#Monster Ball Homecoming

[frankenfawn]

happy new years eve!! i got monster ball cleo for christmas and wanted to draw these two <3

[lexie-squirrel]

[lagoonapink]

[ID: Edits of Frankie Stein from Monster High Generation 3 webseries Monster Ball Homecoming, showing them 2D animated in their monster ball outfit. Their hair is dyed to be black, white, purple, and grey. Image 1: Frankie pointing, having come up with an idea, edited against the nonbinary flag. Image 2: The same but against the trans flag. Image 3: Frankie holding up a microphone, set against the nonbinary flag. Image 4: The same but against the trans flag. End ID]

[aidaronan]

Marks and Paintings

For @steddiemicrofic January (and my first fic of the year!). Prompt: Hole I thought about going G-rated with this but also. Hole. It's hole. Word count: 404 || Explicit || Tags & Warnings: smut, pwp, comeplay, fingering

It’s fascinating, the first time Eddie fucks Steve. When it’s over, he can’t stop staring at Steve’s hole, at the come that spills out of it and paints the deep pink rim glossy-slick.

“Was that…?” Eddie loses the thought, catching the mess with two fingers and tracing up from Steve’s balls through the sparse forest of hair to push it all right back inside of him, like he’s finger painting the walls of Steve’s hole.

Marking it like a caveman drawing stick figures by firelight.

I was here. No matter who comes after me, I was here.

“Yeah. It was.” Steve reaches for a pillow and drags it so he can rest his chest on top. He doesn’t move otherwise, seemingly content to let Eddie play with him all he wants.

Eddie’s already getting hard again just from the sight of his fingers several knuckles deep inside of Steve, from the wet tight heat of him and knowing now, very intimately, just how good that heat feels.

“Could you go again?” Eddie reaches down with his other hand, weakly stroking his cock. His cock that has now been inside of Steve Harrington, former homecoming king, expert killer of monsters.

“Not right now,” Steve says. “But we could…”

But we could do other things.

Eddie hums and pulls out his fingers, tracing them around the rim before pushing them back in. He’s aimless about it, still lost in the imagery, burning it into his memories forever just in case he never gets to see it again.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

They both shift, swearing and laughing about it. Until they’re on their sides face-to-face, hands meeting spit-soaked around both their cocks. With a quiet moan, Eddie presses his forehead against Steve’s, panting hotly into shared air.

It’s not elegant, the way they both thrust desperately into that heat. But it feels good, the calloused palms, their hard cocks moving against each other in erratic rhythm.

“Fuck.” Steve laughs softly when they both go to lick their hands again, arms tangling. Eddie kisses that laugh right out of his mouth, sloppy and distracted. Until they’re not kissing so much as they’re pressing their mouths together, moaning against each other’s lips.

It’s over so fast, come painting thighs and bellies, their bodies slick and loose.

“You gotta try that some time,” Eddie breathes.

“What? Putting it in some guy’s ass?” Steve smirks. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

[milksnake-tea]

━━ homecoming.

He was always your favorite, ever since the day you'd found him. But you knew you couldn't keep him forever. One day, he would have to leave.

merman!blade x gn!reader

contains: fluff, hurt/comfort, a smudge of angst, blade is a little shit, reader is a scientist, potentially ooc blade, a hint of abandonment issues, making out (but nothing suggestive), not edited we die like jing liu, written before version 1.1

word count: 1.7k

a/n: posting this on the last day of mermay because ofc i am (im pst so shhh its not june yet). anyways merman blade is the most genius thing i have ever thought of no one will convince me otherwise

Your research facility was unlike any other in the world.

The hallways were enshrouded in darkness, with the only light sources being the illuminated tanks that lined the walls. They varied in size and shape, some cylindrical, others rectangular. Some tanks were lucky enough to have entire biomes in them, ranging from gorgeous coral reefs to murky kelp forests, and some had nothing in them at all. But what every tank had in common was an eerie glow of cyan that pulsated throughout their waters.

As you walked past the exhibits - your footsteps echoing loudly throughout the empty halls - your specimen began to unravel to life.

Electric eels sparked with lightning as you passed, and beside them, gigantic sea serpents hissed and coiled. Grindylows peeked from behind their forests, and jellyfish of all forms drifted aimlessly through their tanks. An eye the size of a soccer ball watched you from the largest exhibit of all, the giant squid thrilled to see its master.

This institute was home to mythology and biology alike, where fables rested alongside common knowledge. Here, in the middle of nowhere, with no land in sight, you were in the eye of the storm - vulnerable to the truths behind old sailors’ tales.

Despite this, you loved your job more than anything. These creatures that you studied, that you nurtured and raised, were like your children. Even the various hippocampi (who you didn’t have the heart to keep within your walls), were dear to you, and you to them.

Yes, there was the occasional sea monster that you had to shoot down. Yes, there were the occasional sirens who would try to lure you to your death. Most of the ocean’s creatures were dangerous, and well aware of it. Unfortunately, you were too smart and too stubborn to die.

A sharp tap on glass snapped you out of your thoughts. Smiling knowingly to yourself, you walked up to a cylindrical glass tank that spanned two stories tall, encircled by spiraling stairs.

“Hey, Blade. Missed me?” You greeted, placing a hand on the glass.

Out of all of the creatures that you held within your home, he was your favorite.

He really was a beauty. Gifted with a slender black tail, seared with a vicious red, the merman swayed gently in his tank, sleek, almost sharp fins flowing around him. Blackened scales gave way to fair skin, scarred with scratches and bites from previous battles. His hair billowed around him like a dark cloud, fading from black to a soft maroon.

You'd found Blade a few weeks ago, bleeding out in the coral reefs surrounding your little island of a facility. He’d likely gotten into a fight with other merpeople, as the more territorial ones tended to do. Even now, the wounds hadn’t completely healed, with bandages still wrapped around his abdomen.

Blade’s ever-cold face barely budged at your greeting. The second your hand met his tank, he backed away, swimming up towards the top of his tank - naturally expecting you to follow. You sighed, shaking your head knowingly.

By the time you had climbed the staircase to the top, Blade was already lounging on the stairs leading into his waters. His wet hair clung to his body as he watched you expectantly, his tail flicking small waves into motion. Sunlight cascaded over him from a glass ceiling, bathing him in a gentle light.

“You’re late.” His eyes never left your body as you neared him, eyeing you like a hungry predator.

You dropped your bag off some counter lining the walls. “I was dealing with the new shipments.”

“Oh? Am I finally getting some company?” Blade asked sarcastically, stretching like a cat in the warm sun. You don’t think it was an accident that he rolled over, shamelessly showing off his sculpted abdomen.

“Like I could just order a merman off the web,” you scoffed, sitting next to him and dipping your legs into the tank. “You’re just a special case.”

He didn’t respond to that, merely watches you with an emotion that you can’t quite pinpoint. Knowing him, it could be anything from warm affection to a mischievous desire to inconvenience you by the slightest amount. He was petty like that.

Briefly, his tail came to brush against your legs. You giggled at the action, the thin fins ticklish against your skin. A flicker of a smile flashed across Blade’s face, gone just as fast as it had appeared.

“How are your wounds?” you asked, your hand absentmindedly coming to pet his head. Where Blade would have bitten anyone else, the merman keened at the touch, closing his eyes briefly.

“Better.” His voice was barely above a whisper as you threaded your fingers through his wet hair.

“That’s good. No pain?”

“None,” he answered. As you removed your hand, for a moment, he chased it, before he met your teasing eyes and remembered himself. Coughing, he quickly turned away, refusing to meet your amused gaze.

“At this rate, you’ll be leaving sooner than expected,” you hummed. Blade’s eyes widened at your words, an unfamiliar pang hitting his chest. “I’m sure you’ve been missing your friends.”

Blade scoffed at the notion, rolling back onto his chest to stare at the floor. “Hardly.”

“Well,” you shrugged, kicking up some water. “At the very least, you’d miss the open waters.”

That, he couldn’t deny. But even still, the thought of finally leaving the facility had become foreign to him. Three weeks prior, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to get out of this place, this tank. But now, he wasn’t so sure.

“Hey, chin up.” Your hand cupped his cheek, bringing him to look up at you. “It’s not like you’ll never see me again. You can always visit.”

He doubted that. Out in the ocean, he had little free time to himself. He would spend his days constantly on the run from various mermaid kingdoms and tribes, and if not that, he’d be hunting, searching for his next meal. He journeyed the seas without end. Blade was a vagrant, a wanderer without a home.

But here, perhaps…

His body moved without thinking. Pushing himself up onto his arms, he leaned over you, water droplets falling onto your shirt as he caged you between his arms. His gaze had become hazy, his eyes lidded. His breath shuddered in his chest as he pressed his forehead against yours, drinking in as much of you as he could.

Blade didn’t say much, but he didn’t have to. You heard his words loud and clear, without him needing to say a word.

Stay.

It was unclear who he was talking to, whether it be you or himself. There was a subtle desperation in the way his chest heaved as he breathed, breathless without a thief.

Your arms, your welcoming arms, wrapped around his shoulders like a warm blanket, bringing him in for an embrace. Immediately, he latched onto the opportunity, gripping onto you as though you’d disappear if he dared loosen his grip. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent, forever engraving it into his memory.

If only he was human, he’d lament. If only he could walk the lands like you did. If only the two of you weren’t separated by land and sea. If only - his grip became just a little tighter - he could stay like this a little longer.

You stroke the back of his head gently, feeling Blade shiver at your touch. He wasn’t crying - you didn’t know if he even remembered how.

Deep inside, you wanted him to stay. You didn’t want to let him go. It was an ugly, selfish part of you that wanted to keep him for yourself. But you knew you couldn't keep him here. He had to return to the ocean, where he belonged.

He pulled away from you, yet still held onto your arms like a lifeline. You never thought you’d describe the stoic merman as desperate, but there was no other word that could properly depict the emotion swirling in his eyes.

Your hands came to cradle his face gently, unable to say a word. Blade’s breath hitched.

His lips barely parted as he spoke, his voice raspy and low.

“Forgive me.”

That was the only warning you got before he crashed his lips into yours.

His kiss was unlike any other you’ve had. Whereas your previous experiences were tender and romantic, this was hungry, raw, depraved. Blade kissed you with the fervor of a starving man, as though you would be his final meal. He was aggressive with his affections, practically clawing onto your shirt as he clutched you closer to him.

Your heart raced in your chest as you met his violent dance, parting your lips for a moment to allow him to slip in his tongue. You welcomed him in, firmly holding his face. Emotions swirled in you like the blurred voices of a crowd, overwhelming and satiating you at the same time.

To say that you were surprised by his actions would be a lie. You’ve known his feelings for a while now, and had plenty of time to accept yours. It was obvious, in the gentlest touches, in the way he could make you smile just by being around you.

You’ve avoided acknowledging these feelings for the longest time, and so did he.

When the two of you finally parted, a string of saliva connecting the two of you, the only thing you could do was watch. You studied Blade’s face, clearly now, for the first time. Your fingers traced around his jawline, admiring how his cheeks had become dyed with a pretty red. You swiped over his parted lips, still catching his breath from the kiss. Your thumb rubbed just underneath his eyes, brushing away the loose strands of hair from his face.

You’ve always known he was a beauty, but in this moment, he simply took your breath away.

Blade covered your hand in his, nuzzling into your palm. He softly pressed his lips to your inner wrist, a stark contrast from the kiss he’d just ravaged you with. He kept his eyes solely on you as he did this, trapping your gaze with his stare.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Huh?” You blinked, trying to snap yourself out of your daze. Blade smirked against your palm, swiping out his tongue and dragging it against your skin.

“Come, now,” he mused. “You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?”

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[allurilove]

IDK why but it’s be so funny if we had a yearbook that our husband found and in it he found a photo of us with a previous boyfriend. And the photo is like one of those cliche ones with a quarter back foot ball bf and us being a cheerleader gf 😂😚

“I didn’t realize you were with other people.” your husband frowned and he pointed to the picture that was years ago. Your ex was the star quarterback and you were his typical cheerleading girlfriend. His team won the homecoming game and the picture was of him running to you with open arms.

“You’re acting as if I’m currently cheating on you.” you roll your eyes and you continued to play monster trucks with Henry.

Henry curiously looked over to see the photo and his eyes light up. “Is that my real dad?”

[thunderstomm]

GIFs from the new Monster Ball Homecoming episode !!

I’m so excited for the Nick Show Finale (:<

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Darkest Mind

Family is More Than Blood Masterlist 

Summary: Sometimes the world was to loud and the voices that called you a monster, and killer began to much. To silence everything, pain was something you were familiar with. All you’ve known is pain. But when your family starts to notice you falling, they are there to catch you. 

Warning: This story contains themes that can possible be triggering. Self harm, mention of suicide, guilt, not eating, mention of past sexual assault, reader needs help 

 Word Count: 3.1K

“Hey,” Yelena sat down next to you. “We are planning another trip to the city. Do you want to come?” 

“Sure,” you said, not looking at her. You were staring at the TV, a soccer game on, and you were mindlessly twirling a pen in your hand. The soccer game was barely registering to you. You weren’t sure who came up to talk to you before Yelena. Natasha might have been Maria. No, it had to be Tony because you had a drink on a table near you. 

“Okay,” Yelena said slowly. “I think Natasha is pregnant.” 

“Oh cool,” you said. You weren’t sure what she said. 

“I’m secretly married.” 

“Nice,” Gods, you were so tired. You weren’t sleeping well. Every night you close your eyes you are back in the Red Room or that dementated fun room. 

“Are you listening?” She asked. You tore your eyes away from the TV and looked at your sister. She seemed concerned. 

“Yeah, sorry, I was really into the game. I’m listening,” she didn’t believe you. Hell, you didn’t believe yourself. 

“Right, I’ll let you know the details about the trip,” you nodded as Yelena stood up. You put your arms on the back of the couch. “Carol is returning tonight. Are you excited to see her?”

“Yup,” you popped the ‘p’. Were you happy to see her? You didn’t deserve her. You didn’t deserve the happiness she gave you. You didn’t deserve the way she looked at you. 

“Okay, also the game is over. You know that, right?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, putting one leg over the other. The pen began to twirl again. You were so tired. You heard Yelena walk away. 

*

You avoided everyone by staying in your room. You were throwing a tennis ball in the air, throwing it with your right and catching it with your left. It was mind-numbing and you needed your mind to turn off. There were too many emotions running through your - anger, guilt, sadness. You just wanted it all to stop. The door opened and you looked up. “You know I expected a better homecoming,” Carol smirked, her arms crossed. 

“Hi,” you said but you didn’t move. She raised an eyebrow and walked into your room. She sat on your bed. “How is Monica?” You asked. 

“She’s good. How are you?” 

“I’m good,” you forced a smile on your face. “Just tired.” 

“Do you want to take a nap before dinner?” That sounded nice. You wanted nothing more than to curl up in her arms and fall asleep. She was so warm and safe. But you didn’t deserve it. You were silent for too long. “Hey, if you don’t want to, I can leave.” 

“No!” She was surprised by the outburst. “Sorry,” you rubbed your hands over your face. “Sorry, I haven’t been feeling well.” 

“Do you want me to go get you something? Helen can get something to help you sleep,” you shook your head. You didn’t want to be sedated. Too many times you were drugged in the Red Room and you woke up with someone on top of you. 

“Can you just lay with me?” You asked. 

“Of course,” you sat up and pulled down the covers. Carol lay down next to you. “Can I hold you?” You nodded, moving to your side. You felt her arm move around your waist and pulled you close so your back was flushed against her front. Her breath caused goosebumps on your neck. Something was wrong. Her touch normally felt comfortable and safe but now it made your skin hurt. Why did it hurt?

*

Wanda made a chicken alfredo with garlic bread and salad. There weren't many at the compound - Sam was in Wakanda and Rhodey and Vision were in DC. You were pushing the noodles around your bowl, half listening to the conversation taking place. You think Tony was making fun of Steve but that happened daily. You took a small bite of your chicken but it made your stomach flip. The smell was making you nauseous. What gave you the right to sit here and have a home-cooked meal? You were just as bad as Dreyokv. You watched him control so many young girls and you did nothing to stop him. You were a monster. Your hands were stained with blood and the piles of bodies you were responsible for were so high. “Y/n,” your name snapped you out of your spiral. Natasha was staring at you. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you said automatically. “Just tired,” you finished the glass of water. “Thank you, Wands for dinner. I’m gonna get some sleep. I have an early morning call with Melina.” You gathered your barely-eaten food and put it into the kitchen. After weakly saying goodnight to everyone, you made your way back to your room. You went right to the bathroom and turned on the shower. It would take a while for the water to heat up. You stripped out of your sweatpants and T-shirt and stared at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin was littered with scars from beatings and missions. You were disgusted with yourself. Shaking your head, you stepped into the water. You gasped and hissed as the hot water hit your skin. But you accepted the pain. The pain was good. You rested your head against the tile wall. 

Sometimes you could hear him, feel his hands on your skin, and his hot breath near his ear. You were always on high alert because you never knew where he was going to be waiting for you. You bite down on the knuckle of your thumb. The spark of pain brought you back to reality. “He’s dead,” you mumbled. “He’s dead.” But what if he wasn’t? Natasha and Yelena believed he was dead before or what if someone took his place. Bringing down the Red Room, pissed off a lot of people. Were you safe even with the Avengers or were you a target and endangering everyone around you? 

You stayed in the shower until your skin was red and the want went cold. You dried quickly and put the sweatpants back on and put on an old air force sweatshirt that belonged to Carol. You lay on your bed and stared up at the ceiling. There were times like this you wished you were back in the Red Room. In there, there was no time for feelings, no time to think because you were focused on surviving. You brought a pillow to your chest and curled around it. You squeezed your eyes shut and prayed for a peaceful night. 

*

Carol watched you walk away. Your shoulders slumped as if you were holding the weight of the world on them. “What’s wrong with Big Spider?” Tony asked, sipping on his drink. 

“I don’t know,” Yelena said. “She’s been like this all day.” That worried Carol. 

“Her mind has been all over the place,” Wanda added. Carol sighed. 

“I’m gonna go talk to her,” Carol stood up. “Maybe I can get her to tell me what’s wrong.” It was a hopeful wish but she had to try. 

“Let us know if you need anything,” Natasha smiled. Carol nodded and headed into the kitchen with her food. She saw that you didn’t eat much so she made you a protein shake. It would give you something easy to eat. She walked to her room and knocked on your door. But you didn’t answer. She knocked again. Still nothing. 

“FRIDAY, let me in,” the AI didn’t respond but she heard the door unlock. She carefully opened the door and saw you on your bed, hair wet from a shower, and you were wearing one of her sweatshirts. “Hey, I brought you a protein shake,” she sat down on the edge of the bed. “I noticed you didn’t eat a lot,” you sat up and stared blankly at her but followed her hand when she put the shake on the nightstand. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you whispered. “I’m fine.”

“No, you aren’t,” your eyes snapped to her. “And that’s okay. I just need you to talk to me.” 

*

‘Talk to me.’ ‘Talk to me.’ It was as if it was the easiest thing in the world. But the words were caught in your throat. How could you tell her about the guilt that was eating at you? How when you looked at your hands all you saw was blood? That a part of you wished you died in the Red Room. “Sweetheart,” she moved to touch your cheek but you grabbed onto her hand. You stared at each other. The room grew tense in silence. 

“I want to be alone,” you told her, letting go of her hand. ‘Good, push her away.’ A voice said inside your head. ‘You don’t deserve her. You're a monster. A killer.’  

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Leave me alone,” your voice sounded so cold, you barely recognized it. “Go away.” She stood up. 

“I’ll give you space but I’m here, okay? Just come find me,” you ignored her and watched her leave. She closed the door behind her. ‘You drove her away,’ The voice taunted. ‘She hates you. How could she ever want to be with someone like you?’ You groaned, placing your feet on the floor and covering your ears. You wanted the voices to stop. You knew you were a bad person but the constant voices telling you over and over again were killing you. 

“Please,” you whimpered. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” ‘You are pathetic. Weak,’ it continued. ‘No one cares about you. How did you ever keep them safe?’ You fell to the ground. “Stop, please. I’m sorry. You're right.” 

*

“Why are you sitting on the floor?” Yelena asked. Carol looked up. 

“She wanted to be left alone but I wanted to be close,” Truth be told, Carol was worried. You scared her. She’s never heard your voice sound so void of emotion. Yelena sat down next to her. “I’m worried about her but I don’t know what to do.” 

“Black Widows are trained to bottle their feelings. She won’t ask for help until it becomes bad.” Great. That was what Carol was afraid of. She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. She remembered Yelena and Natasha telling her to be patient, that you needed time to be your own person. She would give you all the time in the world because she loved you. 

“Captain Danvers, Miss. Y/n is in distress.” Carol stood up and threw your door open. She saw you standing up on the wall punching over and over again. She sprung into action and ran over to you. She grabbed onto your arms and pulled you into her chest. You didn’t relax but fought against her as Carol brought you down to the ground. 

“Sh, baby, you're safe. You're safe,” Carol held you tighter. You were struggling less but you still kept hitting Carol’s chest. “It’s me, baby girl. It’s me. Whatever is in your head isn’t real,” you stopped fighting but you kept lightly hitting your chest. It didn’t hurt. “It’s me and Yelena. We got you.” Yelena walked over to you and knelt beside you. 

“It’s okay,” Yelena said. “You're safe.” Your eyes were wide and frantic. “We got you,” it was as if the dame broke and you held onto Carol and cried into her shirt. 

*

You weren’t sure how long you cried but Carol picked you up and sat you down on your bed. Yelena ran to go get a first aid kit. Carol sat down next to you in silence but kept your non-injured hand in hers, squeezing it. It kept you grounded. Soon Yelena came back with the first aid kit. “Let me see your hand,” you gave it to her. It was already starting to heal but you knew she needed to make sure you were okay. So, she whipped the blood on your knuckles. 

“You don’t have to talk to us right now,” Carol said. “But we are here for you. All of us -Wanda, Natasha, and Maria.” 

“Why?” You asked softly. Yelena paused what she was doing to look at you. “Why? You know what I’ve done.” 

“You were forced to do those things,” Yelena said, returning to her task. 

“I should have stopped him.” 

“How?” Your sister asked. “Tell me how you would have stopped him without him killing you,” you couldn’t give her a good answer because there was none. “You are a victim forced to do horrible things. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Why does it hurt so much?” You whispered, your head falling onto Carol’s shoulder. 

“Grief is a powerful emotion,” Carol kissed the top of your head. “It comes and goes in waves.”

“It fucking sucks,” you mumbled. It caused them to laugh. 

“What do you need?” Yelena asked. You weren’t sure what you needed. You wanted the noise to stop. 

“Food and sleep,” you told them. 

“We can help with that.” But you didn’t want them to help, you didn’t deserve their help. 

*

Your talk with Yelena and Carol didn’t change your behavior but it got worse. You isolated yourself in your room and barely ate. The only time you came out of your room was to train until your body gave out. It was the only way to stop the nightmares. It went on for 5 more days until Natasha burst through your door while you were changing. “Most people knock,” you said. “I could have been naked.” 

“Here is what’s going to happen, you are going to go to the kitchen and sit your ass down to eat,” she crossed her arms. “Or I’m going to drag you to Helen and she’s going to put a feeding tube down your throat.” Your blood ran cold. That was the last thing you wanted. But you rolled your eyes. 

“I like to see you try,” even in your weakened state you were a better fighter than Natasha. 

“Do you want to die?” She asked. 

“Maybe,” you admitted. Natasha uncrossed her arms and stared at you. 

“Time out,” she said. “Are you serious?” You shrugged, sitting on the ground, your back against your bed. Natasha sat down in front of you. “Can you please talk to me?” You brought one of your knees to your chest. 

“It became too much,” you whispered. “The anger, the guilt, the jealousy. It got too loud. I just wanted it to be quiet, you know?” Natasha nodded. 

“So you started to hurt yourself to silence it?” She questioned. 

“Pain made everything quiet. It’s all I know,” you shrugged. “There aren’t gentle touches or hugs in the Red Room, all there is pain.” 

“Do you think you deserve that pain? Like a punishment,” you nodded. “Do you think I deserve pain?” Your eyes shut up to look at hers. 

“What? No, of course not!” She smiled. 

“Then why do you think you do?” She questioned. “I had a hand in keeping the Red Room active for as long as it was,” you opened your mouth to argue but Natasha held up your hand to stop you. “I could have come back to find you and I didn’t but if I did we would have known about the Red Room sooner. Do you blame me?” You shook your head. You didn’t. The whole situation was so complicated and messy. “Then why do you blame yourself?” You sighed. “I get it,” she continued. “That guilt is demobilizing. But that blame for what happened to us is in the hand of a man who is dead,” Natasha took your hand in hers. 

“You're worrying us, sestra. Yelena and I need you” squeezed your hand. “I know you don’t think you deserve this but you do. You deserve love, happiness, and to live. Because by living, you are winning and beating everyone that tried to keep you down,” you whipped the tears away with your free hand. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to worry everyone. I’ll get help.” 

“It’s not easy,” Natasha admitted. “But you have us.” You nodded. 

“I know. Thank you.” 

*

When Carol returned to the compound, you were there to greet her. “Well hello stranger,” you smiled and held out your hand. She took it and you brought her into a hug. She dropped her duffle bag to the floor and wrapped her arms around your waist. Your hands found a place on the back of her neck. Her touch didn’t hurt. She felt like home again. “What was that for?” She asked, pulling away so she could look at you. 

“Just missed you,” you played with the baby hairs on the back of her neck. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” you bite your lip, suddenly feeling nervous. You felt her rub small circles on your hips to ease your nerves. 

“Can I kiss you?” She smiled. 

“Yes,” she nodded. You felt your heart beating as you closed the distance and your lips touched hers. Her lips were soft against your lips. She didn’t control the kiss or try to dominate it like other people you’ve kissed. She let you set the pace. You ended it, pulling away slightly so that you could still feel her breath against your lips. 

“Thank you,” you whispered against her lips. 

“Why are you thanking me?” She asked. 

“For being patient with me.”

“Oh baby girl,” you liked when she called you that. She placed a piece of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll wait for you because honestly, I don’t want anyone else.” You smiled, reconnecting your lips with hers. This time you felt her hands tighten on your hips but still didn’t force you. This woman was going to be the death of you. 

“You told me that you just wanted me to talk to you,” you said. “I wasn’t ready then but I am now.”

“Okay,” she kissed your cheek. “Whatever you feel comfortable telling me. I won’t force you,” you laughed, shaking your head. “What’s so funny?” She had a confused look on her face. 

“I just don’t know what I did in life to deserve you,” she chuckled. 

“That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing,” you grabbed her hand and led her back into the compound. It was hard for your brain to let you believe that you deserve anything good, beautiful, and light because of how much darkness you endured. But even after the darkest nights and the strongest rain storms - the sun will shine again.     

[lunisfamily]

Tbh, Ilana is someone who should've been fleshed out more. Thanks to CN dropping the ball, we may not known where her story goes from here. Like rewatching the series again and I do like her introduction and the way she carries herself. I need to finish watching the series again.

[ok so its been a bit since i watched the whole series front to bottom as i've been occasionally been watching it out of order so take this opinion atm with a grain of salt]

ok for real i was so ready for the bigger Ilana episodes because she has some heavy survivors guilt, homesickness, and some balancing to do with being a selfless princess and being mildly overbearing sometimes and frustrated with her endeavors falling short.

i absolutely love the way she carries herself too and sbt has such a strong sense of personality for the m.c's that she has very good dynamics and never loses her place in the trio. she is fun and fascinating to watch.

but while the series does well in unwinding lance from thinking that he's useless if he isn't fighting at least by 50%[ developed by his strong relationship to the other 2 to help him get out of his own head and TRULY think of whats best for them all and WHEN to fight] , and octus growing into his own personhood has reached the nice middle point by the final episode with his face being the center instead of his metal core [and fresh unique dynamics with kimmy and meat to show how he can be more than whatever he was meant for], a lot of Ilana's stuff feels like it is in the seed and growing phase still. like more than them.

she wants to be the leader she is but its harder to do in this high school so...? how will this affect her arc because she is going to go back at one point because she's a princess? what is the more positive arc she's having by being here vs being at home?

she misses home!...something that will be handled in the future... but its middle ground atm is the ball with a galaluna theme that has her finding the homecoming committee to help her capture some peace for the moment

and again she remains an absolute unit of a character because even if some of the bigger questions are up in the air because she has such a strong personality and presence and does get some smaller problems worked on via group development because the group dynamic is strong <3

she feels like all she ever does is try with lance but they still work out their relationship due to octus stepping in and saying yeah... both of you keep trying but not by snipping at each other about how much you DON'T understand each other! and there is like so many points where its clear she's lost in interacting with him that feel like her status as a princess as a complication might be brought to the forefront later [like lance bringing up that he does feel that people "like her" could never understand him and Ilana does have his reputation at the ready in the starting episodes vs them being closer but being reminded that his job is to protect her]

as the series proceeds they HAVE become closer [stuff like the chill hangout/doing the project together/ and lance dancing with her because yes the princess misses her home/and close enough that ilana can try to be supportive of his passions like in disenfranchised...key word try.] they even are united in their love for octus. they have slowly been overcoming that idea that they could never have anything in common.

and maybe as a princess the war tore that one boy she liked away [ and the whole episode is even her turning into a monster against her will] but as a student she can try to have something low stakes and sweet [and again how is that going to measure to up to her having to return? what change has happened that will be more challenged by the return to galaluna or even just by who she used to be]

and again octus not just being a tool her father gave her but a true friend she loves

the minor "some rules are ok to break" episode and little moments like maybe her being demanding of lance's nightmare and then apologetic when she hears it or her leadership skills with announcing the phone number coming in handy even if lance does ask her to tone it down, all the support that octus gives her as her fellow bottom of the barrel pal

so basically its not like NOTHING is being done with her its just that the payoff to these developments isn't as super clear as octus and lance's atm [imo]...and never will be WHY CN?

partically because its easier to pinpoint why being on earth is good for lance and octus [again imo]

CN really did drop the ball because i heard somewhere the next 10 episodes were already written??! i want to seeeeeeeeeeeee T.T

i really do have to properly rewatch the series again.

[monsterhighfemboy]

So straight to fuse with my rival/bully/frenemy?? Cleolei

I just think these two are cute.

[bulkyphrase]

Frostshield: a Loki/Steve Rogers rec list

Some of my favorite fics from a very a fun "opposites attract" ship.

The Devil and the Wild Man by Effing (@effingunicorns) (Mature, 11,343 words)

Summary: Steve's dinosaur keeps Loki in line on Sakaar. This is not a euphemism, but it is also 100% a euphemism.

Also available as a podfic read by Tipsy_Kitty (@tipsyxkitty)

Madness by ScotlandEvander (@scotlandevanderr) (Teen And Up Audiences, 19,355 words)

Summary: Time makes a deal and when Time makes a deal, it plays out till it is fulfilled. Steve Rogers is learning this the hard way and he’s quite sure it’ll end in madness.

Ball and Chain (of Fools) by Ebyru (Explicit, 38,022 words)

Summary: Steve is dead-set on making the Avengers and everyone surrounding get along now that they're living in the Avengers tower. If he finds happiness in the end because of it, that’s just a perk. Or more to the point: A bunch of times people throw themselves at Steve with no intention of dating him, and one time someone likes him enough to never want to let go.

Also available as a podfic read by RsCreighton (@rosecreighton)

More under the cut!

and I may never see the light by Effing (@effingunicorns) (Explicit, 8,111 words)

Summary: Steve is a monster hunter who's sort of but not really sleeping with the vampire next door. And then things get hairy. (Because every ship deserves more trashy monster AUs.)

Catfish by heeroluva (Teen And Up Audiences, 1,238 words)

Summary: Loki finds something unexpected in the ice. (The Frost Giants learned from their mistakes. There was no war with Asgard. Loki was never taken by Odin. The Chitauri are defeated with the aid of Frost Giants.)

Strange Love by danveresque (@danveresque) (Teen And Up Audiences, 12,021 words)

Summary: It starts with a simple taunt.

So… you got impersonated by aphrodaisyacs (@aphrodaisyacs) (General Audiences, 4,596 words)

Summary: Steve was torn between praying for the ground to swallow him, and interrupting them to ask Peter just where he first saw those videos. Because as much as they felt like the cheesy propaganda movies he was forced to be a part of back in the war, the man on the screen, who looked and even sounded exactly like him… “That’s not me. I don’t remember recording any of these.” Or: The one where the Avengers find out that PSA Captain America from Homecoming is actually someone completely different. Part 1 of Mischief Managed

One For the Cameras by aphrodaisyacs (@aphrodaisyacs) (Teen And Up Audiences, 15,286 words)

Summary: After the stunt they pulled at the party, Tony has taken to referring to Loki and Steve as “clone boyfriends”, a nickname which rapidly morphed into an inside joke amongst the Avengers. It’s all fun and games until it gets overheard by a clueless reporter- now the public believes that Steve and Loki are genuinely an item. Chaos ensues. Or: The one where Steve and Loki get mistaken for a couple, but they go along with it to make homophobes mad. Part 2 of Mischief Managed

Ghosts That We Knew by Lise (@veliseraptor) (Teen And Up Audiences, 13,253 words)

Summary: May 4th, 2012: an alien comes to Earth warning of an impending invasion. Earth's Mightiest Heroes are there to stop it. In the months after, Steve notices something weird going on with Loki.

Lines In Sand; Lines In Stone by BigSciencyBrain (@bigsciencybrain) (Explicit, 211,078 words)

Summary: A split-second decision changes the course of Steve's life and both he and Loki are hit by a sex spell. The Avengers race to save them, but grappling with magic turns out to be harder than any of them imagined and defeating the spell is only the beginning. As Steve and Loki navigate the consequences, they form a genuine bond that develops into a complicated relationship. (There's a lot of angsting and talking about consent/sexuality. And Loki gets adopted by a mythological creature.)

A Place to Put My Heartache (Across Six Christmases) by BigSciencyBrain (@bigsciencybrain) (Mature, 77,838 words)

Summary: Steve's still trying to find his place in this world. Accidentally saving Loki's life doesn't help. But maybe there's a place for both of them, together.

In The Realm of Ungrateful Cockroaches by BigSciencyBrain (@bigsciencybrain) (Mature, 36,265 words)

Summary: Instead of returning to Asgard after the battle of New York, Loki finds himself in a time loop, repeating the events of the Avengers over and over again.

The lines, here are written by dfotw (Teen And Up Audiences, 18,009 words)

Summary: In a world where everyone has their soulmate's name written on their wrists, Steve Rogers has quite a lot more... and Loki, a lot less. (follows canon faithfully except for, y'know, the trope.)

[forgetmenot-mymoon]

The Prince’s Homecoming(DTA SHORT STORY)

The Prince stepped out of the portal carefully, throwing a small ball before daring to step down, landmines were hidden everywhere, so many that most of them weren't ever activated. It was the same story with the bombs that once rained down. His country was dead, a nuclear wasteland. It was a chessboard for the kingdoms, however, all kings were checkmated, and none survived. Ayan Kanaan was the last royalty, his kingdom focused not on bombs but more on science, math, and creating the quadratic formula for example. While Azuma had focused on defense they had great walls. The Kingdom of Westana did the opposite, building bombs. Queen Katerina always warned his father, Moshin about the dangers, that’s why she had married him. Katerina was originally the heir to Sevia’s throne but she suggested marriage for an alliance, which was needed with the other three breathing down the territories. The three formed the three terrors. Of course, that didn't stop them from breaking the walls of Azuma and bombing each other after nuking everyone else.

After everything, society still didn't stop. Life never does. It's a ball with rest potential, one push and it never stops on the infinity downward hill. There was small plant life and some camps of survivors, most of the immediate danger had fallen after thousands of years. Ayan looked around, everything was different and gone.

Even with little life, a rotting castle wasn't free from being bastardized and taken over, his footsteps like a cat as he crossed into the garden, all skeletons from the radiation, tiny splats of green remained crawling out of the ground, but it was… unnatural to say the least he didn't dare touch the bloodstained ground. He coughed, took out his water bottle, and drank. He had taken medicine before this and had a suit he secured from a world, one that survived its apocalypse. The man has adventured as far as its AWP would take it. Ayan remembered the feeling of revival, ice-cold water. Right after the doctors of the old lab- or who were left- told him everything. Ayan found few clues of the amulets or where 186 was but there was blood always left behind. It was a cycle of apocalypse over and over. Hybrid had some clues but after the 7th amulet holders he had fled the world 102. Hybrid was the only weapon that he knew of that served an amulet holder or even talked to one! He needed to find him. Ayan could never find the doctors that escaped to other worlds, most were in worlds built by the Ingenium.

From what Ayan had interviewed the survivors of the 7th. Hybrid was skilled with guns. He opened the doors with a creak, a gun aimed at his head, Ayan's sword at the gunman's neck, immediately, just as planned. “How many are here?” Ayan asked with a steady hand.

The gunman had dark hair, scars of skin peeling from dying, slowly. His eyes widened, pupils small but still predatory like a cat’s. Quickly regained his mask with a quick blink, “It's you, the failure.”

Ayan didn’t react, just continued staring until his question was finally answered, “12 guards, then 20 civilians.”

“Dr. Muscipula?”

His expression told Ayan everything as he moved his blade across the neck and quickly grabbed the gunman’s wrist turning the gun into the air.

Never give your enemy a second, is what his teacher had said.

Ayan had burned all his memories in either his brain or skin, you needed everything to survive and you needed even more to hunt a monster. Now there were only 11 guards. All for the greater good of the universe.

Ayan knew this castle, born, raised, and died here. So many years ago, thousands ago. That's the only reason there were even 20 people left. He assumed they forged and hunted, but mostly hunted what little creatures were left. Ayan and Dr. M were only alive through technologies far advanced, and a little apocalypse can make one resistant to death. The other possible alive doctors used that as well, but that was more from what was left of the weapons. Immortal weapons needed immortals' doctors so they did tests on themselves and if that didn't work Ayan assumed other words sufficed them. The explosion had destroyed most of these immortal cures, any left the doctors stole for themselves so Ayan’s parents were the first to die when the nuke hit, right outside his window.

Everyone left from the rubble had settled down by now… He heard all the weapons and doctors did…except Ayan and Dr. M, they both had a common goal. He marched up the steps with the might of a king that he should have become, quickly finding the office Dr. M had made him aboard. The civilians were probably in the south wing, that was where all the food used to be stored. This was the north, where his father's studies lay as silent as death- no not that silent, there was a drop of ink and scribble of the pen. Ayan opened the door, unlocked, typical for a man above death.

“You know how to track Hybrid?”

“How many did you kill?”

“Only one, nice slice at the neck did the trick doctor.”

Ayan wasn't the smartest, not compared to what had been before the bombs but he knew if any analysts, those meant to track could be tracked. It would be the most unstable automatically, Hybrid.

“If I give you something to track him what will I get?”

“Redemption?”

The old man smiled, no hair on his body but he still gave the expression of an old grandfather, he opened his desk and threw a small device, much like a radio at the man. Then threw him a bottle, an orange one from decades ago.

“Give him those two I'm sure he’s running out, you might wanna take one yourself”

“You've been keeping that monster alive?” Ayan said with royalty-trained composure,

“No Verna has, the Ingenium adore her. She was the only one with empathy.”

He did an about-face and left, leaving the door wide open. He wasn't putting up with this bullshit.

As he walked out of his home, he looked up, the sky a nauseous grey, red veins crawling all over the windows, it was a prison.

He looked at the small device, Ayan regretted not asking how to work it.

—

Ayan was in the desert of a world -he had just gone to a random one to think- hitting the small device in his hand until it eventually turned on. It was quite literally a radio make-shifted into something else. A dot appeared as numbers shuffled underneath it

World 201

That was a technologically advanced world, with lots of weapons that this Hybrid would like. Ayan needed to be careful. Has Dr. M set it to specifically track hybrid before throwing it out? Or was it just for Hybrid…hm Ayan worried over these factors as he walked through the portal into a thankfully abandoned alley, in this world it didn't matter much they were probably used to world-traveling. Ayan gazed at the screen, it flashed a bit then an arrow and a number….10 kilometers he hoped for a bus, hopefully a flying one based on the steel surrounding him. As Ayan walked out of the alley his nose was consumed by sterilization, masks on everyone- not even considering his beige jumpsuit he was very very out of place, but he was used to this and continued ignoring any stares robotic or human.

After speaking to a few robots he was actually on a flying bus. Which was nice, most were too busy on their phones to stare at him so Ayan focused on holding his bag and making a plan. He hopped off of the bus, it was a 3-foot drop but he landed it then he followed the arrow.

To…a futuristic rectangle of a building, like the labs before were. Ayan stared at it for a few minutes.

“THIS IS LIKE ONE OF THE NICEST PLACES I'VE FOUND!!” a voice inside screamed, inhuman, artificial. That's what the weapons were Ayan thought to himself as he knocked.

The door swung open to white hair and a pair of red eyes. Recognition coursed through it. “Ohhh hey Princy!!- WAIT HOW ARE YOU ALIVE?" The short man shook Ayan by his shoulders no doubt analyzing him with those pale eyes- disgusting-

“Who,”

“What?”

Ayan should've looked in a window or something- three people, shit he was outnumbered.

An Ingenium that Ayan didn't know the number of was behind number 13, who is known to be the first successful analyst and the craziest of them but also the weakest. He would be easy to take out. Hybrid stepped into view, his mask on. The mask was unique, Ayan wondered where he got it from. It was black on one side, white on the other, matching the slit of colors down his own face… the eye sockets were mesh, could he use analyst power out of that? Ayan thought as he cocked his head. One side had a smile, the other a frown, opposites but still fish in a pond. Ayan wondered if the mask was a comfort to hide his diseased face. The hybrid didn't show any skin, after all, he even had gloves.

“What are you doing here?” the Ingenium spoke, crossing its arms, their kind was never afraid of their powers.

Ayan's mouth felt like the desert he had treaded after the collapse. He was outnumbered so he told the truth,

“I came here to talk to Hybrid,” Hybrid looked up directly at Ayan, it was like an eyebrow raised through the mask.

“I want to destroy the amulets.”

The world was silent just like how it was before the bombs dropped, Ayan started sweating.

“Well welcome in!” 13 said while the Ingenium looked in shock, the Ingenium’s eyebrows went up then furrowed along with his mouth, it didn't like the idea. Hybrid stayed quiet, he was the one Ayan looked at the most. 13 gestured to the couch where Hybrid sat down a moment before, Ayan was wary of hidden bombs but only took a moment of hesitation. A cushion away from Hybrid while the other two sat on the couch parallel, it was a nice living room, two couches and a rocking chair along with a giant television, he didn't see a remote or anything the other worlds he saw used.

“Why do you want to talk to me?”

“You witnessed the 7th holders did you not?

“Oh, you've been keeping count! How so?” 13 asked, his hands tapping on the sofa.

“I've been wandering through the worlds finding evidence furthermore someone from world 102 told me before Hybrid left he said ‘This is the 7th time now, fuck’”

“Ha, that's such a thing he would say.” 13 laughed, not taking anything seriously compared to everyone else in the room.

“Yes, I served as a soldier for the 7th dark amulet holder, Charna. I wanted to try to get close to the amulets.”

“Who informed you it was there?” Ayan stared at the mask itching to see his expression to measure how true his words were.

“…Zebel did”

Hesitation, was that a lie?

“And this Zebel-”

“Is me!” 13th said arms up in the air.

Hmm, it seems all of them have renamed themselves, did 186 do the same? Ayan wondered

“What does 186 go by?”

“Kainat,” Zebel and Hybrid said at the same time.

“Well, I wanted to ask, do you know who the next amulet holder is?”

“No, we aren't sure yet, Zebel's working on tracking it.”

“Ah! Speaking of tracking, how did you find us?”

Ayan holds up the device to present it, “I got it from Dr. Muscipula”

“Oh,” Zebel said with distaste then grabbed it from Ayan's hand examining it,

“Interesting..”

Ayan had a feeling that he wasn't getting that back.

“You can stay here while we figure it out,” Zebel said with a fanged smile, Hybrid just nodded while the looked solemn. Ayan didn't trust this but he had no better leads to destroying the amulets.

—-- Some months later

“You killed the 8th?” The late prince stood against a wall not answering. “YOU BETRAYED HER TRUST AND KILLED HER! GOD! DOES THAT SOUND LIKE ANYONE WE KNOW HYBRID, CALLEN??” The short man looked to both taller ones with desperation then continued pacing while tugging at his hair, “We don't know what killing one does! This could cause even more massacres! You didn't even consult us!” Ayan’s head was down like a child being scolded “You humans are all fucking emotions, no logic…Hybrid go find the 8th light,”

Hybrid nodded and put his hand on Ayan’s shoulder before stepping out.

“And you, out.”

Ayan stepped out as well following Hybrid.

“Zebel’s usually submissive so props to getting him worked up…well actually I guess his life depends on this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Kainat’s always watching, I'm sure she knows about you as well. Watch yourself.”

“Good thing I'm following you,”

“You’re what-”

“I have nothing better to do, if Zebel sees me again he might use his powers on me.”

“What- Ayan analyst powers don't do shit to humans,”

“Oh..they don't?”

“Okay you're coming with me and while we go I’ll explain the Weapons to you”

[lexie-squirrel]

[lagoonapink]

[ID: Edits of Frankie Stein from Monster High Generation 3 webseries Monster Ball Homecoming, showing them 2D animated in their monster ball outfit. Their hair is dyed to be black, white, purple, and grey. Image 1: Frankie pointing, having come up with an idea, edited against the asexual flag. Image 2: The transparent render. Image 3: Frankie holding up a microphone, set against the asexual flag. Image 4: The transparent render. End ID]

[c-rose2081]

more zeddison hurt/comfort (kinda): one of them ends up in the hospital due to a serious accident/illness, the other panics but their bedside

Protected (Zeddison drabble)

*violent themes*

—

This was all her fault.

Addison was trembling. Her lips tasted like copper, and her eyes stung with salt. The right side of her face was still burning from being struck, and a long gash seared from one end of her cheekbone to the other.

This was all her fault. She should’ve done more.

Zed was laying across from her in a hospital bed, attached to all sorts of tubes, wires and machines. He hadn’t twitched in hours, and already she was craving his presence more then anything. It hadn’t been that long since the ambulance dropped them off; only half an hour or so. But still, being in this cold, sterile place made her skin itch. All of her was itching actually. She couldn’t stop moving, like her skin just wasn’t sitting right. The handprints up her arms, and the bruises on her neck from behind near-strangled were no doubt beginning to blossom into full bruises. But she didn’t dare move from this chair.

And she didn’t dare let anyone touch her.

Because she was uncomfortable, and Zed wasn’t here, and everything was all her fault. Addison shuttered again, pulling her knees up to her chest and wrapping both arms around them. She tucked her head against her kneecaps, curling as tightly into a ball as she could.

The day had started out totally normal. It was a weekend; Seabrook had won the big Homecoming game against Eastside for the third year in a row, and Zed was taking her on a small walk to a very well known picnic spot. It wasn’t too far out of the way, and it wasn’t necessarily a secret. They were going to spend some quality time together, just like every weekend since Freshman year.

Being jumped by four boys in sky blue Eastside shirts wasn’t part of the plan.

They were brutish and violent. Clearly they played football, as they still had black paint on their faces from the night before. The one who grabbed her smelled distinctly acidic. And though Addison didn’t drink, she knew plenty of people who did. No doubt these boys had been wallowing in their loss all night, and either planned the attack out of revenge, or happened across them and took the opportunity. Being so small, Addy had done what she could (and was taught) when attacked. She flailed and kicked, she screamed, and even bit her attacker. But he was twice her size, and used his body to hold her from behind, his forearms right up against her throat.

The other three cornered Zed, who clearly wasn’t ready for any sort of brawl. Addison wasn’t entirely sure what happened — between screaming and being choked, she ran out of air fairly quickly. But Zed began lashing out with his claws, and was growling. And, after an unlucky misstep, he was knocked down to his knees and smacked his face on a rock. The panic Addison felt when he stopped moving was more than anything she had ever felt in her life.

“…your boyfriend is a filthy monster,” the leader of the group slurred at her as he smiled in triumph, “I can do you better,”

He reached. She kicked. And, just she had warned Zed about when they first met, her low kick was just as deadly as her high kick. But there was more then one boy, there were four of them, and being already choked out by one, it left her face exposed for the hard CRACK to the cheek she received in return for her aggression. The one who hit her wore a championship ring; a gaudy, gold thing encrusted with diamonds and a big round sapphire colored stone. She felt her cheek rip open the minute it made contact. The force made her world turn sideways, and her jaw ache in pain.

Between one dizzying blink and the next she was up against a tree, ready to either be trampled on, or far, far worse. But the boys scattered suddenly like deer, and soon someone else (a stranger) was leaning over her, a cellphone already up to their ear. How she got from there to here, Addison couldn’t really say for sure. It was a distinct blur of noise and talking. Sirens, movement, strangers all over the place. There was a lot of fear, and she shied away from those who wanted to touch her. She knew of course that these were only people trying to help.

Paramedics and police, maybe even a few z-patrol since Zed was involved. But Addison couldn’t…she just couldn’t.

Zed was still unconscious, Zed her protector and her safety. He was laying in a hospital bed, and she had done next to nothing to protect him. Addison felt the tears leave her in waves. The emotion burned; it felt like a hot poker was being shoved into her spine. Every bruise; every ache, it all just hurt. Because this was entirely her fault. Hers. She could’ve fought harder, or tried one of the fancy fighting moves Wynter tried to teach her. She could’ve used her head, or stomped on his feet, or anything else but let this happen.

Addison didn’t realize how far she was spiraling out of control. She didn’t realize how fast she was breathing, or how tightly she was clutching onto her hair. She didn’t realize she was whimpering until someone touched her leg, and she leapt away with a scream of terror. Adrenaline had her out of the chair and running the other way in a second.

Fight or flight; or so her dad would tell her.

The hospital all looked the same, so she had no idea where she was going. Just that she was running and needed to be anywhere else.

“…Addison!”

Someone grabbed her from behind. She shrieked in complete panic, clawing at the strong arms who held her waist.

“Addison, stop!”

She knew the voice. Eliza. That was Eliza’s voice, “Addison, snap out of it!”

She felt hands grapple her face, and her eyes were forced to focus. Focus and look, because Eliza was right there in front of her. Friend. Safe. Not going to hurt her. The girl looked more concerned and scared then Addison had ever seen her. Her doe eyes were massive, and flicking across her face, “hey,” she insisted again, “breathe.”

Addison swallowed thickly and nodded, stopping her fighting as she was lowered back to the ground and settled on her feet. Her knees couldn’t hold the weight though as she crumbled to the floor, a very familiar broad chest pulling her into his lap. It wasn’t Zed — she’d know if it was. But another friend…someone safe. Bonzo.

“Ok…” Eliza breathed shakily, kneeling down slowly, “you’re ok. It’s just us.”

“…Eliza…” Addison managed out, “it’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.”

“No. No it isn’t.”

“I-I could’ve d-done something,” Addison sputtered, “anything. It’s all my fault…”

Eliza made a noise in her throat and did something very unlike her. She leaned forward and captured Addison in a hug. She panicked at first, but the other girls grip was firm, and strong. Like Zed’s. Safe. Friend. Addison felt the tears again. She felt herself crumbling right there on the floor, kept firmly between two zombies who wanted nothing more than to protect her when Zed wasn’t there.

Tucking her head into Eliza’s chest, Addison gave up. She gave up, melted into the embrace and wept. Eliza and Bonzo were there. She was safe. She was protected.

No one could hurt her here.

[qm-vox]

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