, her girlfriend, maybe her mortal family, her neighbors, and then folks like her Motley (which are like her personal friends and family, but In The Know), her fellow Fairest and the Freehold broadly, her work friends and fellow hobbyists. A Fairest who does, say, sex work, thinks of herself as a Sex Worker and understands herself in the context of that broader social group. It can be a lot! Many Lost barely have a handle on being a member of both the Freehold and a Court, and the way Fairest flit to and fro between many communities, slipping seamlessly from one role to another, can be exhausting to watch - but by doing so the Fairest also builds bonds between those communities, highlights their common needs and interests, draws them together over their similarities and strengths. Darklings and Wizened get a lot of the work on the ground done, but it’s often a Fairest in the role of whistleblower, figurehead, and champion all at once.

After all, this, too, is her doughnut.

Example Fairest - Clara Belltower, Spring Playmate

Clara Belltower is a mime.

Well, no, not exactly. Clara Belltower is a self-employed porn actress, erotic script writer, and director, whose primary thing is mimes, clowns, and more broadly circuses and performance venues. She came back from Arcadia eight years back fleeing life as her Keeper’s Stepford Wife, and ran face-first into the money issues that haunt the Lost in general. What started out as a practical choice in new career - and an attempt to find and express an identity not created for her by her abuser - became a creative passion that has stayed strong with Clara and propelled her to status in the Spring Court, which retains her keen eye for decoration, direction, and theatricality in service to its high rituals and revels. Clara’s livestreams and online presence are also a convenient avenue for the Freehold to launder its less legal revenue streams, which has endeared Spring’s “silent siren” to the Winter Court and cemented her as a mover and shaker.

Clara’s ambitions reach beyond erotic miming, as talented as she is at both creating and purveying such. She has her eyes on four different strip clubs in Freehold territory alone whose owners and operators need to fucking go, and she wants Winter’s help making it happen; further, she wants the Freehold to take over operation of those establishments for the benefit of the workers. Clara’s vision is popular in Spring and has its supporters in Summer too, but the Declining Seasons have been cool on the concept, citing a need to maintain subtlety and avoid entanglements with the mortal world that might invite the eye of, say, the IRS - or mire the Freehold in a protracted war with local police departments. Clara’s passion burns with a righteous simplicity, envisioning a Freehold that is active in improving the city around it - if the cops want to throw down, bring it on! Her influence over Winter means the Coldest Court cannot simply dismiss her desires, but neither is it willing to go to war. Something is going to have to give, soon.

This concludes the Fairest portion of the article. Some additional thoughts on Seeming follow.

Bombing Your Own Position - Choosing Your Seeming

So it’s been six articles and I’ve talked about the ways various Seemings can represent responses to the things which traumatize us; neurodivergences for which society abuses us, the machinery of capitalism, violence, prison, and more. But how do you go about choosing your character’s Seeming? The obvious choice is to make a character that puts a lot of yourself at the table; to seek out a Seeming that reflects your own traumas, your own issues, your own anxieties and struggles, and then grapple with them in this fictional context. But RPGs can be an emotionally challenging medium, and you may well not want to deal with your own bullshit during your magic trauma fairy game. That’s valid!

Now, the second obvious piece of advice is to think about your proposed character’s themes and traumas and then select a Seeming from there, but this can get complicated. Many Lost players feel as if they need two Seemings, and to those players I say: no the fuck you do not. But it is true that people are messy and do not fully resolve, that the broad spectrum of the world of sorrow and loss is not easy to fit into 6 discrete categories whose creation was often managed by, not to keep repeating this point, fucking Nazis. I have found in my experience that it can be helpful, when you’re torn between two Seemings or you have a character you’re sure is this Seeming even though they look like or could be that one, to ask yourself why the character is not the other option. Why is this alluring and sensual Darkling not a Fairest, what makes this brutal and violent Wizened not an Ogre? This question naturally leads to others about their abuse and their reaction to it, and can start your momentum for writing your concept out.

As an addition, while I’ve spoken of various Seemings as being well-equipped to represent specific traumas, they don’t own those traumas. Elementals are metaphorically autistic, but there’s nothing stopping you from running an autistic Fairest or an autistic Beast instead. Rather, those Seemings outlined as being “for” or “about” certain traumas are those whose selection will make those traumas thematically central, cause you to return to them as a topic over and over by virtue of being who and what they are. Real people have complicated problems which intersect with one another, spawning new problems that are more strange than the sum of their parts, and it’s both valid and interesting to write your Lost that way - just keep in mind that it’ll still be complicated at the table too.

Van Helsing Hate Crimes - Seeming Politics

White Wolf spent a lot of time waffling back and forth on whether or not Seemings represent distinct cultural and political identities in a given Freehold, drifting towards ‘yes’ when the writers thought about the way Blessings and Curses create consistent, measurable differences between Lost of various Seemings, and towards ‘no’ generally whenever they were asked to actually outline a Lost society such as a sample Freehold or Entitlement. Some Entitlements are locked to specific Seemings, often times with little thought as to why, while other times Seeming-based power blocs are alluded to as worldbuilding elements (such as in Lords of Summer) without much in the way of supporting detail. Why should these things happen, when, how, what does the buildup of this violent fracture in a Freehold society look like?

On the whole, I have taken the stance in these articles and in my own worldbuilding that some amount of fantastical prejudice exists amongst the Lost, but that the systems of oppression have not taken root. Maybe it’s idealistic of me to view the Lost as unwilling or unable to produce internally racist power structures that create an underclass for the benefit of an appointed elite, but in general I feel as if Freeholds are too small, each individual member too precious by simple dint of being a living being in a physical body, for this kind of evil to flourish. That said, you may have also noticed that I identified two Seemings - Darklings and Fairest - as explicitly self-uniting and in some senses self-governing on the basis of common traumas that they often cannot fully explain to outsiders, and indeed community with people that understand your bullshit without you having to say it aloud - that is, those who share a Seeming with you - can be invaluable to all Lost. Ultimately, however, I want to advise against looking at Seemings the way that, say, Vampire: the Requiem looks at Clans, and instead to treat them as reactions to trauma rather than a kind of alternate racial identity.

Next up: So You Need To Write A Fetch

[dannyboy-writes]

Warmth

Pairing: Daenerys x reader (no pronouns nor indications of any gender)

Summary: What happens after Daenerys cheats on you with Jon

Warnings: Cheating?

Word count: 1451 (holy shit)

She didn’t know when she fell in love with you. Maybe it’d been when you stood up for her in front of Viserys, not caring the consequences it would bring. Perhaps when she saw you at the market in Astapor, buying food for the hungry children; or when her heart stopped just a bit longer as you offered yourself to fight the Meereenese champion.

She knew all she loved about you, that she did. How your eyes held more warmth when speaking to her. How your eyebrow raised a bit too high when you were intrigued. The sweetness you had with those you loved and the fear you imposed to those against you or those you cared for. How quickly you would hide the blooming emotions, rapidly putting on the mean, serious facade.

Not for her, never for her. She could always read you like a book, always wearing your heart on your sleeve, waiting to pour it out into the canvas.

But not now.

Now they were cold, and distant. And any special treatment she would’ve once gotten was gone.

It’d become obvious when you stepped foot in Winterfell. How their gazes were held in between them for a little too long, but were quickly dismissed. How she did and said things, as if searching for forgiveness within you.

Now your eyes were as cold as the snow around you two - if not more - and the distance between the both of you, although not literal, abysmal. Your tears threatening to fall, but being pulled back in.

She didn’t deserve them, not after this. You weren’t gonna give her that. You’d given her everything, you would’ve given her the world had she asked, but not tears. Oh, how you wanted to cry and scream. At everything and nothing, at the gods, at him. At her.

She knew it was a facade and that you were hurting beneath the cold demeanor, and that was probably what hurt her most. She’d lost the privilege to see the hidden emotions, to be able to see underneath the deceitful front. But she deserved it, she’d caused it.

-

“Where would you go, if you could go anywhere in the world?” Dany asked, eyes glistening with joy, pressing herself tighter to your embrace.

“I don’t know. Probably a nice house by the beach, with lots of trees and pretty sunsets. You?”

She stared into the dark blue of the ocean for a second, “I don’t know. I might join you in your beach house, if you’ll have me, of course.”

“I’ll always have you, Dany,” you smiled, pressing a kiss to her head.

-

Not anymore. It was all gone, all for a stupid mistake, all for a warm bed. But not even, because the man from the north wasn’t even half as soft as you were, and the cold of his fingertips froze her fire-blazed blood.

You had left the comfort and heat of the Winterfell castle against better judgment, and the icy weather was taking a toll on your under-protected body. You just couldn’t be there with them. Having to pretend nothing had happened, the unspoken topic everyone seemed to know about.

You’d heard her call for you and you figured she’d follow. Part of you wanted her to do so, to be able to forgive her; but your brain kept forbidding you from doing so, and the pain in your chest reminded you why.

“Please, come inside y/n. You’ll freeze without cover.” She was right. Leaving the castle into the unfamiliar iciness with only your leathers was not smart, but you still didn’t turn to face her, only holding your arms closer to yourself, as if it would force the heat not to leave your body.

You took a few more steps and coldly spat out, “I’m fine.” It was bullshit, of course, but what else was there to say? Anything there was she already knew, why say it?

Her following footsteps were the only audible thing besides your occasional sniffles and the howling of the wind. Now she wasn’t going to leave you alone? Now?

“Would you stop following me, please?” You stopped in your tracks and turned to face her, “There’s a reason I left the castle, you know? If I’d known you’d follow me I wouldn’t have bothered getting in the snow at all.”

She stopped in her tracks the second the words left your lips, her face braced with hurt. She didn’t expect you to say this, but then again, she couldn’t really blame you. “I’m sorry,” she simply said. “I truly am, y/n. The last thing I wanted was hurting you.”

A scoff left you, “The last thing you wanted?” You searched her face for the joke to drop, but there was none. “It’s the only thing you did.” With that you walked past her, going somewhere warmer than the white snow, but were stopped by her. She held your arm tight, but not painfully, not letting you move. Well, if you tried you probably could, but there was no will to do so in your body.

“Please, y/n,” she looked at you, begging you to listen, and her hurt decreased slightly as you shifted in your spot crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow at her.

“I can never take back what I’ve done, never. And asking you to forgive me is selfish, I know. I know,” she remarked. “But I am, asking you to forgive me, being selfish; I am. Because I love you, and I need you, and I was too blinded to see that, for which I’ll never be sorry enough. I wish I could go back and stop myself, I really do. And I understand if you don’t ever want to speak to me-”

“No.” You sternly said. Stopping at your sudden intervention, she started searching for hidden words in your face, finding none. “You don’t get to say that, you don’t get to say you understand and you can’t do anything. You- You don’t get to stop fighting for- For me, for us, you don’t.” She straightened her back with determination in her face and urged you to continue. “You don’t get to break my heart, apologize and move forward just like that.”

The look in your face was less menacing and more downcast, tears threatening to fall from your glimmering eyes. A slight tremble ever so often in the still cold environment. You weren’t sure what was colder, the snow or the situation. 

“So what now,” she asked, wanting nothing more than to fix things, to undo everything she’d done. “I want to fix this, what do you need me to do? Whatever you need, I’ll do it.” 

You stared at her, thinking your next words carefully, shifting in your position, your gaze turning from her apologetic face into the identical scenery. It would’ve been a lovely view had the circumstances been different. 

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you mumbled as her penetrating gaze grew smaller, filled with defeat. “I want to, I really do. It’s hard enough to have your heart broken but I can’t even bring myself to hate you, Dany.” A laugh fell off your lips but there was no happiness behind it, just pain, “It’d be much easier to hate you. To not feel my heart beg for mercy when I see you and him, but for some reason I can’t. And it hurts, it does- so much,” you stopped a second to look at her, finding her taking every single one of your words, however painful they were. 

There was silence after that statement, neither you nor Daenerys knowing what to say, sometimes it takes more than wanting to fix things to actually do so. Your mouth opened a few times without any words leaving your lips, but your mind settled on something. “I can’t promise it will all be roses. Or that I won’t be pissed, or that it will be easy, because it won’t.” She shook her head in understanding. There were no formalities anymore, no Queen and follower, just two broken people, holding onto a little bit of hope in all the despair. “But if you’re willing to not give up on this, on me, then maybe, just- maybe it can work. But I need you to work with me.”

She jumped into your arms, speaking into your neck, “I will, I will. I promise, y/n, I promise.” She would’ve done anything for a second chance with you. 

It wasn’t going to be easy, you both knew that. And it would be a rocky road, but you’d walk it together, and in the end it would be okay.

~

Requests are open and if y’all don’t stop me imma keep posting Dany cause I love her :)

[taeescript]

IX. Script of the Angel (m)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰 >> This is the story of three very different people. A successful novelist, a blossoming artist and a dedicated cop. They seem to have nothing in common. Yet, they are continually drawn to each other. It is as if their fates have been intertwined. Written. That they must meet.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> ft. jungkook and jimin primarily.

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 >> policeman!jimin, author!jungkook, painter!freader, serialkiller!XXX; a classic game of cat and mouse

𝔴/𝔠 >> 4.8k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 >> mature themes depicted. due to the explicit nature of the topic (serial killers, murders, violence, sexual content, infidelity etc.) this is rated 18+. to spare storytelling: please consider yourself warned. chapter warning: mentions of self-harm and infidelity; depictions of blood and murder. 

𝔞/𝔫 >> topics discussed in this chapter may be brief, but they are serious. please take the warnings mentioned above seriously. if at any point this makes you uncomfortable, please stop reading. 

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Jimin pulls up to the house, and his GPS beeps to tell him that he has arrived at location. He observes the scene from his spot in his car. He then steps out, walks to the door and rings the doorbell.

“Did you forget something?” Liza’s mother opens the door with the question. “Oh!”

Jimin gives an apologetic smile. “Sorry to bother you ma’am, but could I ask you a few questions? S.F.P.D.” He flashes his badge.

A few days ago, he had discovered that a vehicle had been rented out under the name Jeon Jungkook. Consequently, he had put in a request to his friends at the station to inform him of any and all movements of this vehicle. His friends had laughed at him, sending him quickly away as they did not have time to do this for him. Jimin thoroughly pleaded his case and had been given a simple tracking program in which he had used to follow Jungkook around today.

Liza’s mother steps out of the house and quickly closes the door behind her. However, she is not fast enough to hide Liza peering out from Jimin’s observant eyes.

“Your daughter?” he asks.

She becomes flustered. “I…You…Yes. Sorry, who did you say you were?”

He holds out his badge again. “S.F.P.D.”

“R-Right. I see your identification.”

The badge is put away.

“It’s just that we don’t usually have policemen coming to our doors and well, I didn’t want to scare Liza, my daughter,” her mother continues.  

“It’s not a problem, ma’am, and I’m very sorry to have to interrupt your day like this.”

Shaking her head, she waves his concern away.

“Would you be available to answer a few questions right now? It won’t take much of your time,” he tells her.

She nods.

“Did you have any visitors at your house today?” he starts.

“Visitors? Well…” she rambles off a few names and then stops. He hopefully looks on and exhales only when she speaks again. “There was also a man who stopped by. A few minutes before you actually.”

Finally, he is getting somewhere.

“I see. This man you speak about. Have you seen him before?”

“No. That was my first time. I think he worked for an insurance company? He wasn’t even supposed to be at our house; he was looking for a Mrs. Fallon perhaps down the street,” she tells him. A sudden thought dawns upon and she gasps, horror splashing ugly across her face. “He’s not some criminal, is he? Heavens! He seemed like such a nice man as well!”

He places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about. Could you tell me a little more about him? You said he worked for an insurance company?”

The woman is extremely nervous. He can read it off her body language as she continues to tug at the hem of her shirt. His previous words had not been any consolation to her at all. He appeals one more time.

“Truth be told, I’m here investigating claims about a group assuming fake identities to sell illegal goods to occupants in this area.”

“You don’t think….!” she holds a hand over her mouth.

He shrugs. “We’re not too sure yet. However, if you help answer some of these questions, we’d be able to track down this group quicker.”

“O-Of course! The man showed me some papers. I couldn’t get a real good look, but I think I saw a logo on there. That one with the giant “L” and the twigs that stick out on the side. I can’t remember the name of the company, however…” her voice trails off.

She doesn’t need to explain further as Jimin recognizes the logo.

“Not a problem. Well, that’s all for today. Thank you so much for your time, ma’am,” he nods and begins to leave.

“That’s all? I haven’t even given you the name!” she calls after him.

“You’ve been very helpful!” he shouts behind him, “Have a good day and stay safe!”

He enters his car quickly to prevent her from calling out at him again. The logo she had explained is one he is familiar with. It is one he’s seen often at the building two blocks away from the station, and he knows for a fact that Jungkook does not work for that company.

All Jungkook had done was talk to the woman. They had barely exchanged enough words for her to even remember who he was. However, he was also clearly not there to sell any type of insurance.

If so, what had Jeon Jungkook been doing at that house then?

…................

“Excuse me, would you be able to tell me where I can find this gentleman?” she slides the wallet sized photo of herself and said man to the receptionist.

The pretty lady on the other side faintly smiles upon seeing it. “Your husband?” she asks.

Krystal blushes. “Oh no. He’s my boyfriend. I was hoping that maybe you can locate him.”

The lady’s eyebrows furrow upon her words. “Is he missing? I can direct you to the Missing Person’s Unit.”

“No!” Krystal immediately blurts, “Sorry. I mean, he’s not missing. He had told me previously that the station had called him in for an interview? He’s not involved in any crime. They only wanted to ask him some questions.”

Her fingers fly across the keyboard while chewing on her pen. After a few moments, the receptionist looks back up at Krystal for a brief moment. “What did you say his name was?”

“Jeon Jungkook.”

More typing. “Ah, yes. He came in quite some time ago. I have him signed in to visit the Homicide Unit with Lieutenant Wang.”

“Ah, would you be able to direct me to the Lieutenant?”

“Well, I can’t just have you going in…” the receptionist bites her lips in thought. She scratches something down on her notepad before her head snaps up again.

…...............

Namjoon and Jimin had returned from their lunch break. Jimin had only been planning to go down for a quick sandwich at the cafeteria but he had been dragged along by Namjoon to go to the nearby Thai restaurant. It all started when Jimin had observed that Namjoon had an unopened lunch bag on his desk.

“Youngji made lunch for me,” Namjoon had said.

Perhaps this is the opportunity to bring up his suspicions on Jungkook; he hadn’t spoken of the matter to Namjoon for a while now. In fact, he hadn’t even told his supervisor about the vehicle tracking he did a few days ago.

“Oh? What did she make you?” Jimin had innocently asked. How he regretted the decision.

The entire time they were out, Namjoon had complained about his wife’s cooking – especially her renewed passion for cooking green foods (for a brief time, Youngji had stopped). His complaints had paused while they were physically partaking in their lunch meal, and Jimin had thought Namjoon forgot about it, but on their walk back to the station, Namjoon began ranting again. He hadn’t even had the chance to bring up Jungkook’s name let alone his recent observations.

“I don’t even like green beans. I try to tell her, but she insists on making them because they’re healthy,” Namjoon groans, “How does one tell their wife to stop cooking for them?”

Jimin sighs. “Maybe simply saying ‘Please stop cooking for me’.”

That causes Namjoon to roll his eyes. “This is why you’ll never get married. You can’t just tell your wife that her food sucks. I have thick skin when it comes to speaking up to anybody else, but her… I’d rather just down it.”

“You didn’t though. You threw it out and we went out for Thai instead.”

Namjoon does not seem to hear what Jimin has said; as they are walking into the station, he harshly jabs Jimin in the ribs.

“Namjoon what – ” Jimin glares at his friend.

Namjoon nods his head in the direction. “Hot girl, alert. Like 10/10.”

Jimin raises an eyebrow. “You’d better not let Youngji catch you saying that…” his sentence trails off when he notices the girl who stands at the receptionist’s desk.

She is immensely pretty. Her light brown hair hangs in waves down her back and her smooth, long legs are accentuated under the black skirt she is sporting. She is also wearing a body-hugging turtleneck that wraps around her athletic body, naturally drawing attention to her flushed curves.

“Damn,” Namjoon whistles lightly under his breath, “Do you think she’s a good cook?” 

This time, Jimin fails and the laughter bursts out. The sudden sound draws both the receptionist and the beautiful woman’s attention towards the two of them.

“Lieutenant!” the receptionist calls over.

The two men shuffle over like shy school boys.

Now that they are standing closer and that they could see her face, they are even more impressed by her natural beauty. Her make up is light and makes her skin appear soft and dewy. Her bright eyes greet theirs and she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, an unconscious seductive gesture in their minds. When they finally reach her, she beams them a smile of perfectly aligned white teeth.

“Howdy,” Namjoon goofily says. He clears his throat once and tries again. “Um, hello. I’m Lieutenant Kim Namjoon.” He extends a hand.

Krystal shakes it.

“Detective Park Jimin,” Jimin introduces himself sequentially.

She takes his hand as well. He notes how warm yet strong her grip is.

“They’ll be able to help you better,” the receptionist smiles.

“Oh?” Jimin tilts his head at the question.

Krystal opens her mouth to explain the reason she is at the station when Namjoon interrupts before she can speak.

“It’s rude to make a lady wait and stand here. Perhaps I’d be able to invite you to his office so the two of you can talk comfortably there?”

“His office? Are you not the Lieutenant?” Krystal asks, slightly confused.

Namjoon laughs. “Yeah I am. But uh… I just remembered that I, um, have some business to take care of for the other… thing. I mean, case. I have to take care of a meeting to see a case.”

Jimin glares at Namjoon.

“You’ll be left in capable hands though. Detective Park is the best in our unit,” Namjoon says. He gives them a quick wave and the wiggle of his brows towards Jimin before leaving the station despite having just returned to it.

Jimin wants to hit Namjoon, but he really could not leave the mysterious stranger standing by herself. He turns to Krystal again.

She is regarding him with a slight grin. “He’s a strange one, isn’t he?” she comments.

“You can’t even begin to imagine,” he returns with a roll of his eyes, “This way.” He leads her towards the elevators up to his floor.

“I’m really sorry to be a bother,” she says while they wait. She waits until he has pressed the button before continuing, “It’s really nothing much. I’m just looking for somebody.”

“If you’re looking for somebody, shouldn’t you be speaking to the MPU?”

“MPU?”

“Sorry, slip of the tongue. Missing Person’s Unit.”

She scrunches her nose. “He’s not missing… He’s somewhere here. The last time we spoke he told me he had been called in here, so I thought to try my luck. Perhaps you’ve seen him?”

Her words are confusing to Jimin. They don’t make sense.

The lights above head start to slowly flash as the elevator comes down to meet them. 

“I’m sorry, this is probably really bizarre right now; I haven’t even introduced myself formally. I’m Krystal,” she extends her hand again. It awkwardly hangs there for a quick second before she retracts it a second time, remembering that they had already exchanged handshakes.

Jimin gives her a warm smile. She was nervous, for some strange reason. “Not to worry, Krystal. Do you have a name?”

“Jeon Jungkook,” she says.

“No, he isn’t,” Jimin mumbles. “At least for now,” he keeps that part to himself. He turns back to Krystal. “I saw him. He came in to do an interview for me.”

He is not fast enough to conceal his disgust at the mention of the man’s name.

Krystal catches the brief microexpression, however. “Please don’t tell me that he’s in trouble.”

“Oh! So you did see him! Would you be able to tell me where he is staying currently? I tried to call him earlier but he was busy…”

“I could. But first you are his…”

“Girlfriend.”

Ah. So this was the woman Jungkook had mentioned. Again, he is relives the bitter taste in his mouth from when Jungkook had told him that he had been out with another woman. Jimin tightens his fist when a thought crosses his mind.

“Girlfriend, you say?” he repeats. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone.

She nods, animatedly. Krystal is excited that she had been able to bump into the handsome detective. He seemed to know about Jungkook’s whereabouts in this foreign city.

“He’s staying with a friend of mine. I could give you her address, if you’d like,” Jimin tells her.

She takes his bait. “Her…?” she repeats silently to herself.

“Is something the matter?” Jimin asks.

Krystal looks back up at him with a smile. “Nothing!” she says, “I’d appreciate that a lot, Detective Tuan.”

Jimin nods. He writes out your address on a piece of paper and hands it to her. “I hope you find him,” he encourages her.

The elevator doors before them open and wait for its passengers.

“Mhmm,” Krystal says. The initial excitement her voice held is audibly dampened. She thanks him and walks away.

Jimin enters the elevator alone. There is a knowing smile on his face. Perhaps this lady would finally be able to get Jungkook out of your life once and for all.

…...............

We all have that thing, don’t we? That one thing we know we should not do, yet we succumb into its temptation each and every time because it’s so good. Despite it destroying our body, the thought of not being able to yield torments the passing thoughts in our mind and coaxes us to believe that it is okay.

Let us listen to it this one last time. Just this one last time and we promise ourselves that we will never do it again. Just this one last time and we will then walk away. That is the argument we have and boy.

We’ve lost.

The feeling of absolute bliss washes over your body as you stand in the shower, allowing the hot water to run across every inch of skin. It feels like a large warm hand that massages your shoulders, calves, back – each muscle on your body. You are aware that the temperature is too high but it feels too good for you to turn it down.

After avoiding the studio for so long, you had finally brought yourself around to go back to it. Min had been ecstatic when you walked in. You had not seen each other in a little over two weeks and with you not responding to any of her nor mutual friends’ calls, she had thought something had happened to you.

Min is your best friend. There is no doubt about it. The two of you shared everything so Min had been slightly disappointed when you failed to tell her why you had suddenly disappeared.

You had taken out the large canvas from your bag instead after the initial hug ended. You rolled out the painting and asked Min for her opinion.

“It’s a little… sporadic,��� was all Min could say.

“Sporadic… that’s one way to put it,” you grimaced, “I don’t like it. But it’s nearly complete, and I don’t have time to make a new one.”

“Are you making it for a client?”

“No.”

Min was seen biting the inside of her cheek with all of your mysteries. You had felt bad so you told her, “Remember that guy I told you about? It’s for him.”

Her eyes seemed to light up now that you were speaking again. “Oh yeah! Jungkook! You had been working on it for quite a while, right?”

You nodded.

“Well, how about I go out and get us our favourite donuts from the bakery? I know good food always helps me get over artist’s block!” Min had offered. Before you could tell her otherwise, you were looking at the back of your petite friend rushing out the door into the autumn wind.

With not much of a choice, you had settled down at your usual corner. The studio was quiet. There were a few people here and there, but they were mainly minding their own business. They gave you a small smile as you walked around collecting your usual art utensils.

Once you were sitting in front of the painting again, staring at the blacks, navy, bruise-like purples, you started falling into darker thoughts - the same thoughts that are infesting you now that you are alone in the shower again.

You grab the shampoo and start lathering it into your hair.

Baekhyun… How many years has it been since that happened? Why was it that he continued to torment you like this despite the fact that he was gone? The most difficult moment had been the few weeks right after the incident. Every little thing you did, you were reminded of him. You couldn’t even go out without breaking down into tears; going out meant walking on the path to the studio that you had done so many times with him.

It had taken time, but slowly you thought your wounds had or were at least beginning to close. Yet, Jimin had opened them when you discovered he was still searching for Baekhyun. It wasn’t entirely Jimin’s fault. He was only doing what he thought was right. Still, he shouldn’t have hid it from you.

You blamed that for your moment of weakness. Seeing yourself physically wounded made you think of the wound that had been reopened in your heart. It made you think of the safe haven you used to have with the man you loved. They had been so close to saying their vows – till death do us apart – that was only supposed to be the case when they both grew old. It wasn’t supposed to be their truth so early on.

Baekhyun, am I allowed to fall in love again?

Turning the water off, you step out of the shower. The blast of cold air that hits you makes you tremble, and it is like a clear ring of water in your muddled pool of thoughts.

You shake your head, causing droplets of soapy water to fly everywhere.

You are not in love with Jungkook. There is absolutely no way that can be true. You are grateful to him for being there when you needed – and that is quite often lately. However, you could not find another reason for your speeding heart and dizziness you felt whenever he came home. Could he really be the one to blame for all the moments of breathlessness and chest aches?

Is it okay for me to have new feelings after losing you?

The mirror has been fogged up and you wipe away the condensation with a hand. Peering back at you is a tired girl with long, dark hair that is plastered to your cheeks. Your skin is flushed pink because of the heat and pressure of water. Your lips are flattened and slightly downturned. Your eyebrows are unkempt, and a pimple pushes it way at the side of your nose and all along your T-zone. Fingernails are too long because you have forgotten to cut them; still with chipped pink polish coating the pinky.

You let out a low chuckle. Who would love someone as broken as you? Your eyes dart to a pair of tweezers that sit on the shelf. You pick it up and observe how sharp the edge of the metal object is. You press your fingertip on it until they dig in and you feel the familiar lullaby sting of pain run from that sensitive area down your spine.

You didn’t need to actually draw blood to feel it. Your body is already messed up enough that this is where you momentarily pause.

The one person who had always been there as your supporting foundation is long gone. You had not found the strength to admit it, but you had been flailing in quicksand for a while now.

What’s a house without its foundation? It can only sink until it becomes no more.

You press harder, sending another chilling flash over your body. Your breath quickens and you feel that your lips are dry, although you have only stepped out of the shower.

Is this what others have felt? The addiction that comes the moment you start.  

You close your eyes, forcing your body to continue when the sound of a door being slammed shut scares you.

The tweezers fall to the floor.

…................

Shit.

Jungkook thinks as he takes off his shoes. There are still dark brown spots on it despite him intensively scrubbing them for five minutes straight in the car with a cloth. He contemplates on throwing his jacket on the ground, but seeing the state of shoes, he needs to be careful. Bending down, he picks them up and decides then that he must burn them.

He is so engrossed in his thoughts he doesn’t notice that he is not the only one home.

Looking around the floor, he finds the closest source of water and strides to it. He lets the water from the kitchen tap run until steam rises from it in which he then proceeds to take off his clothing. He throws in both the jacket and his stained white shirt. He then presses them down until the scalding water hits his own skin.

He hated acting out like this without a plan. He hated it with such a passion, but he hated even more the reason he went out and did it. His kills were always methodically thought out and never without reason. That homeless man in the alleyway shouldn’t have said anything when Jungkook walked by. He should have stayed mute, crammed in that dark corner, and harassed the next person that walked by. Not him. No. That decision only resulted in him lying lifeless in his own bloodied mound of dirt.

How could he have let somebody into his car? How was it even possible that he had allowed someone to monitor him to this extent? To have somebody take this much control of his life.

Each stab, a way to release the frustration he felt to his unknown attacker.

He is reminded of the knife at that moment. He should dispose of that as well. It was likely not possible that they would be able to trace the kill back to him – many people died out in the streets each night – but he needed to be careful, nonetheless.

He drains the water and watches the red-brown liquid swirl down the drain. Lifting his white shirt, he sees that the stain is still there. With a clenched jaw, he throws the heavy cloth against the wall, creating a loud smack.

The kill should have calmed him down. He should be feeling much better, but he doesn’t. Instead, he feels worse than before because now he has lost a perfectly good shirt and a jacket along with his pride.

With one hand braced against the counter of the kitchen, he takes out the bloodied knife from his pocket. He fumbles to flip it open but cannot due to the temporary paralysis on his fingers from drowning them in the hot water. Bracing the bulk of the item against his side, he forcefully digs into it with his fingertips. It slips and nicks his bare skin on the side.

…...............

You had had to sit down on the floor after your scare from Jungkook slamming the door shut. The unused tweezers had lain beside you for a while before you could pick it back up and return it to its spot. You busied yourself with getting dressed and going out to greet him.

As you throw the long-sleeved t-shirt over your head, you let out a bitter laugh. You were too weak to even do something like inflict pain on yourself. Jungkook’s perfect timing of returning home had stopped you.

You are twisting your damp hair into a bun when you hear a loud yell from the kitchen area.

“Fuck,” Jungkook snarls. It is deeper than it should have been. He had been aware how much force he had been trying to use to snap the knife out. The self-inflicted wound above his hip continues to ooze, mocking him red in his anger.

“Jungkook?!” You run towards him. You turn the corner and see him shirtless in the middle of the kitchen, one hand holding his side with a reddish liquid running between his fingers. “Oh my god! What happened?”

He feels the drape of your wet hair against his chest before anything. You are immediately by his side, putting your hand over his to place pressure on the wound. Not bothering to ask why he is standing without a shirt, you look up at him concerned.

“My hands slipped while I was trying to take out the knife,” he explains to you.

Again without questions, you lead him to the couch and order him to sit down. He obeys and you leave momentarily to get the first aid kit. When you return, you start to dress his wound. Everything is starting to resolve until Jungkook suddenly chuckles, wincing when it causes his wound to slightly tear.

“Jeon Jungkook!” You reprimand.

He grips the couch while you pour medical alcohol over it. “How ironic,” he says, voice laced with fatigue.

You had thought your heart had fallen out of your chest when you found him bleeding. All the worst possible scenarios had suddenly flown across your mind, and you thought that you were going to watch him die before you.

Not again, your heart has screamed before you could stop it.

Even now, as you were faced before the relatively small but deep wound, you could not stop the racing sensation you felt both mentally and physically.

“What are you talking about?” you say.

He hears the tremble in your voice. How strange.

Lilacs. That is what he is smelling from your shampoo.

“I’m usually the one to patch you up when you’re hurt. Now it’s the other way around,” he sighs.

“You haven’t even begun to explain what you were doing, trying to take out a knife while standing shirtless in our kitchen.”

“Our…” he laughs again.

You had fully been meaning to smack him for making it harder for you to clean the wound until it registers in your mind what he had said. What you let slip.

“You said ‘our kitchen’. I thought I was only a tenant here,” he says.

“Well you’ve… I mean… Y-You are…”  you stutter.

Jungkook rests his head back, feeling an extreme form of tiredness on his body. Everything that had happened that day comes crashing down, knocking his breath out completely. It is as if somebody had thrown consecutive punches and he is now feeling its after effects. His stalker, the random kill, this self-inflicted wound.

You mumble something.

“What was that?” He is knocked out of his thoughts. He looks down at the top of your head. The wound has been covered but your fingers linger on his body, and he feels their coldness on his heated skin.

You mumble again.

He is tired, but you have been kind enough to help him with any questions. He can at least humour this by being patient towards you.

You don’t know what has come over you. You hadn’t meant to say it, but Jungkook’s words had flustered you. You let a single word slip out and it had acted like a key to unlock the next ones that tumble out.

“I like…” you whisper, your voice still buried beneath the veil your hair creates. You don’t even know if you truly mean what you are about to say.

You feel his fingers slip beneath your chin and tilt your head up to him. He stares at you with an unwavering type of patience and attention.

“It won’t help if you keep whispering what it is you want me to hear to my chest. Talk to me like this,” he says slowly, holding your eyes with his. There is an intense fire blazing when you meet them.

Your palms prick as they start to sweat. You gulp and wet your lips.

“I like you!” you blurt, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks immediately after, “I know it doesn’t make sense but – ”

He silences you with his lips.

...................

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 (open): @yoonchrisgull

[hatboyproject]

This is very long, but it might be of interest to someone, somewhere. I was asked recently about the direction I'm taking this romance in and whether or not I'll be addressing certain disability specific subjects within it. The answer, of course, is yes - I have always planned to do this in one form or another. Whilst no single piece of media can address everything I'd like to say on the subject, and I am working within the bounds of a larger story with its own pacing and focus to consider, there's still room to touch on some of these things.

I'm aware that my interpretations won't always be the same as others'. They are my interpretations, coloured by my experiences and feelings, and ultimately, this is my mod - I'm writing it for everybody who 'wears the ballcap,' so to speak! But, it's my interpretation of this character that I'm trying to share with everyone. Different people "took the helm" (laugh, I'm hilarious!) on writing Jeff across the trilogy, and as time has gone on I've been trying to convince myself that it's okay to have my turn at doing that, too - albeit in a non-professional capacity. So... Let's get into my interpretation of Jeff, where his stuff comes from on my view, and how things went to get him to where we are at the beginning of ME3, where the romance can occur.

A lot of how I interpret him comes from experiences in my own life with my own issues, and with those of my loved ones, some of whom are physically disabled in similar (but not identical) ways to Jeff. Some of this carries an element of catharsis for me.

Mechanically and narratively speaking, what draws me to writing this romance is the contrast between how these two characters are strong. It's this core idea that strength doesn't have only one manifestation in a person. That loving somebody doesn't have to be done only one way, that it can be beautiful and passionate and fulfilling - even if, when it gets physical, the headboard can't exactly be made to shatter with the force of it all. For me, it's also an exercise in insecurity and dealing with feelings of frustrated inadequacy - something that has plagued me my whole life.

Yes, yes, he's fictional - but the only way for me to really get into a character is to think about them as if they're a real being. When I look at Jeff as a person, I see many things... Some very positive, some pretty negative... I try to see him as a complete person with strengths and flaws.

On the surface he is often defensive, dismissive, sarcastic, and emotionally avoidant. But why is that? He is highly skilled, dedicated and capable, and knows it, but at the same time is a person who is constantly overlooked, underestimated, and asked to work thrice as hard to get the same considerations. Even then, his validity is questioned often by almost everyone around him. Over time, combined with the realities of living with his physical condition, this has given him some deep-seated insecurities. He feels the need to brag about his skills because they are, ultimately, the one thing about himself that he is absolutely certain has real worth. He overcompensates for this by abusing rules and technicalities wherever he can, because I think he knows that if he played life by the rules, he'd never have gotten anywhere. It's a stacked deck, so why not hide some aces up his sleeve? When you don't fit in the box provided, you question the value of every box you see.

When a person lives with this long enough, it can get hard to swim against the tide of society's expectations and still remain chipper about it, let alone not internalise some of it. It can cause a person to create a shell constructed out of distrust and untruth.

Living with a disability can really suck sometimes, and the suck is compounded when having to deal with your own frustrations plus those of others. In my personal experience, that happens a lot.

There is a certain sense of alienation that it can create, and it can become a kind of Sword of Damocles. It can be easier to anticipate rejection and others' assumptions, inabilities to understand or relate than to keep reaching out, only to have the same tired conversations about being different. I see a lot of this in him. I understand the chip he has on his shoulder.

I also see an extremely sensitive, empathetic, devoted and boundlessly loving person under all that. In fact, it's because of these things that I think he actively tries to distance himself. At the core of his being, I see Jeff as somebody who loves quickly and completely. I think he sees that as a vulnerability, incompatible with what he's learned he has to do to survive... and also with the machismo thing that comes with being a pilot. I think on some level he's terrified of that about himself, but he also can't help it. Jeff is ride or die. So, he tells himself he doesn't care and never lets anyone in. Any time anyone showed interest, he'd shut them down, alienate them, distance himself, and get in the seat of something that flies.

I think up until now, (ME3) he's seen intimacy both as a thing he longs for, but is also afraid of because of his fundamental knowledge that he is different. He thinks he can't "measure up" to what he sees all around him. He sees romance as something that will lead to his inevitable rejection and being crushed, emotionally - and if he's not careful, physically, too. I think he's embarrassed about that as well. He's very interested where it comes to all that, but the things he likes to watch, he knows he can't do like that. His only experience is second-hand as a voyeur, so some of his perceptions about that are unhealthy for him. I think any kind of attempt by the medical professionals in his life to broach the topic and offer support on, he's angrily changed the subject, or stopped listening to, because of the entire mess above. I think Jeff is kind of a lonely person, and some of it is self-imposed, though the reasons for him thinking it's the right thing to do aren't all within his control.

All this is difficult for him to reconcile with, because he has been desperately in love with his commanding officer since almost the moment s/he met him, but entirely unprepared to face it.

I think at first it was easy for him to dismiss it as a stupid crush. Everyone gets them when cramped up in close quarters in stressful situations and the Commander's magnetism was hard to ignore. But then it became clear that Shepard really hadn't read his file and really hadn't made any assumptions at all about him. S/he just wanted to know him, and as time progressed and that actually bore out, it got hard not to really feel something powerful, even though s/he was the Commander and it wasn't strictly appropriate to think that way. But, then there was that thing about not fitting in the box provided...

I think he agonised over coming to Shepard with it, but ultimately decided it would be selfish with everything they were going through. I think there was a part of him that decided s/he'd never be interested anyway, not when there were other, healthier people to choose from... People who didn't have these hangups or need special accommodations made for them. I think he decided to keep it to himself, for what he felt was both their sakes.

If/When the Commander quietly hooked up with someone else, I think he had a lot of feelings all at once. On the one hand, the person he cared for most was finding some peace in all the craziness. On the other, he wished that particular brand of peace was shared with him. Most of the time there were more important things to worry about, but during downtime, I think it was on his mind a lot.

I think he feels very sheepish about it, but occasionally his jealousy got the better of him and he interrupted Shepard at moments that got too hard to watch on the security cams. He watched the cams around the ship lot, and listened in on all the others a fair bit. I think because he saw himself as being at a remove from most people in a lot of ways, it was easy to justify that to himself. I think he saw it kind of like listening to a podcast or a soap opera or... Nature documentary, almost, or something. He got to know all of them in this way... Parasocially at first, but gradually, socially too. He felt better about trying, because he had this secret edge. Not the greatest stuff he's ever done, but... Complete person. Strengths and flaws.

And then, the unthinkable happened. He couldn't accept that the ship was dying. He was sure he could save it... But when Shepard's hand touched his shoulder, when s/he'd come back for him, he knew it was over. And then, it really was over. Shepard paid the price for his arrogance. The person he wanted to protect the most spun off out into space. The communicator between his mask and that helmet was still in range for long enough that he could hear the choking. For a long time afterward, even hearing people cough made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

The Alliance grounded him. I don't think he even had the capacity to be mad about it. I think that was a hard time for Jeff. I think between being burdened with the knowledge of the Reapers, the loss of Shepard, and the weight of his guilt, he was pretty close to the very, very edge when Cerberus knocked on his door and made him a bunch of promises. Pretty sure those promises had nothing to do with leather seats and everything to do with Project Lazarus. I'm very sure that the promise of Shepard coming back is the reason he even let Cerberus pay for the surgeries he agreed to undergo, because I don't think he valued himself much at all at that point. I'm pretty sure it was being ready to help Shepard that he was thinking about when he was learning to walk on his painful legs without crutches for the very first time. When Cerberus offered him a big shiny reset button I think he took it without hesitation because there wasn't anything else to hope for. I think seeing Shepard in the docking bay galvanised him and without ever telling them so, he pledged his life to them even harder than before. I think he told himself that he would support Shepard in every way he could. He would go wherever, do whatever, and when dealing with him, try to give them what he knew they needed; a goddamn break.

So, fast forward again, and now we are here. With all of this in mind... Shepard might have had a dalliance with someone else, or might've been too damaged by their previous love interest on Horizon, or whatever. Either way, I think Jeff saw it as not his business to even dream about that. I think the guilt tore him up every time he looked at Shepard. I think he felt like on some level, he deserved the pain of unrequited feelings which only ever got more intense. If he didn't think himself worthy of it back then, doubly so now. I think during the six months of house arrest, he tried to visit, but the Alliance denied his every attempt. Then the attack on Earth happened.

And so now we have Jeff, who, just like other humans is confused and groping about for a sense of what's up and what's down. Fortunately for him, Shepard is part of that sense of stability. He's just better at hiding it, because avoiding it and telling himself to focus elsewhere is second nature to him by this point. But things are a little different, now. Shepard seems looking around for a connection too. Future days seem short in number and the rulebook less and less important by the minute. Denying it to himself becomes impossible, and even EDI prods him about it. Shepard won't stop being so goddamn nice to him and even responds with things that if he didn't know better, he could interpret as... But then all the old insecurities come rushing back and he's walking on his own damn eggshells again. Fuck it. It's time to admit it. To come clean. S/he has to know.

So he asks. And s/he accepts. He's equal parts thrilled, stunned and terrified. He's even on some level, suspicious. Is s/he setting him up for a fall? Are they angry about his responsibility? What do they want out of this, actually? He hasn't explained what it'd be like. That what they're doubtlessly expecting of him is unrealistic. That he's completely inexperienced. I think at this point, he's a bit pissed off with himself and feeling a lot of dread because he's pretty sure how this is going to go. He realises he's got so caught up in it that he's done things in the wrong order. Damage control. He has to talk with Shepard and explain what s/he should expect from him, because it will be different. Manage expectations because he's had to manage his own. He goes in steeled.

But s/he knows it will be different, it turns out. As ever, Shepard has made no assumptions whatsoever. S/he only wants to get to know him. Wants him for everything he is, and accepts what he is not. It was never an issue for them beyond understanding how to work with it, because he is worthy just as he is, and has worked hard enough. He has to teach them about his limitations, about underestimating and overestimating... But where there's a will, there's a way. Time for a few shared moments of peace before the end of days, and through all the craziness, something feels right at last. He feels safe enough to let Shepard in properly. Thus begins his reassessment of himself and reckoning with letting go of the insecurities he has that aren't actually his own, but come from outside.

Also he totally gets to sext the Commander now when s/he's on missions. Nice.

So. There's a lot more I could say and expound upon but it's been hours and I have stuff to do. That's my direction. It's not going to suit everyone, and I doubt I can get everything across... But I'll try. I'm just one person, with just one perspective, with just one version of this story. But I hope people like what I come up with surrounding this framework, because I have lived a lot of it myself. Just a few less Reapers in my version. Not everyone's experiences and responses will be the same.

[starlightxsvt]

Hellion

pairing: Jeonghan x female reader

genre: fluff, suggestive, idk what this is

warnings: cursing

word count: around 1.5k

A/N: Firstly, happy birthday to the Jeonghan, our con man. I know I'm a day late so forgive me for that. Secondly, I've no idea what the hell I wrote. I've cancelled two other drafts I wrote for his birthday cause none of them were coming together and in the end I've decided to post this shit. Anyway, your feedback would be really appreciated in this mess of a story :').

"What's Jeonghan doing here?" You hiss to Mingyu who has a hard time prying his eyes off of Chaeyeon. "I invited him. I never thought he'd actually come. I'm surprised too." He replies.

"Wha- why would you invite Jeonghan to my birthday party!" You glare at him to which he rolls his eyes, "Come on now, he's in our friend group. And college is almost over. You don't know when you'll see him again. Ogle him while he's still here." He smirks.

"What did you just s-"

"Oh come on, don't act like I don't know that he's your secret crush. Maybe make up with him and if you're lucky you'll get some good dick as a birthday present." Mingyu chuckles at your open mouth before scurrying away to avoid your wrath. You glare at his retreating figure before inhaling sharply. And before you can stop yourself, you start to look for him.

You spot Jeonghan at the large porch in the back of Mingyu's house, sitting in one of the porch seats while sipping beer. He looks dashing as always, his black hair messy, his pale skin glowing in the moonlight, his cheekbones getting a prominent shine. You sigh.

Jeonghan was an exhausting person to be around and maybe, he'd say the same for you. You've known him since highschool and after a particular incident of him spilling his banana milk all over your brand new scarf, you decided to call it war. To this day you believe that he did it on purpose because you told your homeroom teacher that he slept during his class.

After that it was like an unspoken rule- you two would bicker whenever you were in the same space. It only infuriated you that he was so good looking, smart, famous and the fact that you had some feelings developing for him. Each time you saw him with a girl you'd feel a bitter feeling all over and you could only hope that those feelings would pass over time. But no they didn't, they only grew- the small branches had formed a tree now, the roots planted deep in your heart.

"How long are you going to stand there and stare at me?" Jeonghan calls, without turning behind. You clear your throat before walking to him, "Didn't expect to see you here, fuck face."

"Can you not call me names for a day please? You're just jealous I'm good looking." He remarks drowning the can of beer.

You snort, "Haha. You wish, loser." You plop down beside him. "I see you've finished quite a few cans. What's up? Got ditched?" You poke him.

"What do you care?"

"You're ruining the mood here with all these sad aura around you. Go drink your sorrows away somewhere else, this is my party."

"Yet you are sitting with me and my sad auras."

"I came to tell you that," you scoff, crossing your arms over.

"Parties are not your thing, I know. And Mingyu wasn't shy on inviting people. It feels more like his birthday than yours." Jeonghan comments, still staring ahead. His words are true and they infuriate you. You can't help but get defensive, "What do you know, sad boy? I'm enjoying myself just fine."

"And yet you are sitting with me and-"

"Stop saying that, will you!" You snap. Jeonghan chuckles before looking at you. He unabashedly eyes you up and down, heating your cheeks up in the process.

"Nice dress," he murmurs. His words catch you off guard and you glare at him, "Stop staring at me, pervert."

"You were staring at me earlier."

"Seriously? Can you stop for one goddamn second?"

"You're the one who started it."

"That's it. I shouldn't have come here," you stand up to leave but to your utter surprise Jeonghan grabs your hand, sending your heart to a frenzy. "Wait."

You swallow nervously, heart thudding loudly in your chest as Jeonghan lets go of your hand and meets your eyes, "Sit down, I've a gift for you."

You frown, "You have a gift for me?" Jeonghan nods before sitting straight, setting down his can. "Before that, I need you to know something."

"W-what?"

"I really didn't spill my milk all over you intentionally that day." He meets your eyes.

You can't help but laugh out loud partially because he's still concerned about that and partially because you believe he's lying.

"Listen here, sad boy, I've put that well past me. And I know for a fact you did it on purpose so don't-"

"You didn't, ___. We've been fighting over that for our whole goddamn lives. And no, I'm not lying. I've no reason to. I never cared if you told our teacher shit or not." His chocolate orbs bore into yours and you swallow. The air surrounding you suddenly becomes thick and you start to feel jittery and maybe a slight amount of guilt. Is he really speaking the truth?

"W-whatever, I don't care anymore." You say, sitting down gently beside him.

"And yet you still hold a grudge against me," Jeonghan sighs. "Besides you're not even fun to fight with."

"What did you say?"

He laughs, his eyes forming crescents and the sweet melody echoing in the air. You quickly look away before he catches you staring, "I don't have all day. Where's my gift?"

"Yeah, right." From beside him he produces a bag that you didn't notice before. He hands it to you and you tentatively peek in, half expecting a bug to jump out.

To your utter surprise, a scarf that looks identical to the one he ruined lies there. A small gasp leaves your mouth.

"I bought it that day after I stained yours. I was going to give this to you as an apology but dear lord, you were on my ass the second I got to class next day." Jeonghan speaks and a blush coats your cheek leaving you feel vulnerable all of a sudden.

"I don't know what to say," You whisper more to yourself. Jeonghan chuckles, "I know, you're touched. It's okay, we're even finally."

You bite your lip and exhale loudly before meeting his eyes, "Thanks." Jeonghan moves his hand in a dismissive wave. "I thought I'd finally give it you, call it a truce. We'll probably never see each other again after this month and I wanted to depart on good terms."

Your throat constricts, an overwhelming sadness enveloping you. He's right, you two would probably never see each other again. His dad owns a huge business and he'd probably go abroad to manage it.

"You're right, let's call it a truce," you whisper staring at the scarf in your lap.

"Come on now, don't look so sad, sad girl," Jeonghan teases you and you roll your eyes. He's still the same.

He hands you a beer, "Have a drink with me to sign the truce." You quietly laugh, taking the can from him. You two share a comfortable silence, staring at the night sky, the music from the party fading into the background until Jeonghan decides to break it.

"I know you like me, ___." The words slip past his lips like it's the most casual thing ever. You choke on your beer before looking at him eyes wide like saucers, "W-what!"

Jeonghan slightly turns to face you, his features calm, "You don't have to act. I've known all along."

Oh. My. God.

Heat spreads all over your face like wildfire. Your first thought is that Mingyu told him. You chew your lip as you see no way out. "W-who told you?" You squeak.

"I've figured it out myself," He says nonchalantly, resting his head on his hand as you stares at you.

"You-you did?"

"Mhmm."

You fumble with the hem of your dress before murmuring out, "I-I should get going." You need to escape him. Forever.

But Jeonghan isn't done. He casually goes on, "I've always thought you were pretty. Even when you get red after losing an argument." You blush furiously as your palms sweat.

"You know I really had no intention of picking a fight with you but you...you were so desperate to bring me down. You always speak too much and I often think about the many ways I could shut your loud mouth. Such a shame, we would've made a great couple."

Your face feels like it's on fire by now. You swallow before nervously laughing, "I s-see what you're doing here...You're trying to p-prank me, asshole."

Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair, sighing, "See? There you go again, running that damn mouth." Your lips press together as you clench your fists, thinking of a way out. In the blink of an eye Jeonghan scoots closer to you and leans in to capture your lips in a kiss.

A squeak leaves your mouth as Jeonghan tilts your head, cupping your cheek. You want to pull back, smack him, call him names but you can only moan as his mouth slots against yours perfectly. Your tongues clash as you grab a fistful of Jeonghan's shirt, moaning.

When you pull back for air, you're mortified, wanting to be swallowed up by the ground. Jeonghan is totally calm as he takes in your messy state licking his lips.

"Do you want to continue?"

"W-wh-what?"

"I said do you want to continue this? If you don't want to I'll leave. If you do then you're coming home with me. Which one is it gonna be, ___?"

You bite your lip. Oh my God. This can't be happening.

You grit your teeth as every ounce of your resolve disappears, "I...I want you."

The smile on Jeonghan's face is victorious, a smile you've seen million times before, a smile that makes you week in the knees. "Good girl." He says encasing your lips in another kiss before standing up holding out his hand. "Come along, sweetheart. I'm gonna ruin you for any other man. Even when it's morning you'll only be thinking about me," he whispers in your ear before tugging you out of the porch- your heart hammering in your chest as you squeeze the scarf on your hand.

Fuck, you owe Mingyu a fruit basket or some shit now.

A/N 2: Also, that video of Jeonghan exercising made me 🥵🥵 this man is so infurating. I was literally dehydrated from watching that video.

[haledamage]

Also, have one I didn't include last time bc two felt like enough: rubatosis, preferably for Nadia/Kurt, but if someone else wants to take it, that's fine by me ;D

the Nadia/Kurt fill for this got really long, long enough that it’s going to get its own separate post 😅 so I decided to write something else for the prompt itself, and it ended up Nadia/Vasco instead! now Nadi gets to have a moment with both her Captains for the same prompt though only Kurt gets smooches this time, sorry Vasco

spoilers for Vasco’s companion quests and Those Big Reveals about de Sardet’s backstory

---

rubatosis - the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat

As night fell and the last of dinner was finished, Nadia pulled out her journal to make notes about the day as the others spread out to sleep. She just wanted to jot down a quick map of how to get to their campsite, and maybe sketch a few interesting landmarks in the area.

She didn’t know how much time passed as she worked, the camp quiet except for the chirping of crickets and frogs somewhere past the circle of light and the occasional clink of metal from Kurt’s armor as he kept watch.

When she eventually looked up, making sure the ink was dry before carefully shutting the book, she was startled to find that she wasn’t alone. Vasco sat across from her, gazing at the fire and clearly lost in thought.

It had become a familiar look on his face lately. Ever since their encounter with Bastien a few months back, brief as it had been, Vasco had been lapsing into occasional contemplative silence, but after the recent revelations about her own heritage, he'd been keeping to himself more and more often. There was clearly something bothering him, but Nadia didn’t want to poke around in things that weren’t her business. He would seek her out when he was ready to talk about it, she was sure.

As if he heard her thoughts - or maybe just felt her watching him - Vasco suddenly looked up and met her eyes. The flickering flame gave the illusion that the ink on his face moved, dark lines shifting like shadows, and it made it impossible to read his expression.

Wordlessly, Nadia got up from her seat and walked around the fire, sitting down next to him instead. Then she simply waited.

When he finally spoke, it was the last question she would have expected. “Do you ever think about how different things might be between us if I hadn’t been given to the Nauts?”

“You mean if you were still Léandre d’Arcy?” He nodded, and she took a moment to seriously consider it. She struggled to picture him without his tattoos, dressed in one of those embroidered coats Constantin was so fond of. That man was so different from the one sitting next to her that she couldn’t recognize him. “We might never have met.”

Vasco shrugged, the motion almost sullen. “Or we might be like you and Kurt. Lifelong friends.”

“Maybe I would’ve hated you,” she countered, choosing not to correct his assumption; while she certainly considered Kurt her friend now, it had been a long and rocky road getting there. “Maybe you would have hated me.”

“Maybe we would have fallen in love as children.” His quiet voice was absolutely sincere, but the casualness with which he said it made any reply Nadia attempted dissolve before she could speak it. As if, of all the ways their relationship might have developed, that was the most obvious outcome to him.

She gave up and tried a different approach. “And what if the Nauts had kept me, instead of giving me to my mother?” She ignored the ache in her chest that thought caused, unsure exactly what emotion it stemmed from anymore. “Do you think we would have been crewmates? Would you be my Captain instead of my friend?”

“I think it more likely you would have been my Captain.” Vasco laughed a little, eyes distant again for a moment before focusing back on her. “But I see your point.”

“Léandre d'Arcy is a stranger to me, my dear Captain. If you were him, you wouldn't be you. And what a pity that would be.” He laughed again, louder and lighter. She took it as encouragement. One of his hands rested on his knee, and she reached out to cover it with her own. “Maybe in another life, you would have been legate of the Congregation and I would have been the Captain that brought you to Teer Fradee. Or I would have been one of the doneigada that you were in peace talks with.” She squeezed his hand, hoping he could hear the truth of what she was saying--and what she wasn’t ready to say yet. “‘What if’ is all well and good, but it will never hold a candle to what is. Not to me.”

“You don’t ever feel like you missed out? That who you are isn’t who you were supposed to be?” Vasco’s voice was barely above a whisper, nearly drowned out by the crackling fire, but loud enough to hear the anguish in it.

His thoughts were practically identical to hers on those first long nights after her true lineage had come to light. Nadia chewed on her lower lip as she tried to figure out a way to explain her own feelings, the words coming slowly. “I think… if either of us had done anything different, been anyone different than who we are… then we wouldn’t be sitting here together right now. And I… I don’t like to imagine my life without you in it.”

Vasco fell silent again, but instead of the fire his gaze drifted to their hands. He gently slipped his hand out from under hers, and she bit back a twinge of disappointment at the loss of contact.

Disappointment gave way to wonder when, instead of withdrawing like she expected, he only pulled off his gloves. He offered his now-bare hand and a soft, almost timid smile to her. After a few seconds to get over her surprise, Nadia gratefully accepted both; she quickly removed her gloves as well, then took his hand again, lacing their fingers together.

She could feel her heartbeat in her palm where it pressed against his, too aware of the frantic pace of it and the fact that he could probably feel it too. It sped up even further when he swept his thumb over her knuckles in a gentle caress.

“Thank you,” Vasco said suddenly, breaking her out of her reverie. “You’ve given me… a lot to think about.”

“You’re welcome.” Nadia hesitated, knowing what she should ask but not really wanting to. “Do you want me to--”

“No,” he interrupted, clearly already anticipating what she was going to say. He held her hand a little tighter as if to prevent her from leaving. “Stay. If you don’t mind.”

She settled back down immediately, trying to hide her relief behind a smile.

They let silence fall between them again. There was nothing else that needed to be said - not yet, at least. It was enough to just sit together by the fire, hand in hand.

[lennoxstone]

maggie lindemann & she/her / female ‷ watch out , lennox stone has crash-landed into roswell !! they look twenty-four years old and celebrate their birthday on october 30th . they are from dallas, texas, reside in tripp’s trailer park and are currently working as a photographer. one thing you should know about them is she can be very stubborn and intense. 

tw: death, foster care, mental illness, drugs, child abandonment, neglect, suicide, self harm, blood

Full Name: Eleanor ‘Lennox’ Stone

Age: 24

Birthday: October 30, 1996

Sexual Orientation: Pansexual

Pronouns: She/her

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Siblings: Two brothers; 12 years old and 1 year old, from the family that wants to adopt her

Mental Illnesses: Bipolar II Disorder

Occupation: Bassist for Graveyard, freelance boudoir photographer

x

Eleanor Stone, who later renamed herself Lennox Stone, was born in Dallas, Texas to a drug addict. She was very clingy with her mother and had intense separation anxiety, likely due to her mother leaving her alone as early as five years old for one, sometimes two nights, in a row. When she was alone, she’d play the little keyboard in her bedroom, familiarizing herself with the notes eventually and teaching herself, later, to play keyboard. Ellie, her mother called her at that age, slept in her bed with her at night, and her mother believed that Ellie played the card really well of being ‘scared’ to do things by herself, when in actuality, Eleanor was scared. Did she sometimes manipulate because of that? Yes. But at her core was deeply ingrained fear that her mother would leave her forever. The only thing she knew about her father was that he was dead. She only found out in her young teenage years that he took his life, and was an alcoholic, after looking him up and meeting up with a living relative. 

One night, Eleanor’s mother had an accidental overdose and showed up with Eleanor at her side at the neighbor’s doorstep. Her mother proceeded to have a seizure right there, with the seven year old girl looking on. The neighbors called an ambulance and they arrived, a social worker meeting them at the hospital. Several calls to CPS had already been made due to strange behavior going on with Eleanor’s mother, and she’d seen people come in and question her mother. Nothing came of it then, but this was the final call. 

She believed for a long time that she was wrongly ripped from her mother at a young age, but it was only later that she came to have feelings of hate for her biological mother. Seven years old and withdrawn, she was mute for a year at her foster home. She said nothing to her foster mom, but would talk at school and to the therapists and to her foster dad. She manipulated him often, and ignored her new mom completely. Truthfully it was too painful to have a new mom. She told the therapist everything was fine. Nonetheless, her foster parents gave her up, and she went on to her second home at eight and a half years old. She stayed with them for three years. At nine, she would cut her wrists just to feel something. Her foster parents believed it was an act of manipulation, but it wasn’t at all. This time, she responded to therapy and stopped cutting her wrists for the most part, though she sometimes does even to this day when things are really bad. At ten, she had night terrors and would wake up screaming horrifically. She had moments where she would stare emptily, or just stop talking mid-sentence, and it scared both of her foster parents. Again, manipulation or acting--’faking’-- was suspected. She was later diagnosed with depression and reactive attachment disorder. 

At eleven, she got into her parents’ liquor cabinet and in a fit of rage smashed all the bottles, cutting her feet accidentally as she tried to leave the kitchen, and her parents found her, horrified, blood and glass all over the floor. She, luckily, didn’t have an infection when they rushed her to the hospital with nasty cuts and open wounds all over her feet and knees. 

She would scream out for her mom at night, and when her foster mom came to her side, Eleanor pushed her aside and screamed in her face. She said, “Fuck you! You aren’t my real mom!” They frequently cried at night, at wits end with this child who they had welcomed in their home who wouldn’t bond with them. They finally came to think that they weren’t suited to be her parents, and it was with a heavy heart that they stopped being her parents and she went on to the next home. 

Eleven and a half, she found a permanent home--well, permanent until she aged out of the foster system at sixteen, and decided instead of staying with them, she’d start her life somewhere else, and picked a random place. While the time lasted, anyway, it was for the first time that Eleanor was able to bond with a foster family. They had a cat that she loved and a baby boy. So, why, did they want her? Well, they told her---because they had lost a child a few years ago, and they felt something when they first saw Eleanor. They felt that they intensely wanted to give her a good home. 

She thrived with them for the first couple of years, getting involved in music, fine tuning her skills on the keyboard, and branching out to other instruments, feeling like she was finally good at something, even had a natural talent for it. 

She began getting into alcohol and smoking marijuana at fourteen. They found it in her room and questioned her about it, not upset at all, very gentle. It was due to their gentle parenting that she decided to quit what she herself even believed was acting out. At least in that way. She still went out at night a lot without telling anybody, just needing to escape. She would mostly walk by herself, but she had one good guy friend, Matthew, who would be awake whenever she called. Eleanor fell in love with him and he fell in love with her. They were together for two years. During that time span she had found out the truth about her father, that he had been an alcoholic and had ended his life. She had enough of Texas. Her parents assured her she had a place with them for as long as and whenever she wanted it, but she left without a proper goodbye. She called them a month later to let them know where she was. She was staying at a friend’s house (someone she’d met and partied with upon landing in Roswell--they knew each other a week before she moved from her motel into their apartment.) She and the other female quickly began a romance, full of drama. She began questioning a lot about herself. Playing around with her identity. Who she was. What she liked. What she believed. But mostly, she was reckless, restless, and impulsive. 

Seventeen, she changed her name unofficially from Eleanor to Lennox, left her girlfriend, and became apart of a group who were forming a band, moving back and forth from place to place. She’d become even more musical, and it had become a discipline for her, even; it was the one thing she felt like she was good at, and she took it seriously. It was and is really the only way she can express herself. And she loves the bass guitar, and can also play drums and piano. She felt like it was a good release for her anger. It was then that she found Cyrus, and the two formed a toxic relationship, almost always fighting. She had genuine feelings for him and probably still does, but the relationship wasn’t healthy in nearly any sort of way, and she didn’t feel she could handle that kind of thing anyway. Even though inside she hated being alone, felt this gaping hole in her heart when she was, that gaping hole didn’t take long--that emptiness didn’t take long--before it swallowed her whole again, even when she was right there in someone’s arms. Maybe the echoes of her childhood catching up with her?

She’s a tortured soul, feels like she’s lived way longer than her twenty-four years, and the “accidental deaths” that happened when the band was hanging around in mosh pits utterly ruined her. She beats herself up for it everyday, even if it couldn’t have been her fault. She still asks herself, is it my fault in someway, indirectly? She misses Cyrus. Now using music to get to him, even going off on her own and creating a hauntingly angry solo song that was leaked accidentally, showcasing her talent in a way that no one had quite seen before--who knew she could sing, or play the piano so well. And just when they’re working on creating their fifth album. But she was always known, even in childhood, to cause problems. And she did so in Graveyard. Frequently. Acting out, not showing up to meetings, or showing up late, or high. Lennox spends a lot of her days doing drugs and drinking alcohol, finds difficulty in getting through most days without them in some form, and she’s definitely rebellious, even aggressive at times. But underneath all of that is a scared inner child that actually feels things very deeply and loves intensely. In the past year she’s gotten into boudoir photography, and has found she’s decently good at it. She’s managed to accumulate clients, enough that she can afford living at the trailer park. Her foster family moved to Roswell a year ago, after their son was born (a happy surprise), after communicating with Lennox through phone calls and webcam for several years. They’ve just asked her if she’d be okay with them adopting her, even though it seems to her that it’s pointless at her age. Her sleep schedule is shit, as she often finds herself wandering around at night, not able to shut off her mind, thinking about running away and starting her life over someplace else. But she never does it. At least, not yet. The urge to run away in every area of her life is always so strong. 

[anxiouslyfred]

Star of Wonder

Summary: Virgil’s parents have stifled his questions, and his chances to follow the star to his soulmate with their strict Christian doctrine. That doesn’t stop him from plotting his escape, nor his soulmate from deciding to find him instead.

Warnings: overly strict parents

/\/\

“As you will see in your history books, the common belief among Christians is that the stars leading us to our soulmates originated from the birth of Jesus. While many historians disagree with this, due to mentions of soulmates prior to when those stories were first written down, and the lack of archaeological evidence for Jesus's birth being heralded in the way the Bible describes it, many people do follow this belief.” Virgil's teacher had explained in their class. Another student had asked about the story their parents had used to describe soulmates and he was once again questioning everything his evangelical family insisted was true, despite the evidence against them.

So far he'd remained quiet, avoiding the scolding that any questions to his parents understanding of the Bible or Christianity brought, but this had a major question rattling around his mind that he needed to ask. “Mrs Williams showed us the cave paintings showing people following stars for their soulmates today. Do you think the Wise Men were hoping to find their soulmates when they followed it to Jesus? Was that who their gifts were actually for?” He asked that evening when they'd been discussing his classes from the day.

His Dad always had strong views about what he should or shouldn't learn and had often visited the school to demand something was removed or not taught to his son. Virgil could only thank his determined head teacher for refusing to make special accommodations, but it did lead to interrogations over what the classes he took taught him.

Virgil shivered as a frozen solid glared turned to him after the question. “Are you insinuating there could be anything unpure about the immaculate birth? That anyone favoured in the Bible could have such twisted selfish reasons to try and find the Saviour?” His father demanded, voice raising with every word.

The lecture and telling off Virgil received after that lasted a full hour, and ended up with none of their family properly finishing their meal. If he had been reluctant to share his thoughts about religion or soulmates to his family before then, Virgil was never going to bring it up now.

That didn't stop his parents trying to act like the closest family there ever was, but not even strangers on the street could be fooled to believe it. Sickly sweet words of “You never open up to us. We're here and we'll accept the things you share with us” never did pair well when moments later in the exact same tone the words would become “I don't care that you haven't a soulmate, I care that you're refusing to say a thing about it. Just accept it and let us arrange a marriage for you to a nice Christian girl in our Church. I'm sure Gertrude said her daughter hasn't seen a star yet.”

Virgil did everything he could to avoid Gertrude in the Church after that. Her daughter was barely 10 and far too young for the star to have appeared for her; Never mind that he did have a star, hovering by the sunset. He did try to at least talk to the children in the Church, and let them know that asking questions was okay, but usually better to be directed to people who are open to them. It was the least he could do to hopefully give them a better time of it than he had with his parents.

He went through the actions of following their wishes, applying to the local colleges and doing the volunteering they insisted the family had to do, quietly messaging online forums for support and help. Virgil was doing everything he could to get his route out of the town and chance to follow his star as soon as college began. He never accepted the place his parents thought, but sent his acceptance letter off to the college two states to the west and had packed his suitcase already. As soon as he heard when move in day would be for the dormitories Virgil was going to be on a train there. His parents couldn't then try to track him down using the car they'd given him only to claim use of it if ever they were attending separate functions.

There was no certainty about where the star was leading him. Whomever his soulmate was lived too far away so the star remained high high in the sky but Virgil hoped it would lower at least somewhat when he got further away from his home town.

The star moving towards him and getting noticeably lower each day after school finished for the summer was something Virgil realised with dread. His parents had very clear views over who he should end up with, completely opposite to the people that had attracted Virgil before. Whomever his soulmate was though now seemed to be heading in his direction and rapidly.

Virgil kept an eye on it, watching from his bedroom window, bringing cloud gazing into the activities they'd use to occupy the kids in the playscheme, anything else he could think of to watch the stars movement and try to guess when they'd arrive.

The suitcase was completely packed with all the last things he'd been keeping out of it when the star was level with the roofs of the houses. Virgil didn't know who his soulmate was, didn't have a clue what their relationship would be when they arrived, but if they were going to come seek him out, he was taking any chance at escape they offered.

He was watching from his window that night, almost at midnight, just wondering if the star was going to stop moving and rest for the night or if he'd be meeting his Soulmate that night. The car that turned down the road looked worse for wear but not half so much as the person that jumped out of it as soon as they drew level with his house. The car hadn't even stopped when that happened, but he didn't have time to stop and think about that.

Virgil while mentally relieved that his soulmate was at least masculine framed knew that if they revealed themself to be his soulmate, especially after knocking on the door in the middle of the night, well catastrophic would be putting it lightly. He was grabbing his suitcase, hurrying downstairs as quietly as possible and still didn't manage to open the door before the first knock had sounded.

Looking at the person, Virgil covered their mouth instantly, hearing movement upstairs. “Sorry, I knocked something. Just wanted a glass of water to see if it'll help my mind settle. I think I can been a racoon in the trash so I'll chase it off while I'm down here.” He called upstairs, not loud enough to wake his parents, but enough that they'd hear if one had woken up.

A glance down the street showed another door getting knocked on by the driver of the car so Virgil shoved his case out of the door. “I'm Virgil, your soulmate if the star on my head doesn't give that away. Worst type of Christians up there so lets get this in the car and figure out what can happen then. If you'd prefer to just dump me in a motel somewhere close to you it would be better than here.” He hissed out, ignoring that his hand was now getting licked until he had the door pulled shut.

“I'm Remus, pretty one. You seriously running away with me in the middle of the night? Have you heard some of the most brilliant stories that come from people doing that?” His soulmate leant into his space. “You smell good, but I still can't decide what pronouns to use for you. I'm he/him, and so's Ro-bro. You know who he's going to be waking up?”

The wave towards the car at the end of the road had Virgil snort, “The pretentious git leading the choir. I try my best not to know him. I've stuck with he/him pronouns so far, but if that changes I'll let you know.”

“Are we really running, or can me and Ro have a sleep before you want to get away? Either works cause crashes are great fun to get out of and you're more likely to get into them when driving tired.” Remus asked, taking the suitcase and beginning to head back down the road.

“I'm not gonna change your plans. Just tell me what you're intending and I'll see if I can help, like by pointing out there's a fully furnished but currently empty house 2 blocks away. Might be worth it to crash there tonight.” Virgil had checked the area once he saw the star getting close to his town. Breaking into places would cause him a heck of a lot of anxiety over what would happen if they got caught but facing a screaming fit from his parents was worse.

Remus didn't care though, already loading the car and rushing over to Ro. “My soulmate wants us to break into a place a bit away so I'm stealing the car. Either get your soulmate to let you stay over or come find us. I'll park as close in front of the place as Vi-vi lets me.”

Now they were a bit closer Virgil could see Remus was identical to Ro. It felt sort of like he was high on sleep deprivation and meeting his soulmate, all his anxiety muffled through a fog of knowing change had arrived and he wouldn't have to pander to his parents religion anymore.

This was just the start of an adventure but he could keep the star close by now.

[chat-noir-always-here]

Marinette and Anxiety

First, lets count all the things Marinette has that Adrien doesn’t have:

She has a healthy and positive home environment

Both of her parents are living, active presences in her life

Tom and Sabine love Marinette unconditionally

On top of having loving parents she has extended relatives who care deeply for her

she is allowed to go out and have friends over

going to public school is treated as a necessity rather than a privilege

she has, to some degree, or at least more so than Adrien, knowledge of socializing and is able to perceive signals better

she is on good terms and has a history with almost all of her classmates

she is allowed to explore her hobbies

she is allowed to choose her own occupation 

she has the freedom to do whatever she wants with her schedule outside of school and curfew

I could go on but I trust my point is clear? Marinette is blessed with many of the things Adrien has been denied. Worse, everything listed above falls under the category of “normal” “common decency” or “necessity.”

Long post is long and I don’t like cuts because I’ve lost a few posts in the past using them. Please filter the tag “long post” i use it for walls of texts like this one.

But Mari’s life, despite being vastly different and more fulfilling than Adrien’s, isn’t perfect.

In order to understand Mari’s struggles we need to take a look at her history.

We see in Origins that Marinette has been the target of Chloe’s bullying for a long time—three years or perhaps even longer. As is the case with many victims of bullying she lacked the courage and confidence to stand up for himself and more or less suffered in silence until Alya encouraged her to fight back.

Something to understand about bullying: it drastically warps someone’s perspective. Not only in how they view themselves but the people and environment around them. The end result? Some form of isolation and possibly PTSD. Bullying victims tend to be either physically/mentally withdrawn, or both.

Not a lot is known about Mari’s life before the Origins episode, but given that none of her classmates stood up to Chloe except Alya, we can infer that they have grown accustomed to Chloe’s treatment of Mari and are likely not especially close with her at this point in time. 

In her “In defense of Chat Noir” video, Toon Ruins states that Adrien isn’t especially close with his classmates yet either, saying he is “that friend that your mutual friends invite along and is just kinda there.” Its not unreasonable to presume that Mari was in that spot before she became Ladybug, befriended Alya, and developed enough confidence to stand up for herself as well as others.

It would also help explain why her friends were so quick to doubt her when Lila accused her in the Ladybug episode. Despite everything she’s done for them between Origins and Ladybug, they simply haven’t been close for very long and as Alya pointed out the evidence “was stacked against her.” Of course Alya and Adrien believed her because they are closer with Mari than practically any of her other classmates.

Adrien glaring at Lila when Marinette calls out to him for help. I cannot~~~~

Of course there was another, more obvious reason they doubted her: her feelings for Adrien and how intense she is when acting on them, which as Alya puts it served as her supposed “motive” for “hurting Lila.”

Marinette has often been seen crossing lines that are better off left uncrossed when it comes to Adrien. Her friends, especially the girls, are even somewhat aware of how intense these feelings are. (i.e. Alex’s comment during Gigantitan “Marinette knows a lot about Adrien it’s kinda creepy”).

More often than not, Mari wants to go somewhere mainly for the sake of seeing Adrien. Examples of this are when she’s supposed to wait for Nadja to come pick up her cake and during Simon Says when she is grounded for valid reasons . Often times there is some obligation involved—her promise to show up at Alix and Kim’s challenge and her promise with Nino in Simon Says—but chances are if Adrien weren’t there she wouldn’t want to go so bad (until an akuma showed up that is).

Something to understand about this: Mari has little to no opportunity to see Adrien. Worse, her history of being bullied and her previous status as an “acquaintance” rather than a “close friend” gives her at least some modicum of understanding about his situation. She empathizes with Adrien and cares for him, and is aware of his loneliness. During her life before Ladybug she likely longed for someone who would comfort and console her, and yeah probably found some relief with her mom given how Sabine seems aware of Chloe’s treatment of her daughter.

 But Adrien has no one, and knowing that makes Mari all the more anxious when he doesn’t show up for their social gatherings as well as driving her desire to be the source of love and comfort he so desperately needs.

I won’t deny Mari literally breaking the law for Adrien isn’t okay. Sneaking into his home, stealing his phone, and kissing his statue (its a statue in an important museum. Chances are you’re not supposed to touch those, let alone kiss them) are simply NOT OKAY things to do. A lot of this behavior earns her some hate from the fandom and some well-deserved scolding from Tikki. But rather than making me hate her, or call her a stalker, I’m mostly concerned that she doesn’t understand how bad that is. 

But Chat Blanc was a game changer. Adrien would NEVER have seen Ladybug in his room if she hadn’t taken her sweet time inspecting his belongings, smelling his pillow, etc. Meaning Adrien could have had her present and not known about Ladybug (he may have been curious as to how Mari’s gift got past security though). 

However since Marinette WAS seen by Adrien, he was able to learn her secret identity which led to this:

This is a scenario she never expected. And as she learns this was caused by her own poor judgement, she wastes no time in saving Chat Noir, erasing her name from her gift and allowing Adrien to believe it’s a gift from his Brazilian fan club instead of from her, Marinette.

Chat Blanc was one of the last episodes of s3. Safe to say she probably won’t be breaking into anything anytime soon (theres some debate over the chronological order of the episodes, but if I recall this one takes place either in the last four or five episodes on most lists). She nearly lost her kitty for good after all--that’s not a price she’s ever been willing to pay.

This likely wouldn’t have happened at all except Mari’s life as ladybug has caused her to become accustomed to certain behavior in order to keep her secret. Yeah Mari stole Adrien’s phone right out of his locker—and no that wasn’t okay. But remember when she stole her textbook back from Alya? Taking it right out of her bag when Alya wasn’t looking? Just so you know, in the French version, Mari tells Tikki she wrote her name in that textbook. So her secret identity was in grave danger and she had to act quickly.

You’re damn lucky Alya didn’t crack that book open the minute she got it, Mari.

Anyhoo the point is this: Mari is applying what she has come to know as “acceptable behavior i do to protect my secret identity” to her situation with Adrien and misinterpreting it as “acceptable behavior I do to keep Adrien from possibly rejecting me and crushing my soul.” And in her head, they’re similar even though the consequences of either secret coming out are vastly different.

Really think about the context of that voicemail she sent Adrien—if she had accidentally butt dialed Adrien while taking to Tikki about her life as Ladybug and then had to go steal his phone to keep him from learning the truth the fandom wouldn’t have had nearly as much beef with her over that as she wasn’t the one who created the “secret identities rule.”

The reason the two secrets are equally crucial in keeping, in Mari’s mind, is likely due to her overwhelming anxiety. Which even before she became the Guardian of Paris and then the Guardian of Miraculous she was still an anxious person.

She didn’t have much confidence or even a large support network. But in the span of one day she was entrusted with the safety and well being of every single person in Paris.

She didn’t believe she was cut out for being Ladybug but was denied the option of refusing the position and told to just do her best.

She knew going out she would likely screw up the job and given her task failure wasn’t really an option.

Then her worst fears were realized when she failed to capture her first akuma and many citizens were turned into stone statues. The only way to turn them back was to allow Ivan to be akumatized so she could defeat him and take his akuma. The very knowledge of which crippled her and caused her to give up the ladybug earrings.

She tried to go back to her normal life but couldn’t. Ivan was akumatized, Alya’s life was in danger and Chat Noir was struggling to the point he got captured and needed her help. So she took up being Ladybug again in order to help them.

What was she supposed to do? Watch?

From the very beginning she had no say in the matter. Her life as Marinette wasn’t and isnt easy—she has plenty of her own problems but she was given a Miraculous and basically condemned to being at war with Hawk Moth indefinitely.

Ever give a thought as to why the French government allow these two vigilante teenagers to handle the situation? Because ordinary people can’t. In other words if Mari thought only of herself she would give up the fight and ignore all the ensuing damage. But she can’t. And she won’t. She has a job to do. She could give up her miraculous but that would mean taking the pressure off her shoulders and dumping it all onto someone else just as it was dumped onto her. She cant bring herself to do that and even if she could—who would she possibly give it to?

Just imagining that kind of pressure makes me want hurl from nerves. And as of the S3 finale its gotten worse as she has lost Fu, the person who could give out Miraculouses to other people in case she never comes back one day.

Hawk Moth would win. Game over. That’s what it would mean.

Ladybug and Chat Noir know what Hawk Moth winning would mean better than anyone else does. Of course they won’t walk away from this fight. But that means they have to juggle their double lives until its over, and apparently have to do it again with a second hawk moth later on in the future.

And again, even before all of this Mari had a lot she suffered from. Chloe bullying her, feeling lonely, being clumsy. Clumsiness is mortifying--it truly means suffering. Being the class clutz is like being the class laughingstock. Mari seems to handle it fairly well.

 Until she’s around Adrien. I mean look at her!

Poor girl can’t stand looking so uncool in front of her crush. Even though he seems to find her clumsiness endearing.

Going off what was said in my “Debunking: Adrien is perfect” post, Marinette is hyper-sensitive to Adrien’s situation despite not really knowing the full extent of his suffering. 

Marinette doesn’t know Gabriel is Hawk Moth either, but she does understand Adrien is lonely, isolated and in need of a source of love and comfort. She also understands to some degree that his heart is delicate, so she constantly handles him with kid gloves and looks on him with a perfection filter. We see how Mari reacts to upsetting Adrien in Malediktator when she softly whispers an apology after Adrien expresses his sorrow over everyone celebrating Chloe’s departure. She seems pained and distraught over causing him to be upset. Thus the reason Marinette calls Adrien perfect isn’t that she never sees any of his flaws--she just cannot acknowledge or process them under these conditions. She’s too busy trying not to hurt him. 

Marinette can comprehend Adrien’s situation, couples that with her own past experiences of bullying/ loneliness/ being a clumsy laughingstock. That combined with her love for him and her anxiety-warped common sense, led to the behavior which has earned her some disapproval from the fandom at large.

 But really? Marinette’s not a terrible person. Anymore than Adrien is.

 Adrien’s sometimes-obnoxious-flirting is brought on by his desire to “not look lame” in front of Ladybug. Ergo, his own insecurities are amplified around her because he too lacks confidence.

 Likewise Marinette’s stammering and clumsiness are amplified around Adrien, as is her anxiety and her desire to be cool in front of him.

 They both feel they have to prove themselves to the other in some regard. And they both have past and present experiences that have left them hurting and/or warped their judgement in some ways. 

 This doesn’t make Mari’s irrational behavior any more acceptable than Adrien’s troubles make his leading Kagami on and lying to Ladybug acceptable. It’s not acceptable. But Mari is no more deserving of hate than Adrien is.

They’re just a couple of stressed out kids, folks

[mbti-notes]

1-How to let the go of the past mistakes? Specially if they're not reversible? I'm an INTP. I was always a good student...until the last two years of high school. For various reasons, I got depressed, anxious and lost my concentration and study motivation. As a result, I couldn't do well in the test and didn't get into med school. I didn't try more and chose to study something else. It's not bad and it's still science related, and I even continued my education, but it's not med.

[con’t: I deeply regret it. Everytime I hear from my family that someone I used to know got into med school, I feel jealous and regretful. I hate myself for not doing my best and for distracting myself at the wrong time. I can't forgive myself for giving up easily. I was reading somewhere that in order to get rid of the heaviness of our old wounds and regrets, we must take a lesson from our past mistakes. It's just that I'm in my late 20s and it's late for me to persue that. But how do I know what lesson I have to learn for now? How do I take a practical step to have a good life despite not being a medical doctor? How to get some self-worth back when I can't go back and fix the things? If there was a time machine, I would assume my goal is to go back in time, study and know the consequence of not trying hard enough for what I want. But that's not possible. How to take my lesson and get back to normal healthy life?]

People use the word “regret” very loosely to describe various psychological states. What is labeled as “regret” is often something else in disguise, though they may overlap in some cases, e.g.: 

Sometimes, regret is actually guilt. Guilt means that you did not live up to your moral standards or values. Guilt is a form of self-punishment, as you make yourself pay for your past mistakes with your own happiness. It is up to you to calculate just how much punishment is required for finally forgiving yourself, and whether it is commensurate to the mistake that was made. If you’ve paid your dues, then you get to move on.

Sometimes, regret is actually remorse. Remorse means becoming fully aware of having caused harm/hurt (to others and/or yourself) and wanting to redress it. Remorse prompts you to seek redemption through learning from the mistake and becoming a better person, specifically, to change the negative aspects of yourself that led to the harmful behavior. A successful change brings you solace in knowing that you’re no longer the same person as before and now living a more meaningful life. This allows you to put the past into the right perspective, since it was essential to your personal growth.

Sometimes, regret is actually grief or lamentation. Grief means that you are mourning a loss, unable to let go of what was lost, often because you have (mistakenly) defined it as an integral part of your life or identity. Grief is resolved through closure: accepting the fact of the loss, closing the door on the past, orienting yourself to future goals, and redefining your life or identity in new and different terms.

Sometimes, regret is actually longing or yearning. Longing is born of an authentic desire located deep in your heart and soul. To feel longing as regret means that you are holding yourself back from obtaining what you need/desire, even though you are certain that it would lead you to greater fulfillment in life. People are usually held back by fear of failure, irrational pessimism, or faulty beliefs. This self-sabotage creates a nagging feeling of being haunted from within, as your authentic self refuses to be silenced despite your efforts at self-deception.

Dig deeper, through self-reflection, to figure out the truth of what’s really going on. Only you have access to the truth of yourself. Knowing the deeper truth of your “regret” should inform you about the right solution to it.

[rye-views]

A Promised Land by Barack Obama. 8/10

I would recommend this book to my friends. I would reread this book.

There are certain things that Barack articulates that I’m thankful for. His over-optimism and feelings of eccentricity. I completely related to its isolating feelings even though it wasn’t the same situation and experience as mine. It’s nice to see something similar from someone different. I also liked his description of feeling everything in its entirety and how it was like a movie splice. I have felt this many times and it’s a beautiful way to describe it. I like how so much of what Barack says, thinks, and feels are so genuine and relatable. It's nice to see someone articulate and empathize this well, esp. from a man and a man in power.

I love learning that Michelle was disappointed by the situation caused by his choices at times. Other things were more important at the time and nice to see it be relevant.

It’s interesting to see the difference between this book and “Becoming.” They have different aims, but it still shows me a difference between a man and woman. I also notice that when men are described, it’s always physical. When it’s women, it’s more character and personality.

Crazy how intelligent and emotionally aware Barack is. When he stated how he couldn't just pick and choose the good things of Reverend Wright's church, I was like true and wow.

The things that Toot taught Barack is what someone should've taught me as I grew up.

Barack comparing the rides to Noah's Ark is amusing.

When he mentions translations of what the Big 4 are saying, I think about how we can't be straightforward in politics. Why not?

It took me forever to read this because I really wanted to absorb the knowledge. There's a lot of events that are covered and things I had no idea about. I love how this catalogues so much of history that were relevant to my lifetime.

Memorable Quotes: “gives even my roughest drafts too smooth a gloss and lends half-baked thoughts the mask of tidiness” “I needed to focus on only those things to come.” “Much of what I read I only dimly understood” “a bond between those who had once seemed far apart.” “Whatever it was, I knew I wasn’t ready.” “An America that could explain me.” “I suffered rejections and insults often enough to stop fearing them.” “Enthusiasm makes up for a host of deficiencies.” “Failure and want were all around you.” “It should have been enough.” “but my mother was never one to see hard work as anything but good.” “On top of my sorrow, I felt a great shame.” “There’s a physical feeling, a current of emotion that passes back and forth between you and the crowd, as if your lives and theirs are suddenly spliced together, like a movie reel, projecting backward and forward in time, and your voice creeps right up to the edge of cracking, because for an instant, you feel them deeply; you can see them whole. You’ve tapped into some collective spirit, a thing we all know and wish for – a sense of connection that overrides our differences and replaces them with a giant swell of possibility – and like all things that matter most, you know the moment is fleeting and that soon the spell will be broken.” “To be a workhorse not a show horse – that was my goal.” “I had become a mere conduit through which people might recognize the value of their own stories, their own worth, and share them with one another.” "Yes we can." “the personal really was political” “I had to listen to, and not just theorize about, what mattered to people.” “it wasn’t so much what he did as how he made you feel. Like anything was possible. Like the world was yours to remake.” “It’s hard, in retrospect, to understand why you did something stupid.” “In fact, you shouldn’t even count on my vote.” “What do you consider your place in history?” “I could take a punch. And I didn’t give up.” “I knew I could afford to be patient.” “but the only way for Daddy to disguise himself is if he has an operation to pin back his ears.” “Forgotten people and forgotten voices remained everywhere.” “the more troops would become targets of an enemy they often could not see and did not understand.” “The power to inspire is rare. Moments like this are rare. You think you may not be ready, that you’ll do it at more convenient time. But you don’t choose the time. The time chooses you.” “people were moved by emotion, not facts.” “Beneath the low-key person and deep convictions, he just plain liked the combat.” "defined not by what they are but what they can never be." "To the relief of his keepers, the bear became accustomed to captivity." "he understood better than most the complications of race, religion, and family, and how good and bad, love and hate, might be hopelessly tangled in the same heart" "She was one of those quiet heroes that we have all across America." "But I worry that my memories of that night, like so much else that's happened these past twelve years, are shaded by the images that I've seen, the footage of our family walking across the stage, the photographs of the crowds and lights and magnificent backdrops." "a keeper of values we'd once thought ordinary but had learned were more rare than we had ever imagined." ""It's going to be hard to get the public excited about food stamps and repaving roads," Axe said. "Not real sexy."" "This time I said nothing, admiring his occasional, almost endearing ability to state the obvious." "You must be under the mistaken impression that I care." "all of them unified only in their common desire to be somewhere else." "ready to die for eternal joy--or maybe just a taste of something better." "But make no mistake, it was weird." "the unspoken regrets." "my supporters lacked all conviction, while my opponents were full of passionate intensity." "Michelle was someone who started from the heart and not the head, from experience rather than abstractions." "I wanted to believe that the ability to connect was still there. My wife wasn't so sure." “The

audacity of hope.” "Sometimes your most important work involved the stuff nobody noticed." "forgotten under the accumulation of the new joys and paints that make up a life." "you learn to improvise to meet your objectives--or at least to cut your losses." "They would take for granted that their aunt was on the U.S. Supreme Court, shaping the life of a nation--as would kids across the country. Which was fine. That's what progress was like." "Did they miss the rhythms of ordinary life? Were they lonely? Did they sometimes feel a jolt in their heart and wonder how it was that they had ended up where they were?" "I reminded myself that every president felt saddled with the previous administration's choices and mistakes, that 90 percent of the job was navigating inherited problems and unanticipated crises. Only if you did that well enough, with discipline and purpose, did you get a real shot at shaping the future." "Was it possible that abstract principles and high-minded ideals were and always would be nothing more than a pretense, a palliative, a way to beat back despair, but no match for the more primal urges that really moved us, so that no matter what we said or did, history was sure to run along its predetermined course, an endless cycle of fear, hunger and conflict, dominance and weakness?" "meant to be a reminder--in a place premised on hate and intolerance--of the common humanity we share." "A man making up for things." "For war was contradiction, as was the history of America." "To be known. To be heard. To have one's unique identity recognized and seen as worthy. It was a universal human desire" "pleasures that cost nothing, belonged to no one, and were accessible to all." "I suppose, when the world slows down, your strivings get pushed to the back of your mind." "whether in my seeming calm as crises piled up, my insistence that everything would work out in the end, I was really just protecting my self--and contributing to her loneliness." "It was a lonely thought at a lonely time." "You never looked as smart as the ex-president did on the sidelines." "Get exposed to other people's truths, I thought, and attitudes change." "It wasn't often, I thought, that a true act of conscience is recognized that way." "their struggles and resentments troubling but remote." "are mere conduits for the deep, relentless currents of the times or whether we're at least partly the authors of what's to come." "contemplating the knife's edge between perceived success and potential catastrophe" "daily, unheralded acts of people who weren't seeking attention but simply knew what they were doing and did it with pride." "She makes me better as a person and better on the page."

[gilesian]

hello! ‘tis i with my unsolicited headcanon of the day: why is rupert giles so skittish about physical contact, whether it’s affectionate or casual? is he a prude? is he just British?

well, to me the answer is simple: trauma.

on screen we’ve seen him get knocked on the head more than what is likely healthy for a human being. played for laughs except for some occasions, but damn if that didn’t make a man go defensive over a looming presence.

then there’s the affectionate type of physical contact. he and jenny was a pair whose will-they-won’t-they could probably fuel a whole different series of its own. why? let me take you back to the roots of ripper giles, a punk who summoned a dream demon known for—get this—getting people high and orgies (even john constantine had never done this my god rupert what were you thinking). in buffyverse magic is often conflated with all sorts of addictions, and sex has a part in it as well (because otherwise why did we get so many, ah, intense willow/tara scenes?). so take that intention and apply a traumatic event on it: death of a good friend directly caused by hubris. what was once pleasure have become terror.

back to jenny, he tried something. they both tried. they started out well, and then fucking eyghon happened again just as they were about to become intimate with each other. i can’t imagine getting a kiss forced on him by the demon wearing your SO’s body is good for one’s psyche. it’s a known demon, too, one who’s killed people he cared about in the past.

onto the next thing is angelus. he killed jenny and put her on giles’s bed, scattered roses and put opera music on. i ain’t even going to dress this one up because fuck that. that is absolutely something designed to break a man. i’m glad giles had the chance to go berserk with a baseball bat. but this brings us to the torture angelus put him through. he could deal with physical pain, he could deal with kicks, cuts, broken bones and all. he was trained for this (and yes, i do believe watchers get trained for this too). so what did angelus do? attack the one thing that he knew would destroy him. with the great drusilla mindfuck he was once again forcefully kissed. these soft touches are not fun anymore!!!

the next we see him getting intimate with someone was with joyce in band candy—this can be argued endlessly but i’m of the camp where ‘everyone retained their identity although regressed into the ‘teen’ persona which might have been what they really were like when they were young or simply what they could have been had they been, you know, less repressed’. the aftermath is awkward for sure, but in the moment we saw how unfettered he really is and how much he enjoyed it. makes you kind of glad he’s grown some sense after, but also sad because it took getting drugged to make him comfortable with someone else touching him constantly.

the last, lamentable, doomed affair was olivia. i love her a lot, okay. she’s rivalling ethan in the minor characters i stan very very aggressively but olivia knew ripper. olivia let herself be picked up by this lily white boy at a dark bar somewhere in the 70s because he said he was a founding member of pink floyd. and they stayed in touch. this is debatable since we’ve never even heard of her before but you know, the show is called Buffy and not Giles for a reason, i’m just very impressed with the maturity of being able to maintain a what i will term fwb for ease for over two decades (ethan, take notes). but then of course she had to think twice about pursuing the relationship when horror came to steal voices. although i do i acknowledge with comfort that mutual respect begets mutual parting. (in restless he had a family with olivia. that imagery is another thing i need to dissect when i have the brains to. and also i dream of writing an olivia & ripper first meeting.)

the end note is this: giles isn’t a prude, he just doesn’t trust easily, especially not about these sort of things. he’s devoted his life for a cause at the cost of i guess pretty much everything. so... handle with care.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Speaking about disability in fiction, would you say Toph from a:tla is one of the best written disabled character? Is there anything that could've been improved about her character?

DEAR FUCKING GOD do I love Toph.  I would humbly submit to have Lady Toph “The Blind Bandit” “The Runaway” “Greatest Earthbender of All Time” “Inventor of Metalbending” Beifong harvest my organs to achieve eternal life if such a thing were possible.  There are a ton of things that Avatar: the Last Airbender does really well when characterizing Toph, and a few I wish they’d done differently.  [PLEASE NOTE: I am nondisabled, so if I err, please tell me so.]

Is she one of the best-written disabled characters?

She’s certainly a damn cool character whose disability informs but does not define her.  I can’t really say if she’s “the best” or one of, because I haven’t read everything, but I can say that I really like her.

First of all, her story is intersectional AS FUCK.  Toph’s gender, her disability, and her social class are so inextricably linked that there’s no analyzing any single element in a vacuum.  She’s all about being tough and independent.  Partially that’s about being underestimated because of her disability.  Partially that’s about being commodified because of her gender.  Partially that’s about being privileged due to her upper-class upbringing.  All three interact to inform her identity.

“Tales of Ba Sing Se” shows that blindness bars Toph from certain aspects of femininity — she can’t perform the traditional motions of making herself up, attracting young men, being pretty and delicate — which causes her to embrace a more accessible masculine identity.  “The Runaway” shows that Toph enjoys femininity as well as masculinity, but that she struggles to build nurturing relationships when she’s concerned with appearing weak, and that that sometimes leads her to cross ethical boundaries.  “The Chase” and “Bitter Work” are all about how Toph values her independence above all else — because she’s had to struggle against her gender and disability influencing others’ perceptions, but also because she’s had the privilege to avoid helping others due to her social class.  In “The Ember Island Players” she loves being represented by a big tough strong man, but she also clearly associates masculinity with power in a way that becomes troubling when contrasted with Aang’s horror at being played by a woman.  Etcetera.

Even the whole Earth Kingdom’s role as a sort of middle rung of imperialism – less powerful than the Fire Nation, more powerful than the Water Tribes and Air Nomads — informs both the relative strictness of its gender roles and the ability of individual Earth citizens to subvert those roles.  Toph’s identity, like the identities of the other Avatar characters, is inextricably linked to her position in society.

Secondly, Toph has a lot of the features of a complex and agentic character, and her disability is neither ignored nor centralized.  She’s often right, as when she becomes the first person to trust Zuko and the only person capable of making Aang an earthbender.  She’s often wrong, as when she tries to justify theft with a “they started it” argument or belittles Sokka for being a non-bender.  She’s often somewhere in between, as when she chooses to let Appa get taken by sandbenders in order to protect her friends or gets into screaming matches with Katara over matters of procedure.

There’s also the fact that Toph interacts with certain environments differently based on her blindness, drawing attention to (in)accessible aspects of those environments the others wouldn’t have necessarily noticed.  She finds sand and wood flooring inconvenient, she hates navigating water and ice, and she initially avoids walking on metal.  Although she’s not a big fan of flying, she mostly adapts as long as her friends actually remember that she can’t navigate when they’re on Appa’s saddle.

When conflicts do occur with the environment, Toph puts the onus on the environments and on other people to adapt or help her to adapt.  She’s amused and annoyed when Sokka tries to fake correspondence between her and Katara, or stupidly asks why she doesn’t like libraries.  She rips the bottoms off of her shoes.  She calls attention to her inability to do things like scan the ground while flying when her friends are at risk of forgetting.  She plays into others’ assumptions to try and get onto ferries or get away with breaking the law.

Another thing I like: the art style for Toph avoids the trap of “draw sighted person, change eye color, call it a day.”  She doesn’t turn to face people most of the time when she’s talking to them, but also doesn’t seem totally clueless as to their relative locations.  She gets the lay of the land by stomping her feet or pressing a hand against the ground, not turning to “look” in various directions.  She doesn’t bother to keep her hair from blocking her eyes, because her bangs don’t interrupt any sight lines.  She’s neither a comically blind character who apparently can’t navigate at all with sound or touch, nor a dramatic “blind” character whose every action comes off as those of a sighted character.  Toph repeatedly mentions that she doesn’t get the value in sight, clapping back at the assumption that of course she’d want to be nondisabled.

[Image description: A screenshot from “The Chase,” which shows Toph shouting at Katara, with her face turned away from Katara.  Toph is pointing in anger, making it clear that she’s addressing Katara and that she knows Katara’s location relative to herself based on Katara’s voice.]

One last small but important victory for Avatar: it passes the Fries Test.  It has two or more disabled characters — I can explain why Zuko counts as disabled if anyone’s not sure — who survive to the end of the story without being cured, and who have their own narratives rather than existing primarily to educate nondisabled characters.  As a bonus, they have at least one conversation with each other about something that isn’t disability-related.  The Fries Test is meant to be a minimum standard for representation, much like the Bechdel Test, but it’s still nice to know that Avatar passes.

[Image description: A screenshot from “The Ember Island Players,” which shows Zuko and Toph sitting on the floor in a hallway of the theater, talking about the play and about Zuko’s uncle.]

Is there anything that could’ve been improved about her character?

If I ruled the world, or at least the Avatar writers’ room, I’d start with two changes.  One’s small-ish, one’s big and controversial.

The small-ish change: tweak Toph’s narrative to make her earthbending super-abilities less directly counter to her blindness.  As it is, she has shades of a superpowered supercrip: a disabled character from SF whose superpower primarily acts to nullify their disability, thereby giving them the lived experience of a nondisabled person for most or all of the narrative.  Toph is definitely not an egregious example — she’s not Daredevil, who can use his superpowers to read handwritten papers, navigate unfamiliar environments, “feel” colors, detect tiny gestures, and shoot guns.  She does embody experiences with blindness like disorientation when flying and frustration with hanging posters.  She just also has several instances of not experiencing blindness when she (as she puts it) “sees with earthbending.”  I’m not sure what that tweak would look like, precisely, but I’d like to see one all the same.

The bigger change: I’d cast a different voice actor.  Jessie Flower is, based on what little I can find on Wikipedia or IMDB, not blind or visually disabled.  Disability rights activists are right now fighting hard against the trend of “cripping up,” wherein nondisabled actors use mimicry or makeup to pretend to have disabilities on TV and in the movies.  Avatar doesn’t go that far, because it doesn’t have Jessie Flower onscreen in (for instance) contacts that mimic blindness.  However, it nevertheless does not cast a blind actor for the role.  The issue here is that disabled actors are almost never allowed to play nondisabled roles… and disabled actors are also almost never allowed to play disabled roles either.  By failing to find a blind voice actor, the show denied that opportunity to a less-privileged talent.

The Guardian compares the issue to the way that cis actors of the wrong gender are too-often cast in trans roles, men used to play female characters onstage, and white actors used to play black characters in American movies.  I never know how much those comparisons make sense, because among other things they completely ignore intersections of those identities.  But I also think that it’s sometimes the best way to help people understand why excuses like “but it’s haaaaaaarrd to find blind female actors of Asian descent” don’t hold water.

And here’s where I go from “slightly controversial” to “extremely controversial” and might have to enter Witness Protection.  Avatar is getting a live-action adaptation in a few months.  I predict that it will cast a nondisabled actor to play Toph.  And I predict that the same voices which (rightly!) raised such a cry against “racebent” white actors playing Aang and Katara will be completely silent on the topic of “abilitybent” actors playing Zuko and Toph.  I’m saying this on Tumblr partially to get this statement out there:

I am an Avatar: the Last Airbender fan who will ONLY support the live-action show if it casts disabled actors to play disabled characters.

I’m saying it partially because I hope to be proven wrong, either because a blind actress will be cast as live-action Toph or at the very least because Avatar fans will object when a sighted actress is cast.  I’m also saying it because I think that fans can and should protest responsibly when marginalized voices are erased by beloved works of fiction.  Will casting a blind actress require more “work” to make the set accessible?  Probably.  Will casting a blind actress perhaps necessitate more CGI for fight scenes than using a sighted one?  Maybe.  Will it be worth it to cast a blind actress anyway, so that a girl with the lived experience of Toph can portray her on screen and actually get the chance to break into an industry that bars most blind girls from participating?  YES.