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junova · 4 years

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↬ 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 | 𝐫. 𝐝𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞

abstract — the one where ransom gets a taste of his own medicine, but you happen to be so much sweeter than he’s ever been.

pairing — ooc!ransom drysdale x fem!reader

wc — 4.1k+ im so sorry lmao

warnings — cheating (if u squint its very vague), angst, fluff, slight self deprecation, ransom is kinda nice idk, i want a soft!ransom drysdale now pls, this is also very messy so read at ur own risk!

[m blabs] — howdy howdy! first time ransom fic. woot woot! still kinda finding my voice w writing so i hope you like it! <333

His mouth set in a hard line as you continued to curl into his chest, the span of your confidence seemed to be wiped away with a nightmare from the past. Part of him was upset you hadn’t told him anything, the blind leading the blind, as you stepped foot into his family event. Seeing the last person you’d ever thought would be there.

Surely by now, he thought you would trust him but it was more than evident you still didn’t. You persisted on hiding everything from him, anything you were sure might tick him off.

Well, Ransom wasn’t necessarily known for biting his tongue. Although, in your presence, he was learning what to say and where to say it.

It really surprised him. Not one woman had been able to tame him, not since he’d be fucking everyone in sight. His desire was endless and not one single individual would be enough for his fill.

Then, he found you drunk and sobbing on the concrete, right outside of the bar he was exiting. To this day, he still couldn’t tell you why he stopped for you. He never really paid attention to anyone if it wasn’t to his own benefit. Ultimately, meeting you was, even if he wouldn’t realize it then.

You flinched from his touch when he patted your shoulder, gently asking if you were alright. If anyone asked him, Ransom would surely deny he felt you pull at the strings of his heart in an instant.

He just knew.

Maybe it’s why it took him so long to accept it, to believe in what he felt for you. Definitely not because you did nothing but be the most wonderful human he’d ever met. More had to do with him.

Ransom dropped you off the first night you met in your small apartment downtown, definitely on the rougher side where he thought his Rolex sporting his wrist may get stolen.

A cute little thing like you living in a neighborhood like this — didn’t make much sense to him. Then again, it certainly checked out with his privilege why he didn’t.

Truly, Ransom didn’t realize how fortunate he truly was. Of course being a trust fund brat gave him the ignorance to live in an unmatched state of bliss.

He still remembers the moment.

Watching as you fumbled with your keys, finding it more than difficult to open your front door. It was cute, with your tongue poking out between your lips in concentration. Now, he wondered how he’d forgotten why he’d gone to get hammered at the bar in the first place.

“Here, let me help.” New to Ransom, he offered a giving hand. Grabbing the key from your jittering fingertips before unlocking your door. He tried to hand you back your keys, but you pulled him so close, your chest touching his own. Dragging two rapid hearts through your apartment.

“You smell like him.” A dopey smile on your face lighting every dark sight of Ransom, not that you’d know it did. “I smell like who?”

“My ex-boyfriend.” Your hands cupping his cheek, but you were too drunk to realize how Ransom flinched from your touch.

He didn’t push you away either.

“But he definitely didn’t look this good.” Defying all laws of his own nature, Ransom let you stay in close proximity to him as you felt him up. Your hand resting on his chest, traveling lower stopping at his stomach. “Definitely didn’t feel this good.”

He watched as you sighed, your puffy eyes were only slightly swollen and the mascara was still staining your skin with the rest of the makeup you wore. If anyone had asked him, you’d looked like a wreck but he still found you alluring.

Ransom always liked his women looking more than fucked out, usually from gagging around his cock. Not crying over a broken heart. Nope. He definitely did not like dealing with a woman's sorrow.

“He never let me touch him though. Guess that should have tipped me off.” You let your hands travel back up, wounding themselves around his neck before they applied more pressure — pulling him into you.

Ransom found you pretty confident for not even knowing anything more than his first name and the car he drove you in. You were definitely craving attention and maybe he’d be more than happy to oblige but the little voice in his head Dr. Shoal told him to listen to was being a pestering, little bitch.

What did Ransom want?

Right now he wanted to drown himself in some sweet ass pussy. He knew you would give yourself easily to him, especially in your drunken state. Clinging onto him like he was a vine.

The smaller part of him, the better part, knew you were drunk out of your mind. Absolutely plastered, but you had to stand there looking like a goddess.

He didn’t really know why he was letting you touch him, maybe in hopes the deeper, darker side of him would win like it always did. Ransom knew better, even if he tried to hide it from everyone including himself.

He liked you. From the very first moment, he knew he’d have to get you. Whether it cost your own sanity or his, Ransom didn’t care.

It’s why he left you drunk and alone, safely tucked into the comfort of your sheets with his number left in your phone. Even taking the liberty of texting himself from it.

He could never be too careful. Letting you slip through his fingers was simply not an option.

Thanks to him, you didn’t forget about him.

The next morning your memory only held vague images of a handsome stranger helping you home, thankfully he seemed to be nothing more than a doting gentlemen. The first for you to ever come across.

Until later in the afternoon the following day, Ransom introduced himself and checked up on you, worming his presence into your life.

Then he kept talking to you everyday, surprising even himself in the matter. Truly, he couldn’t help it. Part of him loved how gently you spoke to him on the phone. No one ever talked to him with such a level of care.

He always warranted yelling, usually he was the one who stirred the pot. He enjoyed it, and thrived in a chaotic environment. It’s what he grew up in. Ransom was more than comfortable with his own family yelling and cursing him out until the sun came up. He did just the same.

So, whenever you sweetly asked him how he was, it threw him off guard.

Not a single soul even cared or bothered to ask him anything. Truth be told, Ransom was a sack of shit treating everyone like they were the gum beneath his shoe. It didn’t matter who talked to him — Ransom was simply more superior in every conceivable way.

He would succumb to not a single soul. Paving his own way through life, with only the money from his trust fund of course.

Then the two of you fell into each other and he could pinpoint the exact moment he did.

The weeks and months blended together. He couldn’t really tell you why he was still lingering around, while he got nothing in return. You did get him off once or twice, but he wasn’t fucking you like he really wanted to.

Maybe it was the innocence in your eyes pulling his soul into the very little good he still had left within him. Or maybe it was the way your thumb dragged over his cheek when you thought he was in slumber, blissfully unaware of your touch.

More importantly his favorite thing, the way you let him hold you when the two of you cuddled. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, bouncy cheeks pressed into whatever knit sweater he decided to wear that day.

It was all the little things, unknowingly making him fall in deep like he never had before.

Unwelcoming to him, his mother came barreling in one Sunday afternoon, while you slept in his arms. Even as Linda screamed his name, you never jolted, out like a log. Safe in the peace he kept you in.

Linda looked annoyed, irritated he even had company in the first place but not surprised. What truly shocked her was they both had clothes on. Not truly believing Ransom was capable of such a sinless interaction.

He knew what she wanted; he didn’t even have to move from his position to continue a private conversation. Not that it would get him off the couch, and out of your embrace in the first place.

“I said no. Don’t know why you bothered coming here.” Linda angrily sighed. “You should at least show up.”

Ransom didn’t notice, but subconsciously continued to run his fingertips up and down your spine. Linda did. She noticed that he didn’t even care she was judging him, but let you remain unbothered sleeping in her son’s embrace.

“It’s for Walt. You need to be there.” She stepped closer, hoping the increase in her volume would wake you. “I expect you to grace us with your wonderful presence as does the rest of the family.”

The sarcasm dripped, attempting to coax him out of the four walls he never seemed to leave. Not recently, anyhow.

“I already told you, I can’t.” Now Ransom was irritated and he really wished she would calm the fuck down. It was one day, one event. There would always be another, that much wasn’t lost on him. “I have plans. Send him my best.”

Assuming it was the rumbling of his chest when he spoke, you moved jolting yourself in his arms, before remaining still again. His heartbeat continues to soothe you.

“You have plans? What else could be more important than your family?” The louder Linda’s voice grew the more you stirred, pissing him off.

He really needed to change his locks.

Even if he had no intention of going, he needed his mother to leave. Really for your own sake — trying to save you from Linda giving you a cold shoulder followed with a third degree burn.

“Fine. I’ll go. Can you just leave?” She accepted Ransom’s submission, before looking at your figure. Sound asleep and clinging to her one and only, sinking your claws into him.

She really didn’t like the way Ransom was looking at you. Linda was positive he would never be able to care about someone other than himself, but here he was, holding you close to his chest.

Almost like his life depended on it.

“Who is she to you?” With a raised eyebrow, eyes narrowing to you before meeting back with Ransom’s cerulean blues.

“I don’t know yet.” Ransom paused looking down at you, so beautiful. Holding a light so pure, so radiant; he hoped no matter how cruel he could be, he’d never act like that towards you. “Maybe someone I don’t deserve, but want to be better for.”

His rough, calloused fingers drawing mindless patterns on the exposed skin of your waist. He didn’t know what Linda said next or when she left.

Time seemed to stand still, his confession hitting his chest fiercely. He let himself sit with it for a moment, before you woke up. Enjoying a moment where he didn’t have to deal with anything, he didn’t have to say a word.

He could just enjoy the moment without eyes judging him or you questioning why his eyes seemed to shine just a bit brighter whenever you were around.

It was the first of many. Moments where he felt small pieces of himself chipped away into your care. Planes of existences within him no one had ever scratched the surface of.

Much like right now as you cried into his chest, begging for mercy.

Because you were afraid. Terrified you had made the worst mistake, an unforgivable one. You lied about your past and to Ransom it felt like more than a betrayal. More accurately he felt a dagger in his heart placed strategically with your murderous hands.

He’d never felt such empathy and pain at once. Maybe he’d never been empathetic a day in his life at all.

Until now.

To make matters worse, he knew his entire family was watching the whole scene from the window. It wasn’t from worry or concern for either one of you. Mainly all of them enjoying pain being inflicted on Ransom.

Linda of course wallowing in her ego, he could practically see her bask in her own pride. Another thing she’d been right about checked off the list.

The rest of the family watched the two of you fight with shiteating grins permanently stamped on their face. They’d never seen Ransom care about anyone but you. To watch the relationship he held so close to his heart blow up so publicly, only fueled the fire to Ransom’s rage.

Except Harlan.

Even through his hot, beating anger Ransom was trying his best to comfort you. To calm you down even if you had been the one to be caught red handed. Harlan couldn’t believe it, someone Ransom seemed to care about more than himself.

More than any of his family. Not that Harlan was offended. Well, maybe a little, but more so he was thrilled his grandson finally found someone he had to grow up for. Someone he had to earn, not buy.

No bribes. No schemes. No games.

Just you.

“Hugh, please talk to me.” How could he? It’s not like he had much to say. Maybe he did, he just wasn’t sure how to get the words out without hurting you or himself.

“I know I lied and I fucked up, but please — we need to talk about it.” Soft hands reaching for his own, but he brushed them off, his hands snaked higher on your waist. “We should have talked about this the moment you met me.”

Dead silence is all you were met with as he walked the fine line of pushing you away, leaving you behind and pulling you closer than he ever had.

“You’re right. I should have told you the truth but can you blame me?” He met you with solemn eyes and his own heart beating rapidly. “Yes I can.” Ransom was trying to act cold and distant but the two windows to his soul told a different story.

“That’s fair.” Even as he was holding you, Ransom still felt like he was a galaxy away. He was withholding himself from you like a turtle retracting into their own protection. A year ago, before he met you, he knew he would have never even recognized it.

Now, you made it possible for him to be aware of just how much he had changed. He broke old habits of his own just to please you so when you disappointed him, this unreachable high standard he held you to, it shattered his sense of self.

“Did you still love him?” Ransom questioned you. “I did. At the time, he’s all I ever really knew. I thought that’s what love felt like. The only image of love I had was the one he gave me. So, I ran with him and it crushed me.”

Ransom had to pretend the words you were speaking didn’t split him into you two. The image of you falling in love with someone else was enough to make him wanna strangle your ex.

His friend.

“Then we just got into one really big blow out. Right in the bar in front of all of his friends I had met for the first time that night.” You reached for a chunk of his sweater, clenching the material in your hand, like you were trying to convince yourself to let the words fall from your mouth.

“He told me how much I’d been irritating him and I couldn’t help but notice every girl he flirted with and touched right in front of me.” You tested the waters, placing both of your hands over his chest, the beat of his heart calming you down.

“Then I just cracked. It was only one of the many fights we’d been having over the course of the past few months. Everyone single argument pushed me closer to the edge, until the last one actually did.” You sighed, watching as he frowned.

“I ended things that night, before getting thoroughly plastered and soon enough crying on the cement. Wasted and lonely out of my mind, until I met you.” You moved your hand from his heart, cupping his clean shaven face.

“You made me realize I never knew what love really meant or felt like.” This piqued Ransom’s interest.

You said love.

Could a tragedy bring out the words Ransom craved to hear more than anything in the world?

Maybe you cared about him, more than anyone ever showed him. But loved him? How could someone be as hateful as him be worthy of someone like you?

Even if you had broken his heart, he’d done far worse to more people than he could count. He wasn’t really in a place to judge but it didn’t change the fact it still hurt. A lot.

“Hugh.” You heard him gulp rather loudly. “Yes?” His tone came out as more of a question than a response.

The silence he gifted you was unsettling at the very least. “You've barely said a word.” He was surprised he didn’t scurry off in his beamer the second he saw the guilt reach your eyes.

He was surprised he hadn’t let his anger take over and let the rage he felt inside body take it all out on you.

He was surprised he somehow couldn’t inflict a single hateful word towards you, even as you sat with his heart in your hands.

In pure bliss of just how much you owned him.

“I hate it. This fucking corner you’ve back me into. Not to mention for the prying eyes of my entire family to watch the show.” The sharp tone he uses sensoring you. “You used me just to get back at him.”

“Like I was some pawn in your game and I really even shouldn’t be mad.” He paused, trying to choose his words as carefully as he can. “I’ve done the same thing to so many different women. Used them and threw them out at my earliest inconvenience.” To your surprise, even Ransom’s, a single tear left his eye showing you how much you really meant to him.

You hated yourself for letting it get to this point.

“But you? I could never even think about hurting you. I could never live with myself if I treated you like everyone else because you’re so much more than that to me.” The tears continued to roll. The dame Ransom kept shut his entire life, opened because of you and he just wanted to make it stop.

He would give anything — even you.

He just wanted to not feel like a piece of shit for once in his life. For a moment, he thought he might have a chance to be something more than the picture he portrayed in everyone’s mind. You showed him maybe it was more complex than it seemed.

“I just assumed I was that for you.” You sighed in frustration, softly wiping his tears away. “You are, though. You are more than that.”

“Then how could you be so okay with lying to me?” The crease between his eyebrows only created more of an indention as he felt the anger trying to escape out of him.

You let the tension get to you first.

“Because I-I was scared if I told you the truth, you’d never tell me.” You puzzled him once again. You softly reach up between his furrowed eyebrows, the pad of your thumb smoothing it out.

“Tell you what?” His mind was clouded with the possibilities of what he could have missed.

“I can’t spell this one out for you.” You were tired of being the one to do everything first. Even if your intentions weren’t free from fault once you realized who he was, your feelings for him were anything but.

“I don’t know what you want from me. You only let me fall for you because you knew how much it would hurt him.” He bit back, growing impatient and tired. “Any other time, I would have cared. Probably would have been more than happy to assist. But you made me-”

Then Ransom cut himself off, jumping out of the swing and away from you.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I thought I could.” He literally sprinted to his beamer, but you chased him.

You were hell bent and just as crazy as he was. Maybe it’s why it worked for as long as it did.

“Hugh! Get back here.” You were running, thankful you’d gone for a more casual outfit today, the sneakers supporting your feet far better than the heels you’d usually wear.

Maybe if it was someone with a normal childhood upbringing you would have just cut your losses but this was someone who chose to be called Ransom.

This was someone who chose to run away from love and care because the only affectionate way he knew how to treat someone was to throw money at them.

This was someone who had the communication of a ten year old because that’s when his own mother didn’t bother to mess with him anymore before sending him off to boarding school.

This was someone who didn’t know how to love — and to be loved.

By the time you caught up to him his was digging for his keys, but he couldn’t fucking find them.

“Hugh Ransom Drysdale.” Your tone was sharp and he knew you meant business. “For once in your life, stop running away.”

“Why not? What good has it ever done for me to stay?” His back was facing you, his broad shoulders stilled with the rest of his body. Almost like he was ashamed of what he was hiding.

“I can’t speak for everyone else. I can’t speak for your mother or for Richard. For Harlan or for anyone else you thought might abandon you and really did.” You inched you way closer until you knew he felt how close you were to him.

“I can only speak for me.” Giving yourself, the final piece of you to a man who might run away from it.

You were so close he felt your breath on his back, and it made him tremble. He was shaking, terrified of it all. You didn’t let him be for long.

Intertwining your fingers with his, as he kept them at his sides, rubbing your thumb along the palm of his hand.

“I’m sorry for the way I hurt you. Lied to you. You never deserved it. Never.” You thought it would be easier if he didn’t have to look at you while pouring your heart out to him. A theory proved to be right as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“You’ve done nothing but treat me like a princess. You’ve done right by me, more than anyone else I’ve ever met in my life. It made me feel inadequate. My dark secret, always looming over us like a dark cloud of my own personal doing.”

“I’m sorry I haven’t done the proper thing by us and made you feel like I used you. You had every right to feel it because I did.” You took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to face whatever the future held for the two of you.

“I never expected to fall in love with a trust fund, playboy brat.” You felt him take a deep breath, like a breath he’d be holding all his life could finally be set free.

“I love you, Hugh.” The next thing you knew he had you pushed up against the car, lips hungrily attacking your own.

All forgiven because you love him. You actually were in love with him.

He couldn’t fathom it really because you’d been the first. To accept him just as he was. The first to refuse to call him Ransom because you like the way Hugh rolled off your tongue better.

You liked how he felt on your tongue, too.

The first to tell him Fran and Marta should call him Hugh because you wanted to be the only one who got to. The first woman to cook for him, willingly and not attached to the Thrombey payroll.

The first woman he had ever fallen in love with.

The first one he’d stick around and not run away for.

So, he kissed you. Hard. Softly whispering how much he loved you into the kiss, because maybe he wasn’t ready to say it outright. Loud and proud.

Yet, he felt it with every bone of his body — no longer lost in the blues.

taglist: @tonystankschild @parkastoria @tinylumpiaa @brattycherubwrites

#im so anxious to post this #bc i dont really love it but.......#here we go folks.#i rewrote it too many times sksksk 💀#not doing it again #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fluff #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale one shot #ransom drysdale fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans x reader #m.writes

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clarawatson · 3 years

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It Only Takes A Taste (2)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded) Summary: it’s your second time meeting Aaron. He’s still flustered and precious but he (might) manage to give you his number. W/C: 2113 Warnings: none yet! A/N: i haven’t got chapter names yet, just accept they’re all called ‘it only takes a taste’ haha. AO3 tags: @willowrose99 @genevievedarcygranger @maryosprinkle @kleff03 (if you want to get added, lmk!!) Where am I in this series? 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

The next time you meet him, it’s 2am. Rita’s three weeks off her due date. She’s been staying at Joe’s place, with his wife, because the heating’s gone out in her apartment and her super is a foul man. If you were inclined to murder, he’d be first on your list. Right now she’s out the back, trying to wipe chocolate sauce off her uniform. The baby’s been kicking for hours and knocks things around the counter sometimes. At least it isn’t throwing her ribs out this time.

There’s a couple of teens drinking milkshakes in the window, they’ve snuck out after bedtime and they’re giggling to each other about how bad they are. You’ve seen their parents drive by twice (they’re regulars after school) but no one’s come in yet.

The agent drives by, and then does a u-turn and comes back. It was literally a double take, no matter how you look at it. You clearly saw him slow down and try to look in the window as he tried (desperately tried) to stay on the main road. And then he’d turned around and come back.

He’s even prettier dry than he was wet. (Your mind spirals to where that could have gone, which is not something you expected from a 2am shift). He’s loosened his tie and his hair is falling free of the gel. He looks less tired, and yet more tired. A different kind of tired. This one would be fixed by a good night’s sleep.

“Hi,” he says with a little quirk in his lip that could be him fighting off a smile.

“Hi,” you return with a full smile. He sits in front of you and steeples his fingers under his chin.

“I’m Aaron.”

A fortnight you’ve been wondering his name and he just swans in and hands it to you on a silver platter. Bless him and his beautiful brown eyes.

“Y/n,” you introduce. “And what can I get for you tonight, Aaron?”

“Maybe not a coffee.” He doesn’t break eye contact with you. He has such a cheeky smile you almost want to reach over and wipe it off his lips. “A hot chocolate would do. I’ve got to sleep enough to take my kid to school.”

“Have here?” Your hands hover over the in-cups and the out-cups. He taps his finger against his chin.

“In.” He folds his hands and you notice he’s not wearing a wedding ring. Kid, no wedding ring, weird hours. Could be a score, could be a serial killer. Could be both! No. Not both. There will be no fraternising with serial killers. Not if you respect your life.

Would it be weird to ask him where he works? If he works for one of the alphabet soups, will it get you in trouble? Maybe. People don’t like you poking around when sensitive information could be involved. You still ask anyway while the coffee machine has it’s little dummy spit at having to work at two in the morning.

“Quantico,” he says. He probably saw you trying to figure out how to ask. And that’s really all he can say. Maybe. He waggles his eyebrows just a little and you think he’s maybe a little too cheeky for this early in the morning. If Rita was working she’d be swooning all over him.

“That’s very prestigious, but, sir, I don’t think you have the security clearance to be in this diner if you only work at Quantico. We deal with Area 51.”

“Long commute,” he teases.

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s what the uneducated think. I can break a few rules as long as you don’t start asking questions. No asking about where they keep the aliens, okay?”

“Never.” He wraps his hands around the mug as you push it to him, absorbing it’s warmth.

“Did your son like the cookie?” you ask. Is it weird to remember he has a son after one interaction? Or the cookie? But he smiles. It’s okay.

“He’s actually in love with it. He’s not stopped talking about it. I think my sister-in-law might kill me.”

“Joe’s magic in the kitchen. I’ll save a couple of cookies if you know when you’ll be in next?”

Is that too forward? Maybe. He pulls out a little day book and places it before him.

“Is Thursday too soon?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. You make a note to tell Joe you’re working on Thursday. “Sounds like a good day to collect a cookie.”

“If someone could cut this monster out of me, that would be GREAT!” Rita yells in the kitchen. Her voice is still far too loud out here. Aaron finally drops his gaze from yours, grinning into his hot chocolate.

“Shit, babes, I’m serious. I’ll got for a pocket knife at this point. I’m hot, and it’s not hot, I have to piss every four minutes, I can’t even sit in a car properly and taking the MET is stupid because I still have to pee!” She stops up short, seeing Aaron, and blinks as if she could erase her last comment. “Hi, sorry, you’re rain boy.”

“I prefer Raymond.”

There’s a beat where you try to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. The cheeky demeanor falls from his face.

“Rain Man! Tom Cruise! Smile." Aaron has no option but to smile at Rita. Too late you realise she's checking the alignment of his teeth to actually equate him to Tom Cruise. "Raymond, for sure. Shit, that’s funny,” Rita laughs, groans, and turns on her heel out the back. She needed to pee again. Aaron smiles just a little.

“Want some pie?” you offer. There’s still a bit left. Joe won’t be in for another hour or so, but there’s some in the oven to take out just before three. Aaron nods.

“Yeah, please.” He puts too much money in the tip jar again. Hands you the exact money for the pie. Had he looked at the menu online? Maybe he had. You take a slice out for him, then a slice for yourself. No harm in that. The whipped cream goes on his like a mountain. You put a bit beside your own pie slice, but Aaron’s grinning.

He looks like he may do something childish. He doesn't, though, as you join him in pie eating. The teenagers start giggling about something they're watching on their phone.

Rita comes back looking more tired than usual. Her whole body looks tired as she gets her purse and rubs her belly.

"Say bye to Rita," she says without much playful effort.

"Bye Rita," you return and kiss her cheek as she lifts it to you.

"And to Baby."

"Bye Baby, be good for Mom."

Rita snorts. Joe gives you a list of things to do while he's taking Rita home. Apparently Lola's coming in to replace Rita, but that's only going to be proven by Lola actually turning up. Aaron raises his hand around his fork and waves. Rita waves back and waddles out the back.

"Is she okay?" you ask Joe, and he nods. He waves goodbye to Aaron, even though he hasn't introduced himself yet. Aaron waves too.

"That's a lot to worry about," Aaron says. You shrug and reach over the counter to Aaron's plate, taking some of his cream. He laughs and puts his arm around it to protect it.

"They're family. Less worrying, more caring."

He nods as if he understands. "Might use that sometime."

"You're welcome to."

He gives you a smile that only uses half his face. Gosh, he's cute. But it’s nothing more than fleeting night time visits, right? Okay, maybe not, he clearly turned his car around because he saw you working. You catch him staring at your left hand, studying it intently. No one wore rings at the diner, just because everything got stuck underneath them and there was nothing worse than having a maple syrup adorned wedding ring.

“There’s no one,” you tell him, which flusters him entirely. He smiles and looks down at his pie, blush creeping over his face. “Weird hours in a place like this? Hardly a brilliant base to build a relationship on.”

“Yeah.” He might want to say more, but he’s smiling at you again. “Weird hours, strange place, know that story.”

“Sucks, hey?”

“Oh yeah.”

The teens from the window go home when they’ve finished their milkshake. You tell them to get home safe and pray their parents don’t come in asking where they went. Aaron scraps his plate, scooping up the cream and pie soupy mess.

“I have to go,” Aaron sighs. He runs his hand through his hair and his fingers get stuck in the left-over-gelly-mess. You smother a giggle as he rolls his eyes and pulls his hand out with tiny little crack-crack-crack’s. It sounds painful.

“I’m going to shower and get this shit out of my hair.”

“It’ll look nice without it in.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

He blushes, returning to the man you’d met coming out of the rain.

“Well I’ll remember that for next time.”

Your heart jumps. Next time! There’ll be a next! Time!

“Listen, hey, um,” Aaron says as he stuffs a couple of bills into the tip jar. “Here--” he stops again, then shakes his head like he’s giving himself a vote of confidence. “This is…” he stops again and licks his lips, then pulls out a business card from his suit pocket. He scratches his number onto the blank back, and then Aaron at the top. “My number,” he managed to finish.

“Thanks,” you respond before wanting to smack your head onto the counter. Thanks?!?! There are a hundred better things to say. “W-when do you want me?” When do you want me??? “To be here, on Thursday, for the cookies.”

Aaron’s gone red. Your face is hot. This is a disaster. There’s no fixing this disaster. There’s no fixing it at all. But Aaron smiles all the same.

“U-uh. I’ll text you?” he looks so flustered.

“You haven’t got my number,” you giggle, because he hasn’t. You’ve got his. He looks like a tomato as he blushes even more. “How about I text you my number, and you tell me when you’re free, and I’ll make sure there’s three cookies set aside for you that no one else buys.”

“Three?”

“You, your son, your sister-in-law.”

“I could really use you at work,” he laughs and… sits back down. Four seconds ago he was in such a rush to leave, and now he’s looking at you like you’re his whole world. He’s so precious, you wish you could just put him in a jar and protect all that goodness from the evils of the world. Surely he couldn’t have met too many of them just yet? He’s still got a smile that could brighten up the night sky, people who’ve seen all the hurt and pain in the world can’t smile like that.

“I don’t think I’m clever enough to get into Quantico. Unless they like people serving them coffees,” you smile gently and he tilts his head while looking at you. A curious puppy. You want to lean over and squish his cheeks for thinking you could be anything more than a server at a roadside diner.

“You’d brighten the place up.”

“You brighten my place up.” Corny, highschool grade flirting. He smiles all the same. Can he smile any more than that? Probably not, he might combust and become a star. “You know you don’t have to keep putting money into the tip jar, right? Not the amount you do. Most people just put in their change.”

He looks at the tip jar. “It’s for Rita’s hospital bills, right? It’s why she won’t look at it, because she’s embarrassed, but also why you and Joe count every bill that goes in it.”

“Alright, Sherlock Holmes.”

“It says on the jar,” he jokes, and points to the permanent marker that’s bled through the otherside of the tip jar. You laugh. Aaron laughs.

“I do have to go.”

“Go,” you laugh. “I’ll text you when I’m off my shift.”

He nods, looking a little sad to go, but also a little excited. He must really love his son.

“I’ll see you on Thursday, Y/n.”

“I’ll see you on Thursday, Aaron,” you return and watch him leave. Shit, he’s even cuter leaving. He even waves from his car before he drives off. You’re close to squealing when the bikie gang pull up, flooding the carpark, then all come in ready for their coffee. At least Aaron’s hot chocolate warmed up the machine for them.

#It Only Takes a Taste #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #diner!au

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uncloseted · 4 years

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1/2

1/2 Hi. I think I could use some help, I'll try to make this short. When I was 14yo (I'm 20 now) I dated a 18yo guy, thank God we were taking it slow and never made things official. Now that I'm older I can see that relash was rlly wrong. He was manipulating, used me to boost his ego, forced me to do things I wasn't comfortable doing and I think although we weren't official, he cheated on me? (more on that later). After a few months of fooling around, I found out something about him that I didn't like and confronted him about it, with the intention of ending that relash. He started begging me not to leave him, asking me tricky questions about the things I had heard of him with the intention of "making me realize" he did nothing wrong, and he even became violent with the person who told me those things, to the point I couldn't break up with him because I was scared. I just stopped answering his texts and calls because I was afraid of even talking to him and eventually he took the hint and suggested we broke up. We decided to stay friends, but that only lasted a few days, because one day, via Facebook Messenger, he suggested we got back together and I rejected him, so he blocked me. Months later, I had to close my Facebook due to harassment (not related to him) and opened a new one. Facebook showed me his profile in 'people you may know' and I decided to peek out of curiosity. Turns out, the moment we broke up, he started uploading photos with his new girlfriend. The descriptions of those pics said the exact same things he used to tell me, and I ain't good a math but I did some calcs and he had to be with her while still being with me lmao. I really didn't care, I was just happy I got rid of him, and I moved on with my life. Some time later I fell head over heels for a guy from my workplace, who I still hold close to my heart. I have trust issues and I am a very private person, especially with my relashs, so I didn't tell anyone about this guy except from like 3 friends. One of them was a girl (that we'll call Anne) who was like a sister to me, and was also friends with my ex. Over the next 2 years I had a relash with this guy, everytime I talked to Anne I used to tell her more details about my relash. Then, one day, I got a text from my ex. He texted me like we were besties and nothing had ever happened between us, like he didn't block me TWICE (yeah, he blocked me from my new Facebook too even though I never tried to reach out to him). I was angry at his nerve and told him so, he realized I was upset and changed his persona from confident and tough as nails to regretful and soft, telling me he was sorry for being so immature all those years before, but excusing his shitty behavior by saying he always "kept an eye on me". Um, wtf? He told me he was always asking stuff about me to Anne, looking out for me. I wanted to know what exactly he knew, but, trying to manipulate me again, he said he would only tell me if I accepted to play a game with him: I could ask him one question if he would ask me one in exchange and so on, and we had to be ttly honest with each other. I really didn't wanna get into his shenanigans but I only had one question (wtf do u exactly know about me, creep?) so I accepted. He asked his question first (dID u fEeL sAd wHeN i bLoCkEd U?) and I asked mine. I thought he maybe knew something about my school stuff and MAYBE that I had been dating someone else. Turns out he knew every. single. detail about my personal life. Not only he KNEW I was with other guy...

2/2 Not only he KNEW I was with other guy. He knew his entire name, the school he attended and every little detail from our relationship and other stuff about my personal life. Every single thing I told Anne, opening my heart to her, she told him. I felt terribly violated. I felt like a dissected frog, open for anyone to see my most inner parts. I felt ashamed, unprotected, sad and angry, all at the same time. I told him what he did was disgusting, to never reach me again or try to "keep an eye on me", and that I would make that job easier for him by getting Anne out of my life. He apologized, said he understood the situation, would respect my wishes, and wished me a happy life. I thought that was it. It took me a while but I got to heal, to feel safe again, although I still have a hard time trusting my friends. But I was wrong. Months later he sent me a Friend Resquest. I was a lil afraid, but tried to calm myself saying he probably just was checking if I was still upset, so I rejected the request and again convinced myself that was really it. But then he sent some girls to take pictures of me during my high school graduation ceremony and recently, his cousin (who was my friend when we were 14 but haven't talked since) texted me. I know that sometimes nostalgia makes you reach out to old friends, but we weren't close at all. Besides, he acted super weird, didn't even try to make small talk or let the convo flow naturally, but went straight for super specific and weird questions: are you studying college? what are you doing with your life? are you in a relationship? I was really weirded out and considered the possibility he may have been asking all those things because my ex asked him to do so, so I kept my answers short and vague, not giving him the info he wanted, and although I def came out as cutting, he kept asking. I tried to still be friendly because I didn't wanna seem paranoid, but I think he realized I wasn't telling him anything over texts, so he asked me to meet again over some beers with his friends on October 27th and that's when I stopped answering. I thought about that strange invitation for a few days until it hit me: October 27th is my ex's birthday. So much about respecting my wishes. I spent the rest of that month really nervous that cousing would try to reach out again, but nothing happened and I started to feel calmed again. Until, in November, he wrote me again, this time asking me if I wanted to go to the beach with his friends. I haven't even bother to open that text. Since them, I've been super paranoid. I know my ex's attacks aren't that consecutive (more like every two years: he contacted me and sent me that friend request when I was 16, hijacked my graduation at 18 and now sends his cousin at 20) but I can't help but think he's always there "keeping an eye on me" and planning his next move. I stopped accepting any friend requests because I'm afraid he will send someone for me, and if someone I already have on my friend list but idk texts me and after some small talks asks me about my life, I get paranoid and ask them why they wanna know and if they have some hidden intentions. Also, there's a mall near his house, and everytime I have to go there to buy something, I feel like crying because I'm afraid I'll stumble with him. I probably sound crazy. Some people may think I'm exaggerating and I should just let my ex stalk me and act all obsessed, but I feel dirty everytime I think about him knowing my personal stuff. It was just so traumatizing the first time. Do you get me? I feel like nobody gets me. Please help me, what can I do? I don't know how to make him stop, I'm tired of living in fear.

Not to start this off with an unrelated thought, but when did Tumblr get rid of its character limit on asks? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it let someone send in a message this long in one ask.

To get to your situation, I can definitely see why this would be a stressful and uncomfortable situation for you. The first thing I would do is to stop interacting with your ex and people related to your ex. You don’t owe his cousin anything. Block both of their numbers, block their social media accounts, etc., and do that for everyone else who’s friends with your ex (or put them on limited profile/create a “close friends” list on social media). Tell all of your friends in no uncertain terms that you don’t want them talking about you to your ex, even if it’s stuff that seems harmless, and cut those people off if they do talk to your ex about you.

The other action you could take is to file a restraining order. If you go down that route, you’ll have to fill out some forms and file them with the court, and then have a hearing with a judge where you explain your situation. Then, you’ll have a second appearance in court where the stalker is present, and you both get the opportunity to explain the situation. The judge will then determine the final order and the conditions of that order. It can be a bit of an involved process, but it may give you some peace of mind.

The last thing I would suggest is going to therapy. It seems like you’ve been through something traumatic, and a mental health professional can help you to work through that and move on from it. There are many options for therapy, both online and in-person. If you have health insurance, your insurance should cover at least some therapy sessions. If not, some therapists provide services on a sliding-scale, and online services like BetterHelp can be less expensive than traditional therapy.

#Anonymous #effys-closet #effys closet

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 5 years

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I honestly would love to see Black Cat and MJ just hang out more. Because of the love triangle I’ve always heard about how much they ‘must’ hate each other, but honestly I could picture Pete waking up one day, finding MJ and Felicia in the living room having coffee and asking what she’s doing here and MJ just says, “Dude we meet up like twice a week to hang. We’re going bowling tonight.” or something.

They’re relationship is actually more complicated than simply being catty rivals or some such.

The harsh truth is, for better or worse, writers pitted the pair against one another lightly in the 1980s, famously the first instance of this was in the iconic ASM #258, the issue both immediately after MJ reveals she knows who Peter is and where Peter learns the truth about the black costume.

Initially the animosity was more on Felicia’s end than MJ’s, whether she meant it or not, she briefly felt Peter was better suited to Black Cat.

MJ became Peter’s confidant not too long before he and Felicia broke up and when she was later reintroduced into the titles MJ became more clearly down on her. This is epitomized in Spec #119 (a great Felicia story).

That issue also ends though with MJ admitting she has complicated conflicting feelings towards Felicia, the complications of which are wrapped up in her complicated feelings for Peter. In the story Felicia single handily takes down Sabertooth.* In a sense she defended civilians and Peter in doing so and thus MJ is caught between admiration and jealousy.

Their romantic rivalry becomes more out and out mean in Spec #123 and ASM #288 which follows up on that subplot. In the issues MJ resolves to set her and Peter’s ‘will they won’t they’ thing straight only find Felicia in Peter’s apartment (he saved her earlier that day and she needed somewhere to regroup). At the end of that adventure though Felicia basically forcibly stayed in Peter’s apartment so MJ was none too pleased to find her there when she showed up to make Peter breakfast in bed.**

The pair remained in disdain of one another after this but also didn’t interact face to face again until after Pete and MJ got married and more specifically after Peter lost his cosmic powers defeating Tri-Sentinel. Felicia had learned Peter had gotten married and as revenge began dating Flash with the intention of breaking his heart to hurt Peter by proxy. She also delighted in makig him and MJ uncomfortable though.

When MJ and Felicia interacted one-on-one Felicia was shockingly straight up assaulting MJ!

At this point MJ obviously didn’t like Felicia but she was not giving as good as she got. Things began to shift not too long after in a storyline that saw Peter give up his powers and Felicia begin to develop genuine feelings for Flash. During this storyline Felicia stepped up and began acting as the muscle for the powerless Peter. MJ still didn’t like Peter was starting to reluctantly recognize her as more of an ally than an enemy. In particular the story ended with Felicia powerless and deciding to temporarily retire and date Flash sincerely.

Whilst they weren’t exactly friends it did get to a point where MJ was okay with going on double dates with Flash and Felicia, considering the latter was no longer out to get her/hurt Flash/steal Peter away.

However a significant turning point occurred in Web of Spider-Man #80. The story short is that Peter/Spidey is missing after he and Mj got attacked. MJ turns to Felicia for help, citing the fact she still cares for Peter and that’s common ground for them to work with for the moment. She gives her a tracking device Peter made to zero in on him. She even admits she’s out of her league on this front and it’s up to Felicia. Felicia of course helps save Spidey and whilst initially claims her locating him was due to their ‘connection’ (meaning their romantic history) she admits MJhelped witht he tracking device. The issue ends though with Felicia admitting that MJ’s device actually didn’t work, meaning Felicia simply let the Parker couple think it did out of kindness to MJ. This didn’t turn the pair into friends, but it showed they were clearly mellowing towards one another.

This didn’t make them chummy as catty remarks still occurred during later interactions (noticably from MJ). I’m skipping over stuff to get to some highlights, the next of which is a big one.

In Felicia’s first ever solo mini-seires MJ not only appears int he first issue but they are actually hanging out...together...as friends!

Or at least as frenemies. It’s clear there is still some underlying jealousy or jousting to be had, but they’re very open about it and Felicia is actively confiding in MJ, even talking about how she feels regarding Peter. And not just Peter in general, his then current state of being. This was back when Peter was unravelling due to the aftermath of the Robot Parents crap and becoming more anti-social and obsessive about his Spider-Man life, spending less time out of the costume. It got Felicia and MJ concerned. A very significant line of dialogue in this scene is MJ saying she’ll call Felicia later. It implies that they have hung out together before or are at least okay with doing do again in the near future.

Also this was at Felicia’s home, so for MJ to have voluntarily gone to the home of the woman who once assaulted her says a lot about how things have changed.

Again skipping over some stuff but the next big moment for MJ and Felicia came in Web of Spider-Man #125 where MJ once again calls upon Felicia’s aid to find Peter (though he’s not in trouble, she just needs him present). The circumstances are decidedly different from Web #80. There is no jousting going on. Partially this is due to their relationship having grown deeper but it’s also due to MJ being pregnant and amidst the chaos of the time (Peter was on trial for murder, Aunt May had just died and MJ had been recently abducted by Kaine) she was clearly feeling very vulnerable.

Vulnerable enough in fact that Felicia can clearly tell MJ is upset and outright hugs her, offering some support and comfort.

This time Felicia isn’t seeking out Peter less because she cares for him and more because she wants to help MJ and the baby. If ever there was a moment clearly demarking the pair had fully transitioned into real friendship, this was it.

Whilst MJ and Felicia don’t directly interact in Web #128 Peter makes a reference to MJ and Felicia talking on the phone for hours.

Skipping waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay ahead now. The tl:dr is that Felicia clearly began to develop some feelings for Peter again during Howard Mackie’s run. This became more significantly a factor in the Evil that Men Do Limited Series where Felicia is putting the movies on Peter and also refers to MJ derogatorily.

Something to note about Evil that Men do is that it gets a lot of details wrong and it’s continuity is wonky. the first half came out when Peter and MJ were seperated, but the second half came out years later and used then contemporary continuity from when Peter and MJ would’ve been back together. The important thing to note is Felicia went back to having the hots for Spider-Man and also being down on MJ

To my recollection the next time I recall MJ and Felicia having a significant interaction was in Marvel Knights: Spider-Man #5. In the issue Felicia has rescued Peter from the Vulture and is helping him investigate Aunt may’s recent kidnapping. Peter was badly beat up so Felicia and Mj were nursing him back to health. The scene where Peter wakes up clearly conveys that there is some tension and competitivness going on between MJ and Felicia even though they are talking in a friendly manner to one another. When Felicia leaves MJ looked really bummed out, which might’e been due to some insecurities regarding Felicia or because of their financial troubles at the time (she was keeping them from Peter).

Later on in Marvel Knights #10, when Peter has resolved to break Norman Osborn out of jail in order to save Aunt May, Felicia going along with him for this, MJ blows up at Felicia and basically tells her to back off from Peter.

In defence of MJ here, Norman Osborn has pushed them to the edge big time so I think she’s having a major wobble regarding Black Cat.

Anyway, she’s not wrong about Felicia as the remaining issues of the arc make it clear that Felicia is absolutely in love with Peter again if Evil that Men Do didn’t make that clear enough.

Next up in Spider-Man: Breakout #2, MJ is similarly pissed off about Peter contacting Felicia for help tracking down the U-Foes.

Frankly...I find this instance rather out of character but I thought I might as well mention it.

Then we have Spider-Man Unlimited volume 3 #14. In this issue, as payback for helping him bust out Norman Osborn, Felicia demands Spider-Man help her steal something from Doctor Doom. Peter isn’t happy about this until it turns out that the item in question was a spider tracer with his finger prints on it, meaning Felicia was trying to once again protect Peter. MJ wasn’t happy to find out Peter was hanging out with Felicia but acknwoeldged she helped protect them.

The next notable interaction was during Civil War when Peter was unmasked, the Parkers were fugitives and Peter was half dead from a beating via the Rhino. Felicia upon learning of this sought out the Parkers and volunteered to even the score with Rhino. When all is said and done, MJ asks Felicia if she wants to give Peter a message from her.

We then transition into shitty post-OMD continuity and frankly I’m not touching 90% of that sans one notable story (Web of Spider-Man volume 2 #11-12) in which Felicia, who has totally forgotten who MJ and Peter Parker are, nevertheless befriends MJ after an adventure to save Peter.

I bring up this story simply because your original question was regarding MJ and Felicia friendship.

This story’s canonicity can be debated for a few reasons, it doesn’t make sense in general because the mindwipe was asinine shit and it has 0 follow up. In fact it doesn’t even really jive with later appearances of MJ or Felicia. It is amusing though that it completes a sort of trilogy wherein MJ and Felicia become more friendly in Web of Spider-Man.

Anyway, that brings you pretty much up to date.

Essentially there are two distinct eras for MJ and Felicia’s relationship. The 1980s-1990s where they have a clear arc transitioning from acquaintances who’re not that fond of one another to rivals to frenemies to outright friends.

Then you have the 2000s and beyond which pits the two against one another again but in a very different dynamic to before as MJ is Peter’s wife and recognizes Felicia’s as an ally.

It’s not impossible to reconcile the two narratively but I’m not going to do that here.

I think the second era might’ve been done in order to inject more tension into the Spider Marriage and in fairness, it did work. It was dramatic.

But I personally prefer the second era much more as it portrays a clear character arc. As a bonus I should mention that, since it diverged from Spider-Man continuity in the late 1990s, in Spider-Girl MJ and Felicia’s relationship continued to develop in a friendly manner to the point where Felicia would pay Mj a visit in her office and the pair would chat about their daughters and their mutual problems. In MJ’s case a difficult pregnancy and in Felicia’s her rebellious daughter who wasn’t fond of her same sex partner.

To bring this right around to your OP, the scenes of friendship have more or less happened in canon and in stories that are pseudo canon.

*Bear in mind this was the same decade where Sabertooth participated in the infamous Mutant Massacre storyline where he and his peers mass slaughtered a bunch of defenceless mutants. Readers knew he was no pushover.

**Because you see according to Joe Quesada, Steve Wacker, Dan Slott et al Mary Jane was clearly not dating Peter at this time and I think we’ve all brought groceries to our ex’s apartment (that we own a key to) in order to make them breakfast in bed. It’s the single most platonic gesture possible.

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ageeksnerdyworld · 5 years

Text

Dirty Words Pass Through

Characters: Dexterity Burrows, Raleigh Burrows & Felony Burrows

Word Count: 3,700

Trigger Warning: Slight Swearing

Notes: I tried my best but writing’s hard... Idk how I feel about this... As always The Cyber World belongs to @voiceoflarka

Summary: Dexterity Burrows goes back home only to endure very uncomfortable, and forced, interaction with their parents. Afterwards they head to the nearest bar for some well-deserved down time. Click the read more if you like.

~~~

They had purposely parked on a side street. The driveway to their childhood home was long so it was possible for them to go unnoticed. But there was also the possibility that their parents would use that to their advantage. Both their mother and father had done so in the past. If they were honest with themselves they'd admit that they didn't want to chance it.

Dexterity Burrows currently stood outside of their car, which was a red Shelby GT500, leaning against the side of the hood by the front tire. Staring at the ground they thought things over again. Maybe they should just leave. Nobody would know. There wouldn't be any guilt or anger. Nothing bad would happen. But they wouldn't forgive themselves if they left without at least a short hello. As they thought about it their legs carried them along the sidewalk and all the way to the front gate.

And now they were walking up the lengthy driveway.

After ten or so minutes they reached the front door.

The large, ornate, gold plated knocker loomed ominously from the face of the door. An angry scowl stared them down from the demonic face. Two large and curved horns sat on either side of its head. Its eyes were deep recesses carved into the metal. That detail made the creature all the more terrifying. The handle of the door knocker hung from the demon’s clenched teeth. The very bottom of the handle was more oval shaped and was carved into the shape of two identical fleurs-de-lis which both lay horizontally.

Dexterity grabbed the handle and knocked twice.

Their mother opened the door not five minutes later.

Felony Burrows was always the epitome of a trophy wife. She had impeccable looks and long, luscious, chocolate brown hair. Her eyes were an olive green. Butterscotch veins ran along her skin. Red lipstick colored her lips; accentuating the shape. She wore a stylish two-tone dress with full length sleeves. The right side of the dress was a dark navy while the left was a sky blue. A white belt ran along her waist.

Her unwavering poise was broken by the clear shock in her eyes.

"Dexterity--I, we--we weren't expecting you. This is quite the surprise."

They smiled and crossed the threshold before she bade them enter. As the thick rubber soles of their boots landed on the white tile their mother slowly closed the door. She turned around to scrutinize her child. Her eyes flattened to small slits and her lips pursed together in intense thought. She rested her chin on her pointer finger and thumb.

“Looking as horrid as ever I see.”

They scoffed; “I don’t dress to please you, mother. I dress the way I like.”

In fact, Dexterity wasn’t wearing anything different from what they’d wear on a normal day. Head to toe black. Black combat boots that stopped an inch or two above their ankle. The laces were untied and shoved in the boots. The tongue was pushed out a bit so that it appeared taller than the boots themselves. They wore a black tattered t-shirt with a white pentagram and the phrase “sinners are winners” on it. They also wore a dark gray leather jacket. Somewhat distressed black skinny jeans covered their legs.

A half moon shaped silver earring dangled from their right ear. The facade of the metal was engraved to look like a skull.

“Your father and I were just sitting down for lunch. Care to join us?”

Dexterity shrugged; “I can’t stay long.”

Their mother laughed, deep and full of disbelief, “What on earth could you possibly have to do?”

They didn’t say anything. It was pointless to try and argue with her. She was the kind of person who would say whatever would hurt you the most. No matter what it was or if she was given the information in confidence. Dexterity had been on the receiving end of her vicious words many times.

The two of them entered the dining room without a word. Their mother went straight to the opposite end of the table and sat down. She went straight back to eating seemingly without a care. Dexterity’s father, Raleigh, calmly asked who was at the door. She told him and he grunted a stern hello to Dexterity.

“Won’t you sit down, dear,” their mother said sweetly. “You must be starved. Have you been eating well?”

"Please," they said with an obvious annoyance. "Don't pretend you ever gave a shit about me, mother."

Felony Burrows gave her child a harsh look over her wine glass. Her dark brows furrowed and her nose crinkled.

“How dare you,” she said viciously.

Angrily setting her glass down on the table she shot them a deadly glare. She didn’t raise her voice but there was no need to. Her tone, harsh and cold, was enough. It was the tone Dexterity had heard her use many times. It was the voice she put on when she wanted her words to be heeded. When she wanted to be respected and feared.

“After everything your father and I have done for you? We gave you a home, food in your stomach, and clothes on your back. You never need or want for anything.”

“We could’ve left you in the Nursery like your poor, disgusting, friend.”

Dexterity laughed.

“Emery is a better person than the two of you ever could be. But, this is between you and me. Leave him out of this, mother.”

She scoffed, shocked and appalled, and looked in between her child and her husband. Raleigh Burrows sat at the opposite end of the table with his head down. He was staring at his tablet; reading something. Knowing him it was either company emails or company stock records.

He wore a plain, mottled gray, vest over a black dress shirt. The top of the shirt was unbuttoned to the part where both halves of the vest met. Both of the long sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His dark pants matched the vest and he wore dark black dress shoes. Large, triangular, blue ears emerged from the top of his head. His black hair was combed back. The sideburns grayed slightly at the edges. A puff of cream colored fur poked out from the unbuttoned top of his shirt. His eyes were a bright, bold, red. Except for the right eye which darkened considerably due to the large wisp of navy blue soul that flowed from that eye. His skin was lined with the same navy colored veins.

Felony cleared her throat and said; “Dear, would you care to tell Dexterity why they shouldn’t say such things?”

“Oh fuck you!”

He set his tablet down with a sigh.

“Stop swearing at your mother. We raised you better than that.”

“First she brings Emery into this conversation, like this has anything to do with him, and then she...”

“You seem very stressed,” he said; cutting them off. “Is something wrong?”

“Yes, there is. I came here to visit and the both of you are acting like I never left. You don’t care at all.”

“Don’t think that, that simply isn’t true,” Raleigh said.

As he spoke Dexterity could feel their anger dissipating. The disgust that had been rising in their gut since stepping foot in the house was becoming an afterthought. Each shred of emotion was turning into something else. They knew what he was doing but they didn’t know how to stop it. After years of this they were still unable to resist his powers.

"Now, don't you feel better?"

Dexterity nodded; "Yes."

"Don't you have something to say to your mother?"

Again an unstoppable change in their emotion overtook them. They could feel the calm shift inside. Overwhelming waves of shame and regret slammed into them. A physical knot formed in their chest. They knew it was there. They could feel it.

"Sorry. I... I'm so sorry. I promise I won't do that again."

"Good, now sit down," Raleigh said with a nod of approval.

With that he sat back in his chair and returned to reading. Every so often he would take a sip of wine. He stayed silent for quite some time.

Dexterity calmly sat in the chair on the left side of the table. A plate of food had been brought out at some point in the argument. When they had no idea. They stared at their plate. They knew that if they tried to leave now things would only get worse. Their mother would make a scene and their father would make them stay. Even worse he'd make them want to stay and feel bad for thinking of leaving. They ate the food so as not to cause another fight.

The family of three sat in awkward silence for the rest of their lunch.

“So,” their father said after the plates were cleared away. “How long do you plan on staying with us?”

“What?”

“I believe you heard me,” Raleigh replied. He leaned back in his chair and brought his fingers together. With a serious, strangely almost concerned, look he asked; “Unless your friend’s horrible so-called singing made you go deaf?”

“I’m not staying,” they grumbled.

“What?” their mother exclaimed.

Dexterity knew that her surprise was completely fake, but, their father somehow was never able to see through it. He always jumped at every cry, or shock she endured, ready to help. He usually used his powers to help alleviate the situation but never in the way one would think. Raleigh always went for the supposed aggressor. And more often than not Dexterity was the cause of her emotional distress. For whatever reason she got off on having her husband manipulate their child. Or the control she got from having to do practically nothing. Either way in Dexterity found it very disgusting.

“It seems like your mother wants you stay,” Raleigh said.

They gave their father a harsh glare.

“This again?” they said; interrupting his manipulation.

“If your mother wants you to stay longer, then, maybe you should. After all, you haven’t visited us in a very long time.”

“Yeah,” they scoffed. “This is why. A person can only take so fucking much emotional manipulation, after all.”

Raleigh stood up from his chair and walked over to where they sat.

He stared Dexterity down as if they were a scuff on his newly shined shoes. It was a look of utter hatred and disgust. But Dexterity returned the angry glare right back. The two remained like that for a good five minutes. Then a strange, satisfied, smirk slowly crept its way on Raleigh’s face.

Unable to resist Dexterity suddenly stood up, with tears in their eyes, and hugged their father. Crying and shaking they apologized over and over again. They profusely apologized to their mother as well. Still overcome with regret and sadness they disavowed everything they believed in. Dexterity pulled away from their father and stood firm. Their bottom lip quivered as they begged for his forgiveness. Begged to be allowed to move back in with them. They vowed to quit the band and become their father’s intern. Once again they were the little kid, sobbing, exploited and dominated into doing exactly what their parents wanted.

Raleigh had made them do all of this without uttering a single word.

They didn’t realize what happened until they sat back down.

With that being the last straw Dexterity aggressively slammed their hands on the table and pushed their chair away. The legs of the chair loudly scratched along the floor. They stomped out of the house. As they made the long trek back to their car they stewed. They only felt better when they were finally in the car; turning the key.

Should've listened to yourself, you fucking dummy, their conscious scolded as they shifted the car into drive.

They knew exactly what they were going to do next.

Who was the real mystery.

~~~

Dexterity drove around aimlessly for awhile. They hadn’t been back home in such a long time that they weren’t sure where anything was anymore. But they eventually found their way to a local bar.

“Fucking finally,” they muttered to themselves.

They walked through the door and went straight for the bar.

A very tall, very buff, looking man was bartending. He had dark auburn red hair. It was slightly shorter on the sides than the top which was spiked up. He wore the, seemingly, standard uniform; black jacket over a gray top and black pants. The only part of his outfit which looked out of place were the round sunglasses on his face. Bright periwinkle veins poked out from his collar and shirt sleeve.

He was currently handing a drink over to the only one other virus at the bar.

She was a pale skinned woman with long, dark, brown hair. Purple dye colored the ends. She had bright yellow eyes. Her ears were sharply pointed at the top. Two curved horns protruded from the middle of her skull. They curved outward to either side of her head and curved around her ears before coming to a sharp point. A silver cuff covered a portion of the left horn; just below her ear lobe.

A series of bees were tattooed on the left side of her neck.

She gave Dexterity a nod as they sat down at the first empty bar stool.

They ordered a Death in the Afternoon and looked around the room as the drink was being made. The bar had a strange atmosphere. Most of the patrons were crowded near the back of the building. Dexterity craned their neck in a futile attempt to see what was occupying everyone’s attention. But the sheer number of bodies blocked their view. So they gave up and ran their eyes over the shelves behind the bar.

Bottles with strange names lined the shelves. Names they didn’t recognize. Some were very long laundry lists of nonsensical letter combinations.

Their drink was set on the bar and Dexterity barely noticed the woman move to the stool on their left.

"Haven't seen you around here," the woman said.

"Not really in this area much. Don't plan on staying long."

"That's too bad," she said. "I'd really like to get to know you."

Dexterity looked at her and decided to lay on the charm. It was what they did best after all. Their father could change and affect a person’s entire array of emotions and had a good handle on everything. But they could only affect one specific area; desire.

“In what way,” they asked.

“I think you know exactly what way,” she said.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?"

“Xylophone, but, most people call me Xy.”

“You should join us, big boy,“ they said to the bartender.

The man’s face went red. He tried to explain that they both of them had to work, but, it was useless. When Dexterity wanted a good time, or to block out a bad one, they made someone else want the same. Dexterity smiled seductively which only caused the man to blush even harder. He reached out to touch their hand, needing to feel their skin against his own, but Dexterity quickly pulled their hand.

“Soon.”

~~~

Hours later, well into the night, the three of them were laying on a queen sized bed. They had rented a room in a nearby hotel thanks to Dexterity’s father’s credit card. The thick, black and silver, comforter lay in a heap on the floor. As did some of the abundant pillows. Open bottles from the mini bar lay strewn about.

Dexterity stared at the ceiling with a shit-eating grin on their face.

They were in the middle of the bed with the bartender on their left. He was actually half on the bed and half on them; struggling for their affections. Xylophone was on their right. Hurried and without any regard tossed about the floor, mixed in with one another, were their clothes. It was pretty obvious which ones belonged to Xylophone as she was the only one who didn’t wear all black.

Not to mention the pair of bright, cerulean, blue panties that somehow hung off the lampshade across the room.

To no one’s surprise the bartender had enough energy and need to go again. He kept whispering sweet nothings, and very dirty words, in Dexterity’s ear. They ignored his advances. Truth of the matter was that so could they, but, the third member of their little ménage a trois seemed uneasy.

Xylophone sat up and stared off with a strange expression of mixed emotions. It was clear that something was wrong because their powers, which were still active, didn’t seem to be affecting her. They turned it off and the big, muscular, bartender collapsed onto them. It was as if the only thing that had kept him awake after.

Shoving the hulking man off of them Dexterity convinced him to give them some space. The guy begrudgingly climbed off the bed, pulled his pants on, and walked out of the room.

“Hey, you okay?” they asked once it seemed that guy was out of earshot.

“I lied earlier,” she said with an intense guilt.

“Everybody lies, darling,” they replied. “If I was honest I’d say I do it all the time.”

She didn’t laugh at the lame joke. Dexterity didn’t either but it was worth a try. She turned away and brought her knees to her chest. Looking down at the floor Xylophone stays quiet for a few minutes. The silence in the room was eerie. Unsure of what to do, and completely out of their element, Dexterity just sat there.

Comforting people, or staying this long after sex, was not their style.

Looking to the door they hoped the bartender guy, whatever his name was, would just barge in. Or that the room would spontaneously catch fire. Even getting a drunken call from the guys would do. Anything that would be a good reason to not have this conversation.

“I didn’t want to know you at all,” she said; still staring at the floor.

“Me neither,” they said.

Xylophone shot them an angry look. They then realized that what they said was the complete wrong to say at a time like this. She sighed; half angry and half sad. Running her hands through either side of her hair she closed her eyes tightly and grit her teeth.

“You don’t get it, do you?” she spit. “The bar, my outfit, my fucking lingerie... Did you really not see it? Or are you that desperate to get some?”

The realization hit them like a brick to the face. It was unexpected and hurt like hell. Their mouth hung open in a small “o” and they felt so stupid. The bar was a strip club which explained why most of the people inside were near the back. But it was crazy to think it was fronting sex workers. At the same time Dexterity thought that Xylophone had no real reason to lie. Despite their better judgment they spoke.

“Why do you do it?”

“What would you do?” she said with a serious look in her eyes.

“Do about what?”

Tears began flowing from her eyes. She tried to wipe them away but they continued to run down her face. Her makeup, some of which had previously from her sweat, was now ruined. Streaks of black eyeliner and mascara lined her face. Every time she wiped her nose she would accidentally take off her lipstick.

“For you this is just a good time but for me this is what I call life,” she cried through her tears.

“How much?”

“What?” she asked between sniffles.

In a half response to her question Dexterity got off the bed and rummaged through the mess of clothes. Turning the clothing items over in their hands they felt around for something unseen. Angrily tossing the clothes over their shoulder they finally found the pair of jeans they wore earlier in the day. Digging their hand into the rear left pocket they felt the cool plastic of their father’s credit card.

They held it up with a smirk.

“How much to get you out?”

Xylophone’s eyes went wide. She stammered; shocked beyond belief.

“It’s not fair that you have to do this to survive, to live,” they said.

“Nothing’s that simple.”

“And why not? If someone can pay to spend a night with you then why can’t I pay to make sure you’ll never need to do that ever again.

“Money can’t solve everything, Richie Rich,” she said.

Dexterity stood in the middle of the room; frozen. In that moment they felt disgusted with themselves. They had tried their entire life to prevent themselves from becoming this exact person. But they still came off as a patronizing rich elitist. She ran her hand through her hair and got off the bed. She walked across the room and picked her panties off the lampshade. Xylophone pulled her underwear on before grabbing her matching bra off the floor. She quickly pulled her shirt over her head.

The bartender walked in, just as she finished buttoning her shorts, and approached Dexterity with fiery anger.

“You little shit! You’re dead, you’re so fucking dead.”

Dexterity said nothing. They didn’t hear a word the man was saying. And they couldn’t care less. But Xylophone walked up and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Leave them, we have to go back to work,” she said.

The door slammed as the pair exited. Dexterity sighed heavily and ran their hands through their short, buzzed, hair. An intense feeling of disgust filled their gut as they paced the floor. Looking around the room they decided it was best to leave. So, they dressed themselves as quickly as they could and left the room. It didn’t take long for them to head to the front desk. With barely a few words they checked out of the room.

Rushing to the parking lot they hopped in the driver’s seat of their GT500 and gunned it out onto the street.

They made a silent vow to themselves that they would never come back.

#my writing #larka's virus community #lvc #dexterity burrows #raleigh burrows #felony burrows #tw slight swearing #ageekwrites

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modernlcve · 5 years

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* — stats — scott levy !

* — basics !

full name: benjamin scott levy. nickname(s): goes exclusively by scott. age: thirty - eight. date of birth: october third. place of birth: rockport, maine. gender: male. pronouns: he / him. sexual orientation: gay. level of education: high school graduate. bachelor’s degree in business administration.

* — physical !

tattoos: none. piercings: used to have an earring but. he gave up on that a hot minute ago. notable features: his broken spirit. weakness(es): he has a bad knee :/ scar(s): two short ones on his forearm.

* — domestic !

occupation: district manager of the superstore. residence: he’s got a small apartment about 30 minutes outside of whatever city Superstore HQ is in. social class: middle class. parents: howard levy, age 65, very practical & dry. for every bit awkward scott is, his dad is twice as bad. deborah levy, age 58, she means well, but in looking for the past of least resistance, comes off as a doormat. siblings: caroline levy, age 31, his younger sister and, quite frankly, the only person in the family to have a real personality. extended family: he’s largely out of contact with his extended family. his grandparents are all deceased, his father has one brother, scott’s namesake, but they’re not on great terms. he tries to stay decently involved in the lives of his nieces, caroline’s two daughters, addie (7) and ella (4).

* — personality !

positive traits: amiable. solicitous. reliable. negative traits: insecure. mistrustful. awkward. myers-briggs ( x ): infj; the advocate. temperament: sanguine. moral alignment: neutral good. horoscope: libra, the scales. hogwarts house: hufflepuff.

* — favorites !

movie: wayne’s world. tv show: saturday night live. book: the outsiders. drink: diet coke Fuckers food: a good italian sandwich animal: goats. color: green. song: freedom ‘90! by george michael. artist: counting crows. celebrity crush: i’m not saying leonardo dicaprio in romeo + juliet caused his first notable gay panic but.

* — impressions !

first impression: he’s boring. like, plain and simple, he’s a bit of the stick in the mud and a little awkward. he obviously wants to be liked, which sometimes just amplifies the whole Awkward thing. self impression: he’s a little self-deprecating. he was the weird kid growing up, which lead to a decent amount of bullying, and then on top of it, he spent most of his life trying to just Repress basic facts about himself, which doesn’t make for the most positive self image. lover impression: he’s really still figuring this out. just in general, he craves validation in case i haven’t said it 200 times yet, and that would definitely track into his relationships. he’s a little needy and insecure, but he really is well meaning.

* — et cetera !

turn ons: kindness. confidence. a little bit of Weirdness enough that he doesn’t feel like a complete freak u know turn offs: rudeness. pda. selfishness. drink/drugs/smoke: yes/no/no. dominant hand: right. clean or messy: clean. early bird or night owl: night owl. hobbies or special talents: he’s logged enough hours doing sudoku puzzles that i think he’s technically a master. also weirdly good at skiball, as if he will ever play it again.

* — QUESTIONNAIRE !

01. where was your character born? what brought them to boston? what do they like most about the town?

scott was born in rockport, maine. he comes to boston on work. he likes it well enough. he likes the anonymity in a city of its size and the fresh start it’s given him. especially since he’s not steadily living there, he feels like whenever he’s in town he’s getting another fresh start, a little break from his reputation in his hometown or his isolated way of living at home.

02. who are your character’s friends and family? who do they surround themselves with? who are the people your character is closest to?

scott’s most consistent family has been his younger sister, caroline, her husband jarrod, and their daughters, addie and ella. even during the span of time he wasn’t in contact with their parents, caroline did her best to include him on holidays and milestones, even if it meant celebrating an extra time. scott spent a solid few years nearly estranged from his parents before he reached back out to them, and they started working on patching things up. they were Less than thrilled when he came out in his late twenties after a year of being engaged to some girl from another Nice Respectable family, but they’ve worked on getting back to an Okay place in the best few years, which has meant a to him. he doesn’t have many friends, mostly work acquaintances and buddies from school he links up with every now and then because weird kids stick together.

03. what is your character’s biggest fear? who have they told this to? who would they never tell this to? why?

scott is just genuinely afraid of not being likable. and it’s linked to a lot of things, and just the fact that he’s never felt like he fit in or like things have clicked together and been Right for him. he wants to find connection with others, he wants to feel like he’s finally found a spot in the world where he can be himself and be accepted and not have to worry about stuff like that anymore. he hasn’t told this to anyone, because one of the few things he’s picked up on in interacting w/ others is that telling them you want to be liked doesn’t make them like you. he absolutely wouldn’t mention it to felix because part of what he admires about him is the fact that he’s so sure of himself and set in who he is, and he doesn’t want to go drawing attention to the fact that he doesn’t have that.

04. has your character ever been in love? had a broken heart?

i don’t think he’s ever Really been in love. things tend to fall apart for him, but since he’s never had that Big Love feeling, there’s no big brokenhearted drama when things are broken off. he’s probably had a couple significant boyfriends but he can’t bring himself to be the type to hold grudges, because even though he got dumped, they were mostly not dicks about it, and he walked away from the splits mostly blaming himself.

06. it’s saturday at noon. what is your character doing? give details.

depends on where he is. if he’s at home, he’s taking care of all the chores and errands that have gone neglected while he was gone. if he’s out in boston, it’s more likely that he’s doing something more Fun, soaking up staying in the city and getting to see the people he knows there. he likes a good brunch, so he could be wrapping that up around noon.

07. what is one strong memory that has stuck with your character since childhood?

the year is 1990. scott has planned the perfect performance for the fifth grade variety show. yeah his ass got out there and gave his rendition of ice ice baby his very best. yeah he tried to muster up as much swag as he possibly could. and yeah he got made fun of for it in high school. but you know what? for the moment at age ten people cheered for him for the first time and he felt like he was a fucking rockstar and yeah maybe every soft joke at the opening of store meetings is a vain attempt to get even 1/100th of that feeling but. it just stands out to him as one of the last times he was unabashedly himself and made to feel valid for it.

09. what is something that upsets your character? where do they go when they’re upset?

again that general feeling of Placelessness is a big deal for him, which like, way to take a job that requires travelling that makes that worse moron. loneliness is a Big thing that’ll bum him out. when he’s upset, he likes to go see a movie, or go to some buzzed about restaurant, and just treat himself to an afternoon out or something, as if trying to make a point that he can be perfectly happy and live an exciting and rich life all by himself.

10. when your character thinks of their childhood kitchen, what smell do they associate with it? why?

his mom was a strong believer in cleaning with vinegar. they were prone to ordering food out for a lot of his childhood, or everyone fending for themselves, but even when there wasn’t much cooking going on, the room still stenched of vinegar, no matter how many candles were lit.

#( scott levy. )#( stats. )

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lizzybeth1986 · 6 years

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Quick Thoughts on DD Book 1 Chapter 4

• Jesus, this book is expensive.

• Like I assumed Chapter 3's one accomplishment-one-or-two-LIs-or-a-family-member thing would be a one-off, just to introduce us into the system/ease us into the story, but no...they've (sort of) repeated it this chapter. I was hoping they would spread out the accomplishments at least, but perhaps they want us to have at least most of the accomplishments worked out before we leave for London.

• I really hope this doesn't become a regular thing because it will only cause players to lose interest in the books for lack of affordability, in the long run. As it is the book largely caters to a niche audience...alienating that audience by having them lose of on half the story won't bode well for the book.

• Title: Best Foot Forward. Man, this one is easy. Of course it refers to dancing. And quite a lot of dancing is done this chapter, that's for sure!

• Sooo...the Earl has decided to introduce us into society in Edgewater with a garden party. Lots of hobnobbing, some dancing, a few games and you meet at least one 'suitor'.

• Did You Know: According to writer and garderner Kim Wilson, who wrote a book titled In the Garden with Jane Austen, gardens were viewed as markers of social status. In an interview with The Scotsman, she says, "each family's garden reflected not only their needs but, if they had enough money, their social aspirations". The poor cottagers of the time were mostly concerned with growing food and having a place to keep their chickens whereas wealthier families would have had kitchen gardens, but also often extensive pleasure grounds, which were places to display their wealth and taste. (from an article about Jane Austen's love for gardens in The Scotsman).

• Last chapter had us learning (optionally) the art of the fan from our Lady Grandmother, so it makes sense that what happens in this chapter is this:

Lololol just kidding.

• So the chapter begins with the MC and Briar talking. Briar is excited about the fact that a Duke (who, she reminds us, is "one step below a Prince Regent"), and the MC can either choose to be excited or very confident. Interestingly, if you're excited, she reminds you to "not forget your roots", which I think is a recurring theme in this book. After all, that was the last thing the MC's mother told her on her deathbed.

• Dominique enters the room and both she and Briar present us with a pretty pink lace dress that is sure to improve both our social standing and catch everyone's eye at this introductory garden party.

• It looks quite pretty, actually. But that's because I love lace.

• We head downwards, finding Annabelle performing for herself in the foyer and having a thoroughly good time.

• I'm wondering if I should have a tally for the number of times she says "a thousand pardons" (and for the record, I think her way of saying "fiddlesticks" is adorable xD).

• Our third "accomplishment" (and our second paid one) is presented to us here: dancing. It's not like the MC doesn't know dancing - she does - it's that the country dances (this might be a reference to the English Country Dances that were popular among all classes) are different from the ones Annabelle has learned, and indeed the popular ones for the aristocracy that are coming in from other places, like France.

• Annabelle mentions a couple of dances that were popular for its time: the cotillion (originated from France), the Quadrille (also from France), and La Boulanger (also French). If we choose the shoes the Lady Grandmother got made for us, Annabelle wastes no time in teaching us the last one.

• Annabelle speaks to us about the Quadrille being new. She isn't lying. The Quadrille became fashionable in England around 1815.

• Again, the good thing about the accomplishment scenes is that they're meant only for learning the skill, and Annabelle can develop in her individual scenes independent of this. Though I'm not sure if cramming both her individual scenes and her accomplishment scenes in the same chapter, two chapters in a row is a very good idea.

• Another marker of how new the MC is, lies in her interaction with Mr Woods (who is perhaps the only member of the housing staff we see at the party. Briar disappears completely after she's done her work of getting the MC ready, and Luke doesn't appear either). Mr Woods is surprised the MC deigns to speak to him in public, and Henrietta uses her interaction with him to point out how little she fits in, what with talk of the MC's "roots".

• Lol the exchange with the Earl if you bought the scene with the Lady Grandmother is quite funny haha. He speaks about Dominique drilling him into learning the names of all the families and the MC - saucy little shit that she is 😄 - looks at her fan and says "oddly enough, I know exactly what you mean".

• Ernest Sincliare makes his appearance after two chapters, and there's some banter about compliments if you're wearing the pretty lace dress I think. She teases him about it and he retorts that since he passes compliments so rarely, you can be sure that when he does he means every word. I can see that logic in that, Sinclair, but must you look like a child who has accidentally sucked on a particularly sour lemon when you do? 😂

• Throughout the chapter, you get references to the Season in London, and each time the MC by default takes it for granted that she will not be going there. Sinclaire hosts parties in London, Annabelle Parsons will be going there for the Season. Up until the end of the chapter, the vibe given overall is that she won't be seeing the two for a while now that they will be leaving Edgewater, and she won't.

• Did You Know: The London Season was developed to coincide with the sitting of parliament. During the months when parliament was in session, members of both Houses needed to be in attendance in London and came to the capital bringing their families with them. The London season grew up in response to this influx of upper class people who needed to be entertained.

Amanda Foreman, in her biography on Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, stated: "the aristocratic "season" came into existence not only to further the marriage market but to entertain the upper classes while they carried out their political duties. The season followed the rhythm of Parliament: it began in late October with the opening of the new session, and ended in June with the summer recess.” of course, later on this period of time gradually began to shift.

There also seems to be something called the "little season", but that seems more a fixture of the Victorian age than the Regency one (as mentioned in the article on the London Season from the Regency History website).

• The Earl and Mr Sinclaire share a more than cordial relationship: the Earl treats him with considerable warmth and Sinclaire shows a genuine respect and regard for him. You have a choice of asking him whether it is the Earl - or you - he has respect for (and the second option leads to a romantic moment), but it is what he says about the Earl, and his later interaction with Duke Richards that intrigues me:

What happened to Ledford Park that the Sinclaires almost lost it? Why does his statement towards the Duke about Ledford sound so accusatory? Why is there such a strong undercurrent within the latter interaction? I want to know what the story behind Ledford Park is, and how the Earl helped save it.

• One of my favourite Sinclaire-related sequences is an additional scene featuring the fan, as taught to us by the Dowager Countess the previous chapter. I tried the last two with Florence, the MC who has no interest in Sinclaire:

(the first four screenshots are from the "friends" option, and the next four from the "go away u suck" option)

Meanwhile, Marianne just goes in for the kill, fam. Homegirl didn't learn all those thot moves from Grandma for nothing 😄

I do like that extra bit of sexual tension in this scene. I'm not very into Sinclaire yet, but I can see the appeal he'd have for someone who would want the Mr Darcy type of Regency male LI character. You also see a fair bit of it in the scene where the MC asks him if it is her he respects:

• Sinclaire, dude, what is it with you and Italics??

• We now interrupt our regular programme with a game of Skittles. I'm not sure how many of you assumed Regency-era aristocrats were going to start passing around fruit-flavoured candy but I sure did 😂

• So this is skittles, played with nine pins. Very much one of the precursors to present day bowling from what I've read. Playing this game, and beating a champion like Mr Sinclaire at it will not only allow you to spend time alone with him, but also increase your social standing.

• It's simple enough: hit the red pin in the centre, and if you want you can distract the hell out of Sinclaire after he's fired his first shot.

• Twice this chapter, you see our resident comic relief for the day: Miss Theresa Oh-My-Smelling-Salts Sutton, and Mr Edmund Do-I-Look-Like-I-Care Malcaster, and I've decided I like them both (I wanted to add screenshots, but tumblr mobile sucks and won't let me put up more than ten images 😒)

• So we meet the "handsome", "titled" eligible bachelor our Lady Grandmother wanted us so badly to marry and...

...um. lol. ok.

Handsome? Charming? When was the last time you looked in the mirror dude, 20 years ago?

• You have a choice of how to respond after Duke Richards insults Mr. Sinclaire. You can either choose the Manners option, or you can choose to outright sass the man. If you don't sass him? The Lady Grandmother will do it for you.

• With the Manners option we find out that the Duke is 51 years old.

• With the non-manners option we find out that the dude likes saucy little minxes.

• @ the last panel in Florence's playthrough, Grandma even you can't deal with this dude for two minutes without nodding off. Why are you dumping him on my head then? (don't tell me. I know the answer 😐). See, this is why Florence will eventually kiss her inheritance goodbye lol.

• Jesus can this man just...speak two words without touching me??

• FINALLY. Miss Parsons. We choose a hiding place to get away from the Duke and then she offers to show us a new part of the estate: the lakefront. The great thing about gardens, esp in the writing of the time, was that it provided privacy for people at the time and allowed them to interact in ways they couldn't in public.

• Did you know: Austen herself used gardens pretty extensively in her writing. Mr Knightley confesses his love to Emma close to a shrubbery. Elizabeth jokes to her aunt about deciding to marry Mr Darcy after seeing the grounds in Pemberley. Fanny Price of Mansfield Park remarks, “To sit in the shade on a fine day, and look upon verdure, is the most perfect refreshment.” Catherine Morland of Northanger Abbey falls in love with hyacinths, Marianne Dashwood of Sense and Sensibility has a passion for fallen leaves in an autumnal garden, while Anne Elliot of Persuasion is always inspired to think of poetry when enjoying the beauties of nature.

Susannah Fullerton in her essay "Jane Austen and her gardens" (for the website Garden Drum) says: "Many proposals [in Austen's novels] take place out of doors where lovers can find some privacy amongst the gravel walks and flower beds; garden improvements are planned by some of the characters; and her heroines all enjoy going into a garden to think".

• Makes sense then that one of the special scenes of this largely "forbidden" relationship (if you choose for that to happen) would take place in greenery, close to a lake. If you notice, it's quite in keeping with the times that most of the romantic moments this chapter happen either in an isolated section of the gardens or while dancing, both of which allow for some measure of interaction between people interested in each other.

• Miss Parsons, the legendary hero of a Duck Prophecy xD

• I love her in this scene. Sure she gets shy when she receives attention she's not used to from us, and she's kind and educative and sweet, but she's also boisterous and passionate and not afraid to pull punches when she needs to (case in point: the shade she immediately throws Henrietta's way regarding her "tutelage"). This scene has her stealing cake from the party to feed the ducks, getting exhilarated from the race and her new friendship with the MC, and feeling extremely confused by her feelings if you speak to her romantically.

• The first half of this scene is pure fun, but the second inevitably shows the two women experiencing a sense of loss that their connection will be cut short - whether they are friends or whether this is a budding romance.

• What I do love about both the romance scenes are the extra touches added to both in the coding. In the skittles scene with Ernest, Marianne is spoken of by default as brushing her hand against his before giving him the ball, whereas Florence simply passes it to him.

• Even with Annabelle, if you acquire romance points with her, the ending of that scene is written quite differently:

I absolutely love this part of the scene. And given that very often the female LI is treated like just the default best friend with some stray romance options attached, it really does feel good to have that sexual tension acknowledged.

• Florence, babe, what is it with you and Italics??

• TIME TO PUT ON OUR DANCING SHOES GUYS (if we bought them).

• So we're doing a dance called La Boulanger...which kinda looks like this:

You dance in a circle, then keep switching partners.

• Did You Know: that the Boulanger was one of the very few dances mentioned by name in Jane Austen's novels? (Pride and Prejudice Chapter 3. I think the reel is mentioned in another).

• I have two left feet unless someone is heavily choreographing a flash mob and spends ages teaching me the steps lol so this looks pretty complicated to me 😂

• You have an option of choosing between Mr Sinclaire, Miss Parsons and Duke Richards. The first two are the usual you'd expect from romantic dance scenes if you choose either of the first two, impressing them with your dance moves and then catching their eye when you're dancing with Edmund, your stepbrother. With Miss Parsons there is an additional show of boldness in that there is a danger of making their affections public.

• The Duke Richards option, which I managed to see thanks to @i-dream-so-i-write ...seems pretty okay actually. He doesn't seem as handsy and creepy as he does in our first meeting (there is a moment where his "hands skim your waist" though, and he tells us we've been apart too long [a couple seconds, tops]), but he's also still talking our ears off. If anyone is interested in seeing it, I can attach the screenshots!

• This man is so freaking extra I can't even.

• The chapter ends with the Earl announcing that he is changing his will, and that the MC is heiress to Edgewater Estate now, which makes it essential for her, then, to make her debut at the London Season, and begin searching for prospective bridegrooms.

• There is a catch though. You get the inheritance if you marry someone of suitable rank. In short...at this point in the story, Marianne is doing alright, but Florence is well and truly screwed until there is a twist somewhere (and surely there will be at some point). Sorry Florence.

• Henrietta has something up her sleeve, and Edmund, who was expecting to inherit, is sad and tells the MC so. You get a relationship point with him if you tell him you understand how it must feel, but he reiterates that you probably won't. We have time, we can still get this dude (and his palpitating fiancée) on our side. Maybe.

• Looks like we'll be starting our journey to London straightaway, and making our debut in London at Mr Sinclaire's party by Chapter 6. Alsooo from the spoilery chapter descriptions it looks like Mr. Marlcaster will try tripping us up at least once, or more than once. Also looks like we have two more skills on our accomplishment board to learn. So far we've gotten needlework, music and dancing - we now need to see what the other two are. I THINK one of them is painting.

General Thoughts:

• Good chapter. It's a little slow which is fine, because I think all the action will actually happen during the London Season instead. We meet only two suitors, one of whom we have already met in the first chapter.

• I feel like the extra scenes that we'll get with the unlocked accomplishments will include other styles of the same art. We initially learn the piano, but I feel like unlocking it will lead to extra scenes with other instruments, and unlocking the dancing shoes will show us extra scenes of Annabelle teaching us other dances (the waltzes, the reel, etc). I'm not entirely sure about this, it's just a theory I have. I mean, once we're in London we'll need to learn waltzes and the minuet and stuff.

• Luke doesn't make an appearance this chapter, but then again nor does Briar as soon as the MC gets ready. I think we'll see more of him now that we will be traveling to London.

• Donna Hatch's (who writes a ton of historical romances, esp Regency) essay on the London Season lists the months active in each year for it, and in 1816 it was from February to July. In the story it's now the beginning of April. Usually it's best to go at the very start if you're looking for marriage prospects, but given the MC's particular circumstances this time of the season isn't too bad either I'd reckon.

• Remember how I told you guys last chapter about the inclusion of Mary Brunton's Self Control? And how she criticizes the popular "rake" figure in Regency fiction? I'm not sure Duke Richards adheres completely to how rakes were depicted at the time, but he definitely does seem to be channeling Colonel Hargrave a little here.

• I wonder what the Duke seems to be hiding. Besides of course the truth of his equation with Sinclaire. Why is he so focused on this new woman? I think there might be more to this. I also can't wait to see the other suitors, like the viscount and Mr Chambers.

• I do like how we learn more about Sinclaire and Annabelle here. Annabelle largely has the role that Hana had in TRR, and there are some similarities - but she also has a lot more wiggle-room and seems to be bolder and a little more outgoing. She has grown up with the limitations placed on women at the time, but unlike Hana, hasn't faced as many restrictions in her upbringing.

• As I've mentioned before, I love Annabelle and I love that they're trying to do a better job of her. But I'm not entirely sure if cramming two separate scenes of hers in single chapters of an already expensive book is a wise choice, or if it will harm her development in the long run because people find it too expensive to spend on her. IMO the accomplishment scenes should be a little further spread out in the books.

• Now that the MC is going to be a future Countess, what is in store for her? In her rightful home Edgewater, she has a limited audience and not as much expectation to live up to...what will become of her now that she will be participating in the Season in London? Guess we'll find out today, or in the coming weeks xD

• Tagging: @boneandfur @liamraines @thespiritpanda @alanakusumastan @ernestsinclairs @mrsthomashunt @private-investigator-nazario @bcdollplace @queenodysseia @mcbangle

If you'd like to be tagged in one of the QTs, please let me know!

#desire and decorum #long post #ernest sinclaire #annabelle parsons #ernest x mc #annabelle x mc #dnd quick thoughts #quick thoughts #edgewater estate

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demonic-activity · 6 years

Text

Vincit qui se vincit

He conquers who conquers himself

↢↢ alec lightwood fic // malec // coda-meta-fiction-mesh // read on AO3 ↣↣

“I always dreamed of meeting someone like you."

They’re standing in the middle of the loft. A place that is more home to Alec than Alicante could ever be, and that’s possibly all he had been trying to (rather typically disastrously) convey, but somehow the conversation took this turn that he hadn’t expected or intended. It doesn’t exactly slip out, and it’s not like he doesn’t mean it, but it takes Alec by surprise anyway.

It’s just that it isn’t true - not exactly.

He's happy to let it slide, though. Alec kinda hates having to explain himself, it feels too much like having to answer for something that's completely natural to him, and that is unfortunately something he has a lot of experience with. But this is sort of tantamount and although it's about him, it's also about Magnus; and, Alec realizes, he wants Magnus to understand - to understand him.

He's just not sure - fresh out of almost two decades of struggle - where he should begin to explain.

Years and years back, as soon as he was starting to become aware of such things as dreams and desires, he probably hadn’t dreamt of it. He wouldn’t have been able to conceive such a thing.

Later, he didn’t want to.

Dreams can be a dangerous and terrifying thing. Especially when you’re convinced they could never really come true.

Of course, Alec couldn’t deny there had been desires, fantasies, the painful and impossible what-ifs, taunting him. And yes, sometimes they would take the shape of him meeting someone - someone like him, for him, his. But it was always something fleeting, not something he welcomed, and it never tasted like anything like dreams were supposed to taste.

Besides, someone ‘like Magnus’?

Alec drinks in the view of his boyfriend standing before him: his sparkling eyes that try not to give it away but that secretly hold immeasurable kindness; how his whole body exudes grace with every move; the warm and melodious sound of his laughter; the vibrance and confidence with which he paints himself; and the vulnerabilities that lie beneath that imposing glamour, that are for Alec’s eyes only. Alec’s heart rate picks up as he’s staring and he wonders how with the amount of blood his heart is pumping around it still manages to feel so incredibly full.

Meeting someone like Magnus, meeting Magnus - how could he have ever thought up such a thing?

Mostly it makes him a little sad to to have to think about his former dreams in relation to his boyfriend. For a long time he hadn’t been ready, and maybe when they met, he still hadn’t been. By the Angel, he’s not even sure he is ready now. But somehow, their paths had crossed at exactly the right time. Maybe that's all that matters right now.

Besides, he hadn’t always dreamed of becoming a high-ranking official within the Clave or the Council either. No - his dreams had been been infinitely more modest and yet laughably improbable at the same time.

If Alec were to try to put it into words he would say he always dreamed of simply being a complete person.

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“I didn’t want you to think there was something wrong with me,because I grew up in the Institute, because I always knew I couldn’t have what I wanted.”

Growing up, there was never one clear moment that brought it home to Alec that he was different, that there was something inherently wrong with him - at least in the watchful gaze of those around him. Even at the Institute, away from both mundane and Shadowhunter society, he and the other children didn’t grow up in isolation. They were still molded and shaped by a million cultural and societal impressions. Some lessons he remembered being told outright (“don’t slouch”, “eat your greens”, “it’s spelled a-t-q-u-e”), but more often - Alec guessed - he learned how to behave through observation and imitation, through silent, contextual clues that he might not have even consciously picked up on. Even when he had been very young, Alec didn’t have to be told it was expected he would marry a woman shortly after coming of age, that he would pass on the Lightwood name - preferably to a couple of boys. Just like he didn’t have to be told that ichor burns your skin like a bitch, that you have to be polite to a Silent Brother and that a simple answer from a Seelie is rarely that.

Alec knew he had always felt a drive to not just function, but to be best, the smartest, to learn the fastest, to preferably never fail and at least contain his mistakes to single instances - not to be repeated. So he practiced and worked hard at meeting the expectations he could practically feel breathing down his neck, and he did his best to follow all these rules - the written and unwritten ones. Because he knew his trajectory, he knew what he had to do. It was almost a relief for him to find out that a combination of skill, training, dedication and repetition - it got him there, it let him tick the boxes of belonging, had him track the steps to succeeding.

Barring that one area, of course.

He tried - the Angel knows he had tried. He looked at girls, understanding perfectly well what he was supposed to see, to feel, to do. He knew equally well he wasn’t managing any of it. From boyhood on there had been countless moments, daily reminders and red flags that he was not speaking the same social code, not meeting the expectations that cluttered the air like low hanging fruit in an orchard, hitting him in the face every three steps. Even worse, these expectations had grown and multiplied as Alec grew up, till he was as good as drowning in a sea of overripe crops, afraid to squish them to a pulp as he still tried to cleave a path forward.

So, no, no one ever had to tell Alec he was gay, no one had to tell him it was not okay to be gay. It probably wasn’t till he was practically grown up that he even dared to voice the word in the deep confines his own mind - let alone out loud. That’s how unspoken this collective understanding went.

No one had to tell him it was something outside the realm of possibilities. It all went without saying.

“We’ve all got our things.”

Alec had long ago rationalized this one misstep in conforming as a shortcoming. Everyone has their weak points, right? Aaron, who had come along with his parents on a visit to the New York Institute and trained with Alec and his siblings almost daily, threw a pretty terrible punch, especially his hooks, but he was great with swords and a good strategist. He also had the most clear-blue eyes Alec had ever seen, but that wasn’t so much a strong point of the other boy as a shortcoming of Alec in noticing.

So this was his, his thing. Some shortcomings meant: try again, try harder. But he wasn’t a complete idiot, he had long since figured out this wasn’t something he could weed out or overcome. These were simply the cards he had been dealt and it wasn’t going to change, it was - and would always remain - what he was going to have to work with. He didn’t need to be fixed, he just had to learn how to manage himself.

So he adapted. He worked twice as hard in every other area of his life, he covered up his biggest weakness the best he could and tried to reconcile this part of him with the reality of life around him. He tried to imitate the picture of the perfect son and Shadowhunter as best he could, as though donning camouflage. Still it pained him, maybe more than anything, that there was no way for him to live his life authentically and honestly.

It was then, on the brink of teenhood, that realised his mistake in adapting so far: he shouldn’t have been so focused on what others thought of him as on what he thought of himself. Because, in the end, the only way to be honest with those around him was by lying to himself.

And the only way to lie to yourself is to make sure you really, truly, believe it.

“Emotions are nothing but a distraction.”

During the day it was all right. He could focus head-first on his strengths, shoot arrows until his fingers bled, spar with Jace until he ached all over, practice Chthonian till he’d nearly choke on his own tongue, or memorize the events of the 1815 European Downworlder Treaty like he’d been present at the signing. During the day there were distractions, there was work - holy shit, there was enough work - and there were his siblings. They often got on his nerves, but when they did manage to drag him out for a taste of their idea of fun, they still effectively took him from his own mind, from his own skin that felt more more like a stranger’s with each passing day.

The nights were another story. Alone, under the protective cover of darkness, away from scrutinizing gazes, demands and commands, and awkward interactions, something shifted, something slipped. There was a door suddenly ajar and it filled his mind with thoughts he could normally keep at bay.

Generally, he reveled in darkness; it was where he fought demons, where he felt at home - familiar and secure. It was what he knew and in that, it was safe. But darkness was also dangerous, because in that safety and comfortability he could almost feel his guard slipping. Darkness can cloak you, hide you, can give you something of a free reign within its obscurity. In it he was as near invisible as one can get. Being in the dark felt the closest to being himself, truly himself, and it absolutely terrified him.

He was aware of the painful irony - a Shadowhunter afraid of the dark, of facing demons; albeit so wildly different than the ones he faced every day.

Then there were the dreams. When his mind would finally tire from overthinking every interaction he'd had, every move he'd made, and the tossing and turning gave way to sleep, his subconscious reigned free and there was no longer any control over his thoughts. He remembered waking up a particular night at fourteen from a very vivid dream involving him and Jace, and he hadn’t been able to look his best friend - his adopted brother - in the eye for the rest of the week.

More often, it wasn’t a particular person so much as scenarios, impossible scenarios of strangely wonderful intimate moments. Sometimes they were just sweet, sometimes they were hot, but they all left him feeling hollow and slightly nauseous upon waking.

He didn’t always remember his dreams, but just waking rock hard with a vague, receding, recollection of a body, a nameless face, a touch, meant that Alec knew enough.

He had never felt more alone or at war with himself than when he woke from those kind of nights.

The hormonal teenage years had been the worst, but as he got older and gained more control over his body, he started to fear that it wasn’t so much the REM sleep kind of dreams he had to worry about. That - as much as he had tried to avoid it - somehow, ideas had taken root in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind.

One day, he had been rushing down the street - glamoured and as oblivious to the mundane world as ever - when he’d come across a tableau that stopped him dead in his tracks. Just two men on the sidewalk, walking together, checking out window displays, holding hands. Just that. Except not at all because it was enough to quietly rock his world. All air had seemed knocked from his lungs. Alec felt as though he was caving in on himself, like he was a house of cards and not flesh and bone. He had dashed into the nearest alley, gasping for breath. Thoughts spinning in a mindless swirl of incoherent fragmented snippets, rearranging themselves with every ragged gust of air leaving his throat.

He couldn’t explain it to himself, at first, why he was reacting so strongly, but he couldn’t force the image from his mind either. He felt sick. And then he felt sick with himself for feeling that way. Self-loathing mixed with pre-existing self-hatred till it formed a giant mass of revulsion burning through him, leaving no vein or artery untouched to the point where he wondered what would come pouring out if you cut him open.

He didn't know how long he stood there, bowled over in a nameless alleyway, slowly losing control. He replayed the image over and over in his mind till he could come to no other conclusion. It wasn’t that he didn’t know this was a … possibility for - for others, it wasn’t that he’d never witnessed it so up close, or even the fact that no one had seemed to bat an eye. It was rather that a part of the illusion he had created for himself started to come undone, ripping at the seams, in those few seconds he had stood there, staring, taking in their clasped hands, easy smiles and soft looks. Because before anything else, before reason, before confusion, before shutting it all out, there had only been a single thought. Baffling in its simplicity.

I want that.

It was ludicrous, really, because he knew, he had always known, that nothing like that was for him. And he had dealt with the reality, the clear-cut facts of his sexuality, he’d managed it. He had set up rules for himself and and a strategy to go from there. Besides, Alec knew he wasn’t a romantic. Even if he had been attracted to women, he was sure he wouldn’t moon over them as ridiculously as Jace did, or be at the receiving or granting end of any so-called ‘grand gestures’. That wasn’t for him. That wasn’t who he was. Was it?

That was what brought the panic to a peak. After all the deception and creation of narratives he’d undertaken on his own behalf, a heinous thought suddenly surfaced in the back of his mind and sent him reeling, the bile rising in his throat once again. I don’t know myself at all.

And then he threw up.

“Life isn’t about what you want to do, it is about what must be done.”

Over the years, he had retreated further into himself and he knew it wasn’t exactly healthy, but what could he do? He was deathly afraid that even opening up ever so slightly would cause everything to unravel completely. His carefully crafted house of cards would collapse, and he didn’t think he could live with what would come crawling out from the rubble.

Izzy looked more and more worried and hurt every day. His mother would barely look at him at all. And Alec... well Alec had a hard time facing his mirror image as well.

He knew it wasn’t working out. Since the incident in the alleyway, he’d become aware that he wasn’t exactly immune to any kind of feelings. So he had to reassess, reacquaint. No problem. So far he had been mostly familiar with the needs, had been prepared for them. So what if one way or the other - despite carefully fencing off specific parts of his mind - certain wants, ideas… dreams had started to spread, inching their way through his limbs like tangled strands of ivy. He was aware of it. Just another layer to the flaw he had built his existence around, no big deal.

Except yes big deal.

It was like there was another voice inside his head, one that had been slowly gaining in strength and volume as he lay in bed staring at the dusty, vaulted ceiling of the Institute. From a barely audible whisper to a steady stream of live commentary, an incessant hum. It got harder to ignore, but he could do it. He had to do it.

In the end, knowing what was at stake, what he craved simply didn’t matter. In the grand scheme of things, what did it matter what he wanted? It was almost laughable to think of his own wants as eclipsing the cause he stood for, had stood for all his life.

So he steadfastly ignored the murmurs in his mind, the turn his thoughts sometimes wanted to take, the paths his eyes wanted to stray. And he was doing an okay job of it. Not great, but okay.

Till everything turned to shit, and his life became a confusing mess of the Cup, Valentine’s daughter, Downworlder affairs, raves, necklaces and lares.

Till he turned around.

And in Alec's head the voice didn’t whisper, didn’t speak: it roared.

“You can’t change who you are.”

“And you can?”

- “I know who I am”

He’d take it out on the punching bag like he could punch his life back in line, back in order. It didn’t exactly relieve him of his frustration, but it was better than doing nothing, than being a prisoner to his own thoughts that rang loud and clear inside his head, but never out of it.

Alec knew he was homosexual, had known it for many years. He wasn’t denying that. All he was trying to deny was how much of an influence that should play in his life. Was it too much to ask to get a say in that?

He was trying, goddamnit, he was trying to just live his life, to reconcile who he was with everything else he was supposed to be. Who he was and what he was.

Izzy had - more than once - declared him to be repressed. Alec loved his sister, more than maybe anything in the world, and she was often right about him, but this would probably never stop rubbing him the wrong way. Repression seemed to indicate he was forcing the issue from his mind. How could he explain to Izzy that his sexuality was sometimes all he could think about?

Surely, in his teenage years he’d repressed a lot, but along the way to adulthood he’d come to accept himself the way he was. He’d come to terms with his reality, he wasn’t running from anything, he wasn’t in denial, and he wasn’t repressing any feelings he had. He simply wasn’t acting on them. Isabelle - the Angel protect her - didn’t see that. For some reason she just couldn’t accept his fate the same way he had done a long time ago.

Around him, his life was crumbling. Everything he derived his self-worth and pride from, everything he’d worked towards, it was slipping away. Jace felt further removed from him than ever, his parents had not only betrayed his trust, but also all the supposed morals and values they had always stood for. Now a homicidal maniac was threatening their world, war was on the horizon, and nothing he did seemed to work out.

And this - this was his last vestige, the last area of his life he had any control over. He couldn't let anyone take it from him. He wasn’t repressed, he was just resigned.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. The only sound in the room was that of flesh hitting solid leather, and his labored breathing. He tried to drown in it, disappear in it, like he was one with the room. He was the body and the punching bag - just fighting himself.

“You have to be true to yourself."

- “I am.”

All day Alec had been busy mindlessly choosing from an array of near-identical objects, variations of linen, china, and endless combinations of flowers. Who gave a fuck? Apparently all these decisions were paramount. And maybe it did feel important, but for all the wrong reasons. He had no doubt his sister would have been able to make all these selections on her own perfectly fine, but she had insisted on him weighing in - all the while sending him sharp glances and not so subtly giving him outs with regards to the whole ceremony.

Alec felt more exhausted from this ordeal than he had ever had from a training session or hunt, but sleep still wouldn’t come.

Why didn’t anyone get it? Why was everyone giving him pitying looks and treading so excruciatingly lightly around him? Why was everyone judging him for what was supposed to be his choice, and the only logical and proper choice at that?

Magnus called it ‘living a lie’, Izzy construed it as him following his parents’ orders and ruining his life, Jace insinuated he wasn’t being true to himself. None of them got it.

He was true to himself. This was who he was. Gay, yes, but more importantly: fighting hard for his family, the Institute, all of their honor and future opportunities. He was trying to gain control, crucial control, over the situation with Valentine and over the Institute. Trying to ensure everyone would be safe.

This wasn't his parents marrying him off, this wasn’t the Clave dictating what he had to do or brainwashing him. This had nothing to do with sexuality or preferences, with romance, with social codes or expectations. This was about him.

Yes, Magnus was… confusing and nerve-inducing and sort of incredibly wonderful, really. But the point remained: Alec had to do right by himself. He needed to do this. He needed to marry Lydia. Not because he loved her, not because it was expected of him, not because he was in denial or unable to be true to himself, but because - because - he had to be true to himself. This was the moment where he could put his ideals, his beliefs, to the test.

Alec turned over in his bed once more, tangled in his worn cotton sheets, and breathed in harshly even though it barely seemed to make a difference. This was his choice and he would stand by it. This was him, proving himself to the world.

It didn’t taste like the sweet success he had hoped it would, though. If anything, it tasted like bitter regret.

“I thought I was doing the right thing, but this, it isn’t it.”

Alec fiddled nervously with his bow tie, the one he was supposed to put on in a couple of hours. This day was flying by in a daze and he was feeling consumed by nerves the one moment and completely numb the next.

The voice in his head had steadily increased in volume in the past few weeks, and now it was something of a daily shouting contest in his mind.

He didn’t think he had any chance of winning that contest. Having locked himself in his room for the larger part of this day, he was actually afraid he might be going mad.He'd been arguing with himself for hours on end.

And that’s what brought it home to him, hitting him in the face like a quick jab posing as a right hook: he had indeed been arguing with himself this entire time, not anybody else. The voice in his head was just as much him as the thoughts it seemed to continuously interrupt. On this lifelong issue of Alec, nobody was actually coming for him, nobody but himself.

It was a startling, haunting realization: that the threat to his carefully constructed manageable situation wasn’t from any outside forces, but rather from within.

He desperately tried to make sense of this braintwister. Because maybe, maybe he didn’t have to reconcile these two voices, the two aspects of himself, because all of it, everything, it was him. Attraction to other men, discomfort with that very same concept, hesitation, confusion, dedication to the Shadowhunter cause, to his family, his drives, his honor: it was all him, would always be him.

He had been so busy accepting that his sexuality defined him, would always be a part of him, that he hadn’t stopped to think that so would all of the other integral parts of his life. He wouldn’t stop being an eldest child, an older brother, a protector, a soldier, a Shadowhunter. He wouldn’t stop loving archery, valuing sincerity or thinking strategically. He didn’t have to work extra hard on those parts of him, just like he didn’t have to ‘work’ at being gay. Of course, he would always try to be a better version of himself, but he didn’t have to compensate or sacrifice other elements, like his romantic life, for a fear of losing everything else that made him, him.

To be gay.

To be a Shadowhunter.

These concepts had always warred within himself, but maybe it wasn’t so complicated, maybe he had already proven - in the 23 years of his existence - that he could have both, could be both. Because he was - simple as that. There was nothing to compensate for.

A strange relief rocked through him such as he had never felt before. Fiercer than when Jace had agreed to be his parabatai, than when he was appointed acting Head of the Institute, or than any of the moments they’d all made it out of a difficult hunt unscathed.

The springs in his decades-old mattress squeakily complained as he sagged down on his bed in a daze. He swallowed past a lump in his throat that only seemed to grow and grow until there was no way out. No way but out, and he cried - properly, with abandon - for the first time in years.

“I’m the same person I’ve always been. Now everything’s just out in the open.”

It was one thing grappling with this paradigm shift in the safety of his own bedroom, but by the time he stepped out he got smacked in the face with reality, with the expectation and stress hanging heavy in the air. It felt like too little, too late. He wasn’t ready to put his new-found perspective to the test, and he wasn’t one to forget the promise he had made.

Everything went so fast and before he knew it, he was up on that dais, feeling far removed from everything below him, stuck on a mile-high tower rather than a few steps up.

The sound of a door swinging shut brought him back from his trance, and the sight of Magnus Bane at the other end of the aisle toppled his tower. In that moment, everything else just ceased to exist. Inexplicably, it simplified everything.

For once Alec’s mind was blissfully quiet.

Jace whispered something at his back and Alec brought his attention to those immediately around him. The most important people in his life. For them, it was okay, it was fine, he was certain of that. Even for Lydia, apparently, even though he hadn’t been sure there. So, in the end, it was just him, standing in his own way.

Every step felt a mile-long.

It wasn’t so much walking towards Magnus as it was walking away from a reality where he didn’t have the option, towards one where he did.

And he felt sure - for the first time in his life - that for him, whatever would come from that option, living with it would mean living whole.

↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣↣

Ever since that conversation about his job offer, Alec can’t stop thinking it over all evening. He only pays half a mind to their conversation at dinner, he brushes his teeth mechanically, goes through all the motions, while he turns his own words over and over in his head. Magnus probably notices his merely physical presence - he always reads him like a large-print book - but he leaves Alec to his thoughts, confident in Alec’s ability to bring it up when he’s ready.

They’ve been in bed for about half an hour, Magnus already dozing off, when Alec finally speaks up. It’s little more than a whisper, but Magnus immediately stirs at Alec’s side.

“So when I say I’ve always dreamed of meeting someone like you... it’s true, but it’s also not. I’m not sure. I - it’s complicated.”

There’s a moment of silence in the bedroom - Alec can hear his heart pounding in his ears.

Magnus’ voice is soft and balming and he tangles his fingers with Alec’s.

“So tell me.”

#malec #alec lightwood #magnus bane #malec fanfic #shadowhunters #sh fanfic #fic promo #fanfiction #ao3 #i did a thing #mine

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maddyxchangjo · 7 years

Text

let’s talk about aron.

because I’m in my emo mood, but let’s talk about aron.

i’ve been in this fandom for the 5th year now (i joined post hello era) and in some ways, i’ve felt like I’ve not only just watch these boys grew up, but grew up along them. so, let’s talk about aron. i was an aron stan before i truly knew it - i just liked how he seemed so fun-loving and derpy, how he can sing and rap and writes his own lyrics.

and what really sealed the deal for me was him on radio with music access. it’s not the most stellar of his records - we all knew about the past that haunt him till this date. but this post isn’t about that because it’s long over. for those that had never, ever heard music access, you wouldn’t know how much the radio meant to international fans. aron not only hosted the most successful radio show in arirang that he got an article written about him connecting international fans to kpop during his stint, he also helped to build this community known as music access family.

loves who tuned in from all over the world sort of knew each other, some closer to others as they’ve interacted. i kept to myself more, so i don’t really know others, but i remember hearing certain names from different regions, seeing certain ids over and over again. and aron does too, because he might not have seen our faces, but he remembered our stories if you write in to him enough. he remembered the time he name a pet or the time you’ve met a slump, he gave words of encouragement to people who felt like they’ve hit a wall, he made us laugh at some of the silliest things.

there were moments where you can tell that he’s not in the mood, that he’s sick and he’s tired, but aron is human and we know that. so we appreciate even more the effort he tries to keep focus on the show. and he has helped so. many. people in ways that people don’t seem to realise.

aron lost a ton of fans after his supposed controversy, and as an aron bias, this hurts a lot. it hurts a lot because we see how his apologies are buried over by sheer hate; we see how a man so confident and straightforward has changed for the better but ignored and dragged on for months, even now. it hurts because we know - he knows - that no matter what, this thing has stained his history and there’s no turning back.

and yet, at the same time, we have taken steps forward. aron’s changed a lot. but him appreciating fans a lot is not new. in many fancams you can see how aron interact with loves, and how he make his rounds during fanmeeting to shake as many hands as possible. someone i knew said that she missed out on a high touch with aron during a fanmeet, but aron rounded back on his way to the stage; personally, i’ve see them twice in real life going down the stage to greet fans and twice, aron has impressed me how thorough he is with high touch or greeting them.

it’s the reason im an aron bias, after all.

aron always had very little korean fans, and even lesser fansites. a lot of his old fansites ceased operations, not because they disliked him, but because real life has taken over. a fansite i knew stopped because they wanted to focus on their career. another left the country. and then...for what seemed like close to a year or two, we had to look at aron through previews of other members. on some days, it felt like aron wasn’t there - he’s cut away from the previews or only an arm’s showing in the next; his face was blurred and there were none of his personal photos.

it got to the point where other member fansites posted photos of aron because there was none if they didn’t, because they wanted to help their fellow friends and fansitemasters who weren’t able to make it to the event. and we cherished it, all aron-stans. for every preview we had, we cried in joy, hyping it in our social media and kakao chats. we’re glad to see a photo of his full outfit, because most of the time, an arm or a leg or part of the back of his head is all we got.

( and even then, we told ourselves that we were lucky, because at least we knew the color of the shirt he wore. )

and it hurts too, frankly speaking. i’ve shed tears over this because of how more aron seemed to be hidden away and invisible. i’ve pondered why my bias doesn’t seem likeable to others when i firmly believed otherwise. i wondered, worried, if aron actually knew?

and i think he does. because he tries.

“i’d work on my korean.” “thank you for coming” “i’d try to post in the fancafe more often” “thank you for cheering on me too”

you’ve heard him said the last sentence in their last fanmeeting as nuest w, but did you know he’s pretty much been saying it since forever?

but now...im glad. there are more and more aron fansites again, and ice tea nim even came back briefly. for all the slumps we’ve witness aron gone through, to seeing his tears on their first win, we’re truly, truly happy for him. because now people are loving him as a member of the group, and people are willing to learn about him.

and most importantly, they knew what he said and they acknowledged his apology, and they’re giving him a second chance like how they’re giving nu’est a second chance, and it’s in this that i cannot be more grateful about. because i don’t think aron - or the boys - are perfect, but they aren’t as mean or an asshole as some people make them out to be, and they learn and matured and poured in their hard work time and time again to be who they are today.

words just can’t describe how proud i am, and glad to know that they’re accepting aron as he is, his changed self and his derpy self, his smart caring self and his hardworking self.

so yes, let’s talk about aron, because he deserves to be loved as a member of nu’est too. and thank you, to every love out there, who may not like him (yet) but at least given him a chance.

as an aron stan, thank you, for giving him a reason not to regret staying for his dream, for his brothers and fellow loves. this boy gave up new york university and was apart from his family members, coming to seoul alone when he speak none of the language nor understand the culture and it would never have been easy. but now, i think, at least he wouldn’t leave with any regrets years down the road.

so, thank you. ; u ;

#nuest #nu'est #aron #nu'est w #im emo #lovearon #my emo lovearon post because i just suddenly want to word vomit and then leave #idk #love aron pls #:"(#i know he's getting more love from kfans so it's always great but #do give him a chance #at least

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mist-chance · 7 years

Text

The Sea Devil’s Son (drabble*)

Hisui is the son of Akagami no Shanks, and a female incarnation of the Sea Devil. He can sense when events that will change/shape the world occur, and when his life will be affected by those events. He can manipulate water, communicate with Sea Kings, and sometimes see visions of the future. Was born with Kenbunshoku Haki.

Hisui was seven when he met his first human. He’d burst out of the ocean in a cascade of waves and seafoam churning against the shore. Disoriented by the abrupt transition from underwater to above-water, Hisui didn’t notice the human’s presence as quickly as he should have.

The human was male and at least twice Hisui’s height. His hair was a bright shade of yellow Hisui had only seen on the scales of some Sea Kings, and it sat on the human’s head like a messy clump of seaweed. But Hisui’s eyes were mostly drawn to the strange blue mark covering the human’s bare chest.

(“What’s your name, kid? How’d you get here?) The human’s mouth moved and sound came out, rumbly and deep – but it wasn’t anything Hisui understood. It wasn’t like the croons of the whales or the grumbles of the Sea Kings, the murmurings of the fish or the soft screeches of the octopi and sharks. Those Hisui understood and responded to; and those he couldn’t communicate with he could understand through impressions of emotions he got.

(“Kid? Can you understand me?”)

Hisui felt curiosity and concern as the human leant closer to him and made sounds again. He tilted his head as he met the human’s blue eyes. Then he caught sight of hair on the human’s chin, and moved closer to get a better look. The human flinched when Hisui prodded at the bristles on his chin, but quickly stilled and allowed the touch.

(“I’m Marco. Mar-co.”) The human pointed to his chest and repeated the sound. (“Mar-co.”)

“Mar-u-ko,” Hisui dutifully uttered when he sensed the human wanted him to mimic the sound. It startled him – though the sound came from his own mouth, it fell awkwardly from his tongue and made his throat ache. “Mar-u-ko,” he tested again.

(“Mar-co.”) The human prodded his thumb into his chest. Then he slowly and carefully pressed a finger to Hisui’s chest.

“Hisui,” Hisui crooned the soft warbling sounds of his name in response to the questioning, curious impression he got from the human.

The human blinked, then breathed out loudly as he straightened. (“Oyaji’s gonna kill me. Kid, you wanna come with me? I don’t want to leave you here alone.”) He held a hand out to Hisui.

Hisui sensed the human’s sincere kindness and goodness, and with the soft, encouraging murmurs of the tide swirling around his ankles, he took the human’s hand.

In the six months he spent with the Shirohige no Ichimi, Hisui learned how to talk, read, and write. The pirate crew was the first group of humans Hisui had ever interacted with for any stretch of time, so he learned about social norms – teasing, pranking, affection, rudeness, cursing – by watching crewmates interact. Of course, when Marco realized what Hisui was picking up (mostly because Hisui had asked him what “fuck” meant), he’d been quick to hammer manners and common courtesy into him, too.

“You might choose not to be a pirate, yoi,” Marco explained as he patiently combed Hisui’s wild spikes into something tame. “Other people aren’t like pirates. You can’t intimidate or be rude to people without more severe consequences. And it’s not like being a pirate doesn’t have an immediate consequence, either.”

“Marines?” Hisui asked as he tried to meet Marco’s gaze.

“Marines,” Marco agreed as he ruffled Hisui’s spikes. “Normal people, civilians, have to worry about Marines too, or whatever enforcers the authorities in their area use. But other than avoiding punishment, having manners and being polite will only help you in the end. It’s easier to draw in others with honey than vinegar, yoi.”

“…What’s honey?” Hisui frowned as he turned to look up at Marco.

There was a familiar mix of emotions – none of them bad, just a flurry of disbelief, bemusement, and uncertainty, neutral emotions that equated to Marco not knowing what to make of him. Most of the pirates he interacted with on the Moby Dick ended up feeling a similar blend of emotions at one point or another.

“C’mon, yoi,” Marco urged as he stood and offered a hand to Hisui. “Let’s go find Thatch. He’ll be able to tell you what honey is.”

Hisui liked Marco, Thatch, and the other Commanders. They were kind to him, even if they sometimes didn’t know what to do with him. But his favorite human was the captain, Shirohige. Unlike his crew, Shirohige wasn’t too concerned about where Hisui came from or anything about his past. Hisui wasn’t sure how – if it was a factor of wisdom, age, or experience with the mysteries of the Grand Line – but it was like Shirohige knew there was more to him. The old man regarded Hisui with a level of respect Hisui had never felt directed at him before, and though he knew Marco cared about him, it was...different. Better, in a way. Shirohige treated Hisui like he was an equal, not a child.

The old man didn’t bring up his suspicions until the night Hisui planned to leave the Moby Dick.

“Leaving, brat?” Shirohige’s aged voice rumbled from his throat the way his Devil Fruit abilities could shatter through air.

Hisui startled at the old man’s voice, almost tumbling from his perch on the railing into the ocean. He turned to face Shirohige, and wondered if the ocean’s call had distracted him enough to overlook the old man’s presence on deck.

“You’re a child of the sea; perhaps even more so than the other brats I call my children,” Shirohige noted as he downed a cup of sake. Some of the liquid missed his mouth, streaming down his chin and bare chest. It glinted in the moonlight. “I thought you were that damn Akagami’s brat, when Marco first brought you to me. Maybe you are. But you’re more than that, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Hisui answered honestly as he unflinchingly met the old man’s sharp eyes. “Before I met Marco, all I’d ever known was the sea.”

Shirohige looked at Hisui, his eyes unblinking. Satisfied by what he found, laughed. “Gurarara! Don’t you want to say goodbye to Marco and the rest of your brothers before you leave?”

Hisui frowned in bemusement. “Why? It’s not like we won’t see each other again.”

Shirohige shook his head as he chuckled. “Stupid brat. We humans are sentimental about these things. There aren’t guarantees in this world. When you see us again, we might not be what you remember.”

“I’ll come back,” Hisui said confidently, and with enough earnestness that he realized he was making his first promise. “But if you ever need me, all you need to do is call for me.”

“Should we call out to the sea, then?” Shirohige asked shrewdly.

“Yes. If you call for me, I will come.” Hisui nodded.

“Cheeky brat,” Shirohige snorted. “Don’t think we’ll call for you so easily. We’re pirates, after all.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Hisui grinned, pleased by the pride and confidence he felt in Shirohige’s words.

“But don’t forget, regardless of your past or where you go, you’ll always be my son. So come home sometime, Hisui.”

Hisui’s throat clogged while his eyes burned with the unfamiliar sensation of tears. “…Yes. Oyaji.”

He swiftly turned, and without looking back, he leapt off the railing. The ocean wrapped around him in a familiar embrace as he submerged.

The air was cool when Hisui stepped out of the sea again. He shivered, his soaked clothes sticking to his skin and water streaming from them.

“Where am I?” he whispered, voice hoarse from not speaking human-language for a while. The waves lapped at his calves. “North Blue?” he frowned at the water. “How long’s it been since I last surfaced?” When Hisui didn’t get a response, he huffed and started wringing his clothes out the best he could.

“What are you doing?”

Hisui looked up from his drenched sleeve and saw a boy standing nearby. He wasn’t sure how to talk with someone his own age; but then again, he was pretty sure kids his age shouldn’t have such a deadened or creepy I-want-to-take-you-apart-to-see-how-you-work look in their eyes, either.

“I’m wet,” Hisui deadpanned as he wrung saltwater out of his other sleeve. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I saw you come out of the ocean.” The creepy boy’s gold eyes glittered, and the predatory need to interrogate he was emitting made Hisui shiver again. “There aren’t any boats in sight, and I’ve been on the shore all morning. I would’ve seen you go in, if you’d come from town.”

“If there was a question, I missed it.” Anxiety ate at Hisui, and the waves churned restlessly and unnaturally around his legs. He took a discrete deep breath in to calm himself. The waves returned to their usual push-pull motion, lapping at his legs and the shore. It didn’t seem like the boy had noticed the water act strangely.

“What’s your name?”

The demand rubbed Hisui the wrong way. He frowned and said, “If you want to know someone’s name, you usually give your own, first.”

The boy’s frown deepened into a dangerous scowl. “I’m Trafalgar Law. And you are?”

“That’s not your name,” Hisui said as he felt the boy’s emotions fluctuate in a way he’d come to associate with lying. “Or at least, not your full name,” he amended when Law stiffened and seemed to bristle.

“My name is Trafalgar D. Water Law,” Law spat, his shoulders so stiff they started to tremble.

“D.,” Hisui repeated softly, transfixed by the sound of the initial. The water at his feet thrummed, and a piece of understanding Hisui didn’t know he was missing slotted into place. “I’m Hisui,” he said before Law could demand his name again.

*Note: I do hope to expand this into a longer fic at some point. My head-canon for it so far is that the ocean has Hisui pretty much dive-bomb into various characters’ lives, and screws with canon events.

#One Piece #OP #One Piece Fanfiction #The Sea Devil's Son #My Fanfiction #Hisui #Shinkou Hisui #Marco the Phoenix #Whitebeard #Whitebeard Pirates #Trafalgar Law

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