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oddsnendsfanfics · 3 years ago

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Unraveling the Mystery

Genre: Fan Fiction

Pairing: Henry Cavill/OFC

Warnings: N/A

Rating: PG

Length: Short Story

Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.

A/N: I have been sitting on this idea, for a while. It's taken forever to get it just right, what can I say? I can't get away from these folks.

Henry Cavill Master List

Sitting in the backseat of the car, Ivan huffed. Arms across his chest, Kal laying quietly beside him, his head on the boy's lap. He was not amused by his parent's Saturday excursion. In the front seat, Nell checked her phone, looking at emails and appointments for the upcoming week. Henry had his eyes on the road, navigating through the small city with expert care and attention.

Saturdays spent as a family were supposed to be fun. Ivan wasn't exactly having fun. Grumpy all morning, he hadn't turned his scowl upside down once. Whatever. His parents didn't seem to notice or care that he was in a pissy mood. Why should they?

When they'd left home, Henry had mentioned going to the next town over, but didn't really say why. Nell had been too worried looking for paperwork. Ivan wasn't stupid, he'd heard them in the office last night. They thought he had gone to bed, which he had, but they didn't know their son had gone back down stairs for a drink. Walking by the door, he'd stopped, originally to say “good night”, again but decided to hold out.

Ivan laid his head back on the seat, Kal nestling in for the remainder of the ride. How could his parents do this to him? The bits of conversation had replayed in his mind all night.

"But if we adopt, then we know it's a girl." Sighing, Nell rubbed her eyes. "I am outnumbered."

"Yes, but what if we can't find the right girl?"

Ivan furrowed his brow, listening through the cracked door. His parents were clearly discussing something that would be a huge part of their family, yet chose to leave him out?

Standing quietly for a few seconds, trying to peep around the office door, he saw Kal sprawled out on the floor. Sleeping soundly. At least his position wasn't going to be given away.

"And we will need to take him. I don't want to bring him home a sister, to find out he's pissed off." Henry continued.

Gee, thanks dad. Ivan rolled his eyes, tears stinging.

Inside of the office his mother's chair scraped the floor. Time to move along. Quietly rushing to get upstairs, before he was caught.

They were adopting and didn't even bother to ask how he felt? What if he didn't want a sibling? What if he was content being an only child? Nobody had bothered to ask him and it hurt.

“Almost there,” Henry announced. Ivan huffed, Nell hummed, and Kal sighed. “Not the response that I was expecting, but okay.”

“I'm excited, I'm busy is all.” Nell glanced at her husband with a warm smile. “Someone has to keep you in costume and Ivan on track.”

“Whatever.” Ivan muttered, rolling his eyes. So now they pretend to care.

“When we're finished, do you want to go for a walk and grab something to eat?”

Leaning around in her seat to see Ivan; Nell smiled. “What do you think wild boy? Should we grab something to eat after? I hear they have a great sushi place just around the corner.”

“Whatever.”

“Is that all you can say today?” Nell raised her brow.

Ivan shrugged.

“Well, then. I guess you don't have an opinion, then we will go wherever we see fit.”

“Why ask me where I want to eat, you didn't care to ask me if I even wanted to come.”

“We thought that you'd enjoy an afternoon out.” Henry answered, checking that he was clear to make the right hand turn. Pulling into an empty space, he killed the engine. “We're here.”

“I'm excited.”

“I'm not.” Grumbled Ivan in reply to his mother's enthusiasm.

Leaning over, Henry was the one turned to face his sullen son. “Okay, before we go in. Care to tell me what's going on?”

In the back seat, Ivan tried his best not to allow his tears to fall. If they began then they may never stop. Dramatic? A little. He couldn't hold it in any longer, his parents had truly hurt his feelings and trust. Why had they not trusted him to tell him the truth? If he hadn't heard them talking, would they have simply brought another child home and told him to deal with it?

Sniffling, he wiped his hand across his cheeks. How silly did he look?

“Ivan?” Henry prompted, gently reaching out to his son.

Shrinking away, Ivan continued to sniffle. Shaking his head, Ivan opened his mouth to answer, but only a sob came.

“Are you okay? Ivan, you can talk to us.” Encouraging her son, despite her heart clenching, Nell tried to smile.

He had been out of sorts all morning. Taking it as he was annoyed to be woken so early, Nell had ignored his bad mood. She'd figured it would change, when they arrived to meet the puppy. On the seat beside him, Kal laid with his head still on Ivan. Nudging him gently with his nose.

“You didn't even ask me, how-how I felt.” Ivan whispered.

“Felt? About what? Are you not feeling well?” Concern etched Henry's face.

Ivan shook his head. “About adopting. Why? Why would you do that and not talk to me? A sister is a pretty big thing and you didn't even ask, if I wanted one.”

In a second, Henry could nearly feel his heart breaking for his son. Clearing his throat, he rubbed the back of his neck. Nell sprang into mom mode. Taking over, giving Ivan a soft smile and passing back a tissue from her bag,

“Oh, wild boy.” Cooing, Nell shook her head. “No, I think you have it wrong.”

“Do I? Oh really?”

“Yeah, we're um...we wanted to keep it a secret, in case Kal didn't get along with her. But then we were so excited, we had to bring you. Ivan, we're here to see about adopting another dog.”

“A dog?” Ivan sat up his interest fully engaged. Henry laughed and nodded. His mood changing faster than a speeding bullet. “A dog? We're getting another dog?”

“Maybe.” It was only fair that Henry laid down the rules now. “If she and Kal get along, then we will take her home. For a week. If they manage well, then she is ours. If they don't, then we have to bring her back. We didn't want to tell you, because we wanted to surprise you.”

“You better like her.” Ivan gently booped Kal's nose. Kal snuffled and yawned.

“I wish you had told us, how you felt. Oh god, I'm sorry.”

Last night, while in the office, Nell had heard a creak outside the door. Assuming it was another feature of the older home, she had ignored it, continuing her conversation with Henry. Shit. Now she felt terrible. How Ivan must have felt, beyond her comprehension. No wonder the poor boy had been in a rotten mood. Assuming his parent were making life decisions and not bothering to inform him.

“It's okay mum.” Ivan shrugged, “I shouldn't have assumed.”

“Wild boy, we would never adopt another child, without talking to you. Honestly.” Nell informed her son, her caring smile growing.

“Unless something changes, drastically, we will never have that conversation. So I think you are safe.”

“But I thought you wanted more kids?” Eyeing his father cautiously, Ivan wiped his nose on the tissue and snuffled once more. His tears dried on his cheeks.

Henry shrugged, glancing at Nell and smiling. “Once upon a time, I would have loved to have a dozen kids. But, I think that time has gone. You're older now and I know that you enjoy being an only child. Besides, your mum and I don't have that energy anymore. Chasing small children, it's too much work.”

“Well, now that we have this cleared up. Shall we go meet the potential, puppy?”

“Yes, please.” Ivan sprung up, grabbing Kal's leash to get the big dog out of the car. Opening the car door, he shuffled out to join his parents, promptly handing Kal to Henry.

A shift in his mood, Ivan could barely contain his excitement, asking his parents all kinds of questions. The short distance from the car to the shelter didn't give them much time to answer, but Nell did her best to fill in any information that Ivan was requesting. They had found the puppy on the website, not really looking for another dog.

Her name was Tilly, she was almost a year old, an energetic doxie pinscher mix. Her mother rescued a few weeks before Tilly and her two brothers were born. Ivan didn't even have to see her, to know she would be the best dog – best small dog – ever. Clearly Kal was the best dog ever. Henry allowed Kal a few minutes outside, while Nell and Ivan went inside to inform the staff that they had arrived.

“Mum,” Ivan whispered standing beside her, in the lobby, waiting for the assistant to join them, “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay, wild boy. You have nothing to be sorry for, but the next time come talk to me. I don't like it when you are upset.” Nell wrapped her arm around him, kissing the top of his head.

“Mrs. Cavill?” A tall woman asked walking into the room. Nell nodded and smiled. “Hi, I'm Aly. I'll be hanging out with you today.” She glanced at Ivan and smiled. Carefully looking passed Nell, she shifted. “You mentioned bringing your dog?”

“Yes, he's outside with my husband. It was a bit of a drive up. Can you go let your dad know that he needs to come in?” Nell ruffled Ivan's hair.

Nodding, Ivan did his best to control his excitement, reminding himself to walk towards the door. Calmly, he took a breath. Spotting Henry and Kal on the small patch of grass, he waved opening the door to call his dad. Excitement, contain. Breathe. Ivan straightened his posture before walking back across the office to his mother.

“He's coming.”

“Do you want to follow me in, when he comes in then I can have them sent back?”

“Sure, sounds good.” Following Aly behind a set of doors, Nell and Ivan walked hand in hand. It was not at all what Ivan imagined. There were no rows of barking dogs, instead it was a calm and quiet group of rooms. Each one with large windows and a door. Inside the floors had patches of fake grass, tile flooring, and a few toys.

“The last time that you were here, I know that you and your husband had met Tilly and Anduin.” Holding open a door to one of the rooms, Aly addressed Nell. Ivan raised his brow. So his parents had been here before? “Did you want to bring them both out?”

Slightly blushing, Nell gave the assistant a sheepish smile. “I'm not going to lie, I really adored Tilly. I agreed to bring Anduin out, to humour my husband.”

Ivan giggled. Of course his dad would have wanted to meet Anduin.

“Ah, I understand. Okay, well I am going to get Tilly. You can make yourselves comfortable.”

Ivan sat in one of the plastic office chairs, swinging his legs lightly, his feet not that far from the floor. Nell stood in the corner by the floor to ceiling window, watching for Henry and Kal. Humming contently, Ivan tried to picture what this new dog would look like. She would certainly be smaller than Kal, not even the size of Kal's leg. He giggled at the idea of the little dog bossing the old bear around.

Would Tilly like them?

“What's Anduin like?”

“Huh?” Nell turned her head to look at Ivan, she had been lost in her thoughts of upcoming projects and school sport schedules.

“Anduin, you said that you only saw him because Dad wanted to.”

“Oh, he's a nice dog. But he's big and bouncy, he's still young and they said he had a bit of an aggression problem to work through. I'm sure he'll make someone a great dog, but he's not what we need. Not right now.”

Ivan nodded in understanding. As much as they loved Kal, one big dog was enough. He sat looking around the room, when he and his mom spotted Aly at the same time. Taking a step back from her post, Nell held out an arm to Ivan, indicating she wanted him to join her.

Entering the room, Aly had a small dog in her arms. Licking her face furiously, the dog wagged her tail, excitedly enjoying the interaction.

“Here is Tilly,” bending to sit the puppy on the floor, Aly smiled at Ivan. “Why don't you take a seat and get to know her?”

“Mum, momma, mum.” Ivan tugged on Nell's sleeve. “This is the best surprise.”

“I'm glad you're excited.” Nell kissed the top of his head. “Do you want to play with her? Get to know her a little, before Kal comes in?”

On the other side of the windows, Nell caught sight of Henry and Kal approaching. Kal looked around cautiously, following Henry into the small corridor. Nodding to his wife and giving a slight wave, Henry smiled. He would wait right where he was, until asked to bring Kal in. Kal sat at Henry's side, watching through the window, a slight whine when he saw little Henry playing with the ultra small dog.

Sitting down on the floor, allowing the small brown dog to climb on him, Ivan giggled. Her whole body shook with her tail wag, as she bounced on and off of the boy's lap. Aly smiled, watching the two interact.

“They certainly get on well.”

“Ivan loves dogs.”

When Henry and Nell had come to see the dogs, it had been Henry on the floor giggling like a child, while the puppy had climbed all over him. Nell had joined in, sitting and tossing the ball for both Tilly and Anduin. But Ivan was by far the one in his true element.

“Let's see how Kal does, shall we?”

“Of course.” Nell waved for Henry to bring Kal in.

Opening the door, Henry gave a gentle tug on Kal's leash. The big, black and white dog was hesitant to enter the room with the smaller creature. She was full of the zoomies and her bark was fierce.

“Kal.” Henry called to his companion. “Come on. It's fine.”

Reluctant, Kal shuffled into the room, snuffling and snorting. Making sure to keep Henry, Nell, Ivan, and the strange woman between him and the small fur missile. The small brown dog darted around Nell, between Henry's legs and right up to Kal. Pulling back on his leash, Kal was wide eyed. No! No way! She was growing closer.

Without warning Tilly stopped a few inches from Kal, reaching out she sniffed his foot and took off. Too concerned with her return, Kal was having a hard time relaxing. His fear was soon soothed, when Nell reached down to offer him a biscuit. Oh so now they were buying him off with food? Eh, fair enough.

“Why don't you pick her up, then she's not as bouncy.” Aly smiled at Ivan.

Scooping the puppy into his arms, Ivan smiled when she began to instantly lick his face. “Tilly.” He giggled, holding her out to his dad.

“Come here, sweetheart.” Henry accepted the puppy. She was tiny compared to Kal, even as a baby. Henry smiled holding the wiggly body, trying to control her enough to let Kal get a proper look. “Look Kal, see the baby.”

Kal huffed, sinking down to the floor. His head resting on his paws. How dare they.

“Have a look, bear.” Henry encouraged the older dog. Bending down with the puppy, he laughed when she licked his chin, giving playful bites. “She's okay. Easy fella.” He steadied Kal, who had lifted his head a little. Sniffing towards the puppy, he sat up. His head tilted slightly. Henry eased Tilly closer.

Reaching out, she yipped in Kal's face, but didn't shy when his big nose poked her in the belly. Licking at Kal, she wagged her tail fiercely.

“I know that you love being the only dog, but would a friend be terrible? She's a friend. Not a chew toy.” Nell eyed Kal.

Huffing, Kal sniffed the puppy once more, before scooting back as Henry let her go on the floor. Instantly zooming around the room, Tilly bumped into Kal. Reacting less dramatically, Kal groaned and flopped down onto the floor. His eyes following the puppy, his desire to chase the small creature almost void. He was too old for this shit.

“I think we should take her home, what do you think?” Henry glanced at Ivan.

“Yes, please.” Ivan nodded eagerly. “What about you, Kal? Do you want a sister?”

Kal huffed. He didn't care one way or another.

“I think we will definitely be taking her.” Nell smiled. Stooping to scoop up the puppy, she scratched Tilly's ears and smiled wide.

“Your mum has a new mate,” Henry nudged Ivan in he side, gesturing to Nell snuggling the puppy.

“Maybe this means she won't bother me so much to do things.” Ivan snickered.

“Don't bet on it,” Nell smirked, she'd heard their chat. When would they learn, she heard everything.

Settling the final paperwork, gathering instructions, and all the legal work that went with adopting dog had taken mere minutes. The shelter were efficient, set up, and knew their business. Henry admired that. Nell had been the one to find them, assuring him that they were reputable, reliable, and a decent place to work with. She wanted nothing but the best, when it came to their newest addition.

Thanking Aly, posing for a few photos – as was custom for the shelter, when an animal found a new place, and making sure they had all of their paperwork, instructions in case Tilly needed to come back. Ha! They were on the their way, the five of them.

Kal led the way to the car, he had snacks waiting and needed to finish that nap he'd been taking. Henry opened the door, allowing Kal to get situated, before Ivan and Tilly joined him. Giving the big dog word of encouragement, telling him how fantastic he'd been with the entire thing.

“Mum, momma, mum.” Ivan bounded towards the car, at his mother's side “I'm sorry for being upset this morning.”

“You have nothing to apologise for, wild boy.” Carrying Tilly; Nell wrapped her other arm around Ivan. “But do me a favour, the next time you want to eves drop, come to us before assuming things.”

Tag List Chat

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill fanfic #oddsnendshenryfics

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bundleofyarrow · 3 years ago

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Chapter 10 of A Bundle of Yarrow is now up over on AO3! or you can read the latest chapter below the cut. thanks to all of you who follow me on here and let me know you’re still craving some Milo time, it helped motivate me to write some more. maybe it’s not obvious but, knowing there are people out there who appreciate my writing makes me want to write! either way, this is a shorter transition chapter, building up for some drama come Turffield. as always, i love all the feedback <3

Galar Mine

“I want this one!”

“And I get this one over here!”

Leon and Milo stood crossing their arms of their chests as you and Sonia hovered around shining crystals emerging from the cave walls. The mines glittered reflecting the light of lanterns, immediately mesmerizing you.

“Everything here is the property of Marco Cosmos.” Leon says stiffly, as if practiced. “Just one of those jewels costs my entire year of pay.”

“But look at this!” You point to a green one and aim puppy eyes at Milo while Sonia bats her eyelashes at Leon. “Wouldn’t this be beautiful on a ring?”

Milo looks strangely nervous. “We got little influence in this stuff! The League is just one part of Marco Cosmos, ‘n we’re employees of it. I’d be shocked if they even gave us a discount.”

The both of you pout and follow the boys and Charizard walking further into the cave. The air was dry and cool, every little sound echoing in the rocky tunnels. It was surprisingly well-lit for a cave, but as you all started to encounter miners at work, you had your answer as to why. Clangs of steel hitting rock and the low rumble of minecarts soon overtook the glistening sparkles of the crystals. Every once in a while you stop for Leon to take selfies with fans.

“Galar is a very industrial region.” You muse out loud, poking at a piece of coal at the top of a large stack. “You all are really into machines here.”

“Energy is our main business and export.” Leon’s eyes scan the various activities of the miners, as if he’s looking for something in particular. “The Chairman is trying to find a sustainable source of energy, because mining won’t last forever. And if our energy dwindles, so does the health of all Galar.”

You sit with this for a bit. Alola is a lot more laidback, and not as populated as here. While everyone adopts new technology as it comes out, there isn’t a rush towards anything in particular. One might say many parts are in decline, but you begin to miss the small villages among lush greenery.

“Champion Leon!”

Out from a side tunnel pops out a kid, probably a bit older than Gloria and Hop, in a full magenta coat and mop of platinum hair.

“There you are, you must be Bede.” Leon rests his sunglasses on his cap and he offers to shake hands.

The boy, Bede, ignores the gesture. “I hope you’re ready for me to beat you in the Champion Cup.” The arrogance on his face is insufferable as his eyes move over your group. “And that none of you plan on getting in my way.” Running a hand through his hair, he holds out a bag to Leon. “Here’s all the Wishing Stars I’ve found so far, make sure they get to Chairman Rose.”

And with a nonchalant gesture, he departs. Charizard lets out a brief but low growl. You couldn’t help but feel like Bede just saw you as bit extras in the play of his life.

“Charming.” Sonia rolls her eyes at his departing silhouette. “Make sure to beat him good, Milo.”

The curt nod from the usually soft Milo surprises you.

“Well folks, that’s it for me.” Leon stretches like he’s going on a run. “I have to get myself back to Hammerlocke to deliver these to the energy plant there. If I take too long I’m definitely going to have Oleana chaining me to a desk.” He turns to give a quick hug to Sonia, fist bump Milo, and then wraps his arms around your shoulders. “Keep in touch, okay?”

“Promise.”

With a final squeeze, Leon takes a few steps back and waves to you all before departing. Charizard leads him back the way you came, and soon the warm glow from his tail fades from sight.

“We should be on our way too.” Sonia looks to her phone. “Not only because there’s no service here, but Milo needs to open up the gym challenge. Turffield is going to be swamped.”

Milo begins walking in a different direction. “I know the mines pretty well, I can lead you through ‘em.”

The path through the mines are pretty uneventful, mostly winding tunnel after tunnel of miners and various extracted resources. Sonia and your conversation about when she did the gym challenge fills the air as Milo seems lost in his thoughts. The Pokemon in the mines are mostly peaceful and keep to themselves, doing their own digging or resting in dark corners. Every once in a while, Milo looks up to the cavern ceilings, searching for something.

“The exit should be gettin’ close.” He announces after checking the ceiling again.

You were about to ask him why he was doing that when you hear a fluttering from behind you, causing you to jump, scaring Sonia in the process. “S-sorry! I thought something was behind me-”

That’s when you notice something’s on your arm. And not just a little thing but a Pokemon.

You’re about to let out a scream when Milo makes a hushing noise as he walks over to you.

“It’s okay, fella ain’t gonna harm ya.” It was a ball of fur with wings, and what you think is its nose is suctioned to your arm. You’ve never seen such a Pokemon before, and if Milo wasn’t there you’d think it was trying to suck your blood. “It’s a Woobat, they are actually quite friendly, if a bit odd.” Milo lightly places his hands on the Pokemon, reminding you how he so easily calms creatures down. “Hey now, you have to ask permission before you give someone a kiss.”

Eventually you feel the snout of the Woobat peel off your skin, which thankfully isn’t painful just a little weird. But it left behind the impression of a heart on your arm. “A heart? That’s kind of cute.” You look to the Pokemon, who doesn’t have visible eyes but a cheerful smile with a single fang.

“That’s actually major good luck! Woobat don’t give that to just anyone.” When Milo lets go, the Pokemon hovered in the air next to you, and chirps happily.

You chance a look at the cave ceiling, and in the dim light you can see a bunch of heart-shaped impressions. “Were you looking up to see where the Woobat gathered?”

Milo’s gaze joins yours. “Sorta, I was checkin’ the time and how close we were to the exit. They tend to hang out near the entrances of caves, and that we don’t see Woobat means dusk hasn’t completely fallen yet.” His hand lightly touches your shoulder. “So we’re makin’ good time!”

Before the moment can sink in, he gives you a small smile and squeeze on the shoulder before moving back to the front of the group to continue leading. Not only do you and Sonia follow, but so does the Woobat. He hovers around you, sometimes visiting Sonia and Milo, but something about you has caught his interest. So you take out a few berries, and begin tossing them into the air, giggling as the Woobat swoops in skillfully to catch each in his mouth.

“Careful, you’re going to spoil him.” Sonia nudges you playfully. “But I’m glad to see you in good spirits. It’s been a wild few days for you, hasn’t it?”

You try not to think too much about it, but you nod. “I’m still trying to understand it all, but all I can do is move forward, right? To think I’m going to be battling Milo tomorrow is… strange.”

The peach-haired man in question turns to face you. “Just do it to have fun, that’s my perspective. If you’re having a good time, then win or lose, you’ve accomplished what you set out for!”

Woobat chirps in agreeance, and though you still find him a little strange, his presence is a positive one.

So you choose to believe them, that no matter what happens, it will be for the best. You’ve spent so much time in Galar worrying about your future. And as light from the outside begins to peek into view, you’re determined to better cherish the moment, for what was coming around the corner, you never would have guessed.

#a bundle of yarrow #milo x reader #pokemon milo #fanfiction

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septiembrre · 4 years ago

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what are your top 5 rio moments?

Wow. Everyone knows how obsessed I am with my main man, Rio. He’s one of my all time favs, definitely top 5 characters across my history of fandom. Honestly, the question is more like what Rio moments don’t I like.

Okay! I’m going with my intuition. In no particular order:

1. Rio’s apartment and 20 questions.

Oh my godddd, can you believe we lived before this scene??? Some thoughts:

Our boy wears cashmere pullovers? I still cannot believe.

His closet overall... he keeps pictures of his parents or grandparents (???) in there. Ugh, my boy. There aren’t necessarily a lot of Mexican folks who have access to pictures of their ancestors, so it definitely inspires questions as to what Rio’s class background/family immigration story is.

He’s a confirmed art-heaux?!?!

He likes the color GREEN!?!

He’s a cute doting dad who purchases jumbo hamburger stuffies for his sweet angelic child who apparently knows how to clean his room. Does Rio pay someone to clean his house or is this level of meticulous just his Virgo/Cap moon coming out to play?

He has a record player and not a tv. Like wow, my hipster millennial spirit transcended.

He has copper cookware. I just- I cannot. I burn. I kind of want him to adopt me? Idek as what? Like I’m happily partnered but do I want him to be my baller, sexy af boyfriend? Obviously. Do I want to be his best friend who he invites over for bougie dinner parties who armchair diagnoses his lack of success in romantic relationships? Absolutely. Do I also kind of want him to be my rich dad? I mean... yeeeah. He’s really got me fanning myself over here on this copper cookware.

We also learned that there are not any significant others worthy of display. HMMMMM.

And his bedroom has no walls.

Wild. The whole scene, even before he’s actually in it is wild. I’m a Libra y’all and the fine-living details in this set are just so much for my heart.

And then he actually fucking shows up. I think about this scene ALL the time.

2. Can I just pick 2x09 as an entire moment? Rio letting himself be lured to Beth’s house for sex (It’s lonely at the top, the heart-eyes at the bar, “what am I doing here, Elizabeth?”, ALL OF THE GAZING, THE KISS, fuck, even the break up???).

I guess objectively I can recognize that the above is potentially five separate moments. Oh well.

But, the layers of mounting vulnerability in this episode were wonderful. My heart still hurts for him. It hurts for Beth. I love these moments where we seem him vulnerable and intimate.

My sweet prince you are in love deep feels with someone who has only been in one very shitty relationship. The last time our girl went on a first date she was probably 15. She doesn’t mean to be an asshole, sweetie, also, I know you just had a lot of sex made love~~*** lol you troll that came back to bite you and it’s what you deserve but she still doesn’t think that you like her. I love the transparency of want and feelings mixed in with the layers of misunderstanding and miscommunication in this episode. It’s so dumb and wonderful.

3. Intimidating killing? Gil

Everything about this scene was A+++ to me. I love watching Rio at work. I love watching him be boss with someone besides Beth. It’s great to get information about who Rio is independently of Beth, but it also helps shade in just how nice he is to her, and what’s unique to their relationship.

But yes, give me twenty more gratuitous scenes of Rio being a smug king pin, please.

4. That S1 scene at Cloud Nine

The hoodie

The straw

The sass

Getting called a bitch

Rio in a playful scene with ALL of the good girls?

Again, can we get twenty more iterations of this scene? Please?

I love these early scenes before the show fully picked what they were going to do with Rio’s character and he comes across as so young and playful. It’s delightful and I love the way Manny/the show have found other moments to carry that forward.

5. The bar scene where Beth says she lost the pregnancy

Rio’s so raw in this scene. He’s exhausted, and vulnerable, and suddenly thrown into feelings of grief. He’s grieving the ridiculous situation they’re in, being fully faced with a future where he kills Beth and it hurts him now that he’s been reminded of her humanity and how much he legitimately used to like her. He’s kind of devastated in that scene? The emotion on his face is so rich and such a nice counter beat to the fierce anger and resentment in Season 3. Manny did an incredible job - the scene is magnificent.

Honorable mentions:

Rio being his most petty, terrible self at the clinic. When he fake smiles at Beth in the waiting room, it’s not his sexy smile, it’s a particular brand of hateful and condescending and I LIVE FOR IT.

The last Rio scene in Season 3 between him and Beth in the empty showroom. That level of chemistry between them and the quick resurgence of the emotional investment from Rio, the flirting... My boy, I ship you with Beth 1000% but sweetheart, what are you doing already genuinely liking her so damn much? Please, never change.

The break up in Season 1 <3 This scene is such a treat. I love that they gave it to us so early.

#okay i need to stop now because I could talk about Rio forever #Rio #asks

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silke-doomflare · 4 years ago

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Meet the character: Silke

BASICS

► Name ➔ “Silke Doomflare. And yes, it’s got something to do with my profession!”

► Are you single ➔ Silke’s eyes suddenly get a bit wider. She blinks, and then purses her lips, becoming oddly interested in the nearby wall. “It’s complicated.”

► Are you happy ➔ “Mm, yeah, I guess I could say so”, she states after thinking for a moment. “I’m studying things I love, my family is safe and alive, I have a handful of people I could consider my friends.. Can’t really complain, although a little bit more gil wouldn’t hurt...”

► Are you angry? ➔ “Well, usually not. Though, at the moment I’m a bit pissed off at a certain colleague of mine who loudly and unnecessarily harshly judged my thesis of pyromancy in front of our professor and classmates. Like, hellooo? You can give critique and still be polite about it, geez…”

► Are your parents still married ➔ “They are”, Silke nods proudly. "I’ve seen so many broken families lately. I feel very privileged… and lucky.”

EIGHT FACTS

► Birth Place ➔ “I’ve heard it was the place named Skatay Range. But I can’t remember a thing from it. I was so young when I was taken by slavers. So I like to think Kugane as my real birth place, since I grew up there.“

► Hair Color ➔ “Black I guess? At least it was the last time I checked! In bright light it looks like dark grey, though.”

► Eye Color ➔ Silke leans closer, so that the deep turquoise can hardly be missed. "You have troubles with your eyes or what? I happen to partly know a shady medic from a certain dark alley nearby. Want to know the address?”

► Birthday ➔ “Ninth sun of the first astral moon, I’ve heard.”

► Mood ➔ “Right now? I guess I’m feeling somewhat eager. There’s this new portal we’re going to test out tomorrow, and I was permitted to take part in it. Can you believe that? Usually they’re just like ‘no, Silke, don’t touch it, don’t touch anything’, but this time I’m allowed in. They must’ve finally noticed the genius I am.“

► Gender ➔ “God!” Silke yells and gets on her feet, pointing towards the roof. A long silence follows. “Seriously! Have you ever seen me on a battlefield? Have you seen the havoc I’ve --- no? Oh...”

► Summer or winter ➔ “Agh, such a difficult question. I like both. I like to swim and lay on a soft grass under a tree. But then again I also like to drink hot cocoa when it’s cold, wrap myself up into a blanket and watch the flames of our fireplace or snow falling outside.“

► Morning or afternoon ➔ “Afternoon of course? I’m not even awake before noon… no, wait. I like sleeping as well. Both?”

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

► Are you in love ➔ “Of course I am. If we don’t count the feeling of aether flowing through me while I cast spells and blow things to smithereens, I love most the smell of old tomes, parchment, ink and all sorts of sweets, especially ice-cream. I also love chocobos. If it wasn’t possible to be a mage I’d definitely become a chocobo breeder. Perhaps I’ll become one when my career is over and spells no longer stay in my head. I’ll retire and start breeding chocobos. Yes, a perfect plan!“

► Do you believe in love at first sight ➔ “I definitely do! I fell in love with my dog the moment I saw him. Have you ever visited Kugane? Well anyway, they have these small, orange, pointy eared and curly tailed dogs there in almost every house. It’s like their national dog or something, they’re so popular.”

► Who ended your last relationship ➔ “I hate to admit this, but it was him… I thought we were doing fine, but one day he started to complain I didn’t give him enough attention, and that I was studying too much. I mean… how can one even study too much? I don’t get it.“

► Have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ “I guess I have. Not on purpose, though! Honestly, some people are so sensitive it’s harder not to break their hearts, geez… What an annoying subject to talk about, anyway.” Silke ruffles her head uneasily.

► Are you afraid of commitments ➔ “Of course not. I wouldn’t be able to ever become an archmage if I wasn’t dedicated to my studies.“

► Have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ Silke’s usually cheerful expression grows darker suddenly. "My sister. We don’t see very often, but when we do, I try to show my care as much as I can. She’s hanging out with shady folk sometimes, and I can’t help but worry at times will she come home or not.”

► Have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ “I surely hope not! Would be creepy to have someone admiring you from afar, without letting you know. Isn’t that like stalking? It’s only good manners to make yourself known so we can find out do we get along or not.“

► Have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ “No, I don’t think so. Or perhaps I once almost did… there was this huge tome - as big as those holy scriptures they have in the cathedral - in a certain old bookstore. The merchant was old as sky and I was afraid they’d close the place soon. And the tome was expensive. I was a lot younger back then and didn’t have much money, and my sister was like ‘no Silke, you totally won’t buy a book written in some dead language no one can read to take more room in your previously cramped room and collect dust.’ At first I was about to leave it at that, but I ended up snitching money from her cache.” Silke grins impishly. “No regrets!”

SIX CHOICES

► Love or lust ➔ “I have to choose again? You’re, like, asking me do I like to enjoy nice things existing or actually take them to be mine.”

► Lemonade or iced tea ➔ “What if I started to ask you annoying questions like strawberries or chocolate? Can’t choose, huh? Huh?”

► Cats or Dogs ➔ Silke falls silent for a moment. “…just when I was yapping at you for silly questions. Dogs all the way! I like cats too, and maybe I would be more of a cat person if my first pet had been a cat. But it was a dog, and there’s no going back!“

► A few best friends or many regular friends ➔ “A few best friends, absolutely. I have both, but I’ve noticed I enjoy the company of my closest friends a lot more. You can do all sorts of crazy stuff with them you can’t with anyone else.”

► Wild night out or romantic night in ➔ “Definitely a wild night out! I have romantic nights by myself all the time with wine and chocolate and our fireplace, and I rarely get to go out.“

► Day or night ➔ “I like both, actually. At days I’m studying, and at nights I’m doing my homework.” Silke shrugs and grins.

FOUR HAVE YOU EVERS

► Been caught sneaking out ➔ Silke becomes more serious once more. “Like I told you, I was taken from my original home by slavers. Life wasn’t very nice back then. I tried to run, many times. But I was very small and weak, and they were big, strong and fast.”

► Fallen down/up the stairs ➔ “This actually happened during one of my escape attempts. I was lucky I didn’t die. I still have a scar left.“ Silke lifts her bangs and shows a scar near her temple.

► Wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ “Freedom. Yes… I think losing our loved ones is the first thing we usually think of when someone asks for the thing we fear the most. But I think losing your freedom would be even worse. If you’re free, you can always start anew, but if you’re being held captive, you can’t do anything. Nothing at all.”

► Wanted to disappear ➔ Silke gives a long look at you and raises an eyebrow again. “Considering the things I just told you, there just may have been such situations...”

FOUR PREFERENCES

► Smile or eyes ➔ “Mmh, both are important, but I think I like eyes more. I’m not a spiritual person, but I still think you can kind of see their soul there. Their essence. If they’re good or evil. The creepiest thing I’ve seen is probably living people with empty eyes, especially those without any kindness in them…”

► Shorter or Taller ➔ “Shorter, definitely. I’m quite short myself despite my heels and I don’t like it when someone looks down on me. Well, most of people kind of have to, they can’t help it, but you know?“

► Intelligence or Attraction ➔ “Pff, do you even need to ask? Intelligence, of course. There are very few things that… truly infuriate me… But the one thing I absolutely can’t stand in others is chosen stupidity. Yes, chosen! Can you believe, that there truly exists people who don’t want to learn new things, be it about themselves or other people or the world that surrounds them?” Silke starts to imitate an elderly person, talking in a low, hoarse tone: “Silly girl. If we would discover new things or try them out, we would be in a situation we’ve never been in before.” She bursts into a mocking laughter. “Yes, someone really said that to me…”

► Hook-up or Relationship ➔ “Relationship, hands down. I’ve had my share of hook-ups.” Silke apparently can’t stop her eyes rolling towards the roof as a protest.

FAMILY

► Do you and your family get along ➔ “Yeah, we get along very well. I have some arguments every now and then with my two siblings, but nothing too serious.”

► Would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ “Not anymore. It used to be such a mess, though.” Silke lets out an uneasy laugh. “After me and Asagi were adopted, we got our life eventually back together. Despite a few ups and downs it’s been quite stable after that. A place to belong to and meaningful chores do wonders.”

► Have you ever ran away from home ➔ “No, definitely not. My parents have always been reasonable. Even during our wildest teenage years I can’t remember there would’ve been anything too major…“

► Have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ Silke has some difficulties holding back a sudden laughter. "I got kicked out of class, yeah! Though I still think it was unfair towards me. It wasn’t my fault. It was an alchemy class and I guess I had made some miscalculation with my mixture… I tried to tell my professor I’m not quite sure about it, but he just had to go and push his big head too close to the cauldron.”

FRIENDS

► Do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ “No, I don’t hate my friends. If I did, I wouldn’t be friends with them, would I? Some of them have some annoying traits, but... hate? Nah.“

► Do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ "Sadly no… I’ve had some… disappointments. You know, there’s quite a lot of people who seem like they’re good friends, but once you have a bad day, or few bad days, they suddenly disappear and want to hear nothing about it. So weird. I certainly wouldn’t abandon my friends like that.”

► Who is your best friend ➔ “Absolutely Iris. She’s a bit odd sometimes, in a good way though, and her vocabulary is quite vulgar and it upsets some people, but I think it’s hilarious. I’ve never met anyone so quick-witted before. There’s not a single boring moment while she’s around. Oh, and nowadays there’s also this certain miqo’te called Shaura. We haven’t known each other for very long, but just like with Iris, we just clicked right away.“

► Who knows everything about you ➔ “I think my sister might… I’ve tried to keep some secrets from her, like me loaning her gil without asking sometimes, but I think she knows. I have no idea how the heck! I mean, I’m smart, but she’s even smarter… If it was possible, I would like to change brains with her for a day or two. I want to know how she does it.”

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #meet the character #viera #silke doomflare #veena #character info

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mileycyprus-hill · 5 years ago

Text

Has anyone else thought of this? If not, hear me out for a second!

What if, instead of Arthur sleeping with Eliza after his breakup with Mary...he sleeps with the reader? And gets her pregnant instead? 🙌🏻Strap in folks, we’re going for a ride.

Arthur x female reader

Mistakes

warnings: small mention of suicide, smut, smut, smut, cursing, drinking.

You’ve been a part of the gang shortly after John joined in. Age wise, you’re in between John and Arthur and are really good friends with both of them. Perhaps more so with Arthur.

You come back to your camp outside Blackwater after a successful hunt. You were away for about 12 hours - shorter than usual - as the antelope are flourishing in your area.

The gang is fairly small in numbers, but very close with each other. You treat Dutch and Hosea like your adoptive fathers, and you seem to be the only one Ms. Grimshaw truly gets along with. She’s still hard on you when it comes to chores. But whenever there’s lady issues, you can trust her to be kind and understanding.

Everyone seems to be settled in camp, except one person who seems to be missing. You look around and don’t see Arthur anywhere.

It’s not uncommon for him to be gone on a job or a lead, but he’s been gone for at least three days. Normally, he calls on you to go with him on long trips for support. Whether that’s moral support, or just another helping hand to carry robbed goods. He knows he can trust you.

As you look, your eyes spot John carrying hay over to the horses at the corner of camp. You quickly walk over to him as he drops the bale.

“Hey John.”

“Hey, Y/N.”

You don’t beat around the bush.

“Hey, where’s Arthur been? I’ve barely seen him these past few days.”

“I saw him yesterday coming through. You must’ve been gone ‘cause he didn’t stay long.” John answers. “I guess he only stopped by to grab some things and then he ran off.” John points over to Arthur’s tent as he speaks. “He looked in such a sour mood. So I didn’t say nothin’.”

“He’s always in a sour mood, isn’t he?” You joke.

John laughs. You two were like twins, despite you having a couple years over him. Arthur was always the big brother who loved pestering the both of you. As the three of you grew together, the closer you became in different ways. With John, it turned from an intense sibling rivalry to a close brother/sister bond. With Arthur, it turned from relentless fighting to a budding romance - at least on one end it felt that way.

“Ask Hosea...” John says. He must have noticed the worry on your face.

Was it that obvious?

“...I saw Arthur talking to him before he ran off.” John continues.

You reply, “Thanks,” and slap his shoulder gently. John smacks your hand away playfully. The two of you snicker as you separate. You walk over to Hosea.

Hosea must’ve heard you walking over to him, as he keeps his nose in his newspaper, “Y/N! How’s things?”

“Alright,” you answer. Plopping down on a chair in front of his table. Resting your elbows on the table, you fidget with your fingernails. There’s an uncomfortable silence.

Hosea, being the ever-loving parent, doesn’t need to look up from his paper to sense your worry. You hated that he could see right through you at times. You couldn’t keep anything from your adopted father.

“Something on your mind, dear?” Hosea asks.

You take a breath, trying your best to hide your concern for Arthur. You didn’t want to come across as clingy, but unbeknownst to you, Hosea already knew about your feelings for Arthur.

“Just...you seen Arthur anywhere?” you answer nervously.

Hosea finally drops a corner of his newspaper to peer over at you. An eyebrow raised. It drove you crazy seeing him look at you that way, like he already knows what you’re about to say.

But then his expression changes. He folds his newspaper and sets it neatly on the table. His eyebrows now furrowed and his mouth turned to a slight frown.

Hosea sighs, “Figured you should know by now that things are done between him and that Mary Gillis.”

You immediately sit up straight at this news. Your eyes have gone wide. Your mouth drops open to ask, but Hosea already answers.

“Yep.” Hosea sighs again. “Guess she finally came to her senses...Or perhaps daddy made up her mind for her.”

Hosea reaches into his pocket to grab his pipe and fills it with tobacco.

“Seems our little Romeo and Juliet are no more.”

He looks out to the horizon as he speaks. You can tell he truly feels bad for them. Not everyone may have agreed with their relationship, but Hosea only wished for Arthur’s happiness. Much like you did.

Your heart broke for Arthur. You were jealous of Mary, but you didn’t despise her. You just hoped she could give Arthur the happiness he deserved.

You often hoped you could give him that happiness.

“Is...he ok?” You finally ask.

Hosea looks to you fondly, “Well, for someone who’s just had their heart broken...I’d guess he’s alright. Just needs some time to get through it.”

“Where is he now?” you ask. You know having your heart broken can cause you to make some foolish decisions. You just wanted to make sure Arthur wouldn’t do anything he’d later regret. Much like he probably regrets his prior engagement to Mary right now.

“He told me he’s camping on his own nearby...Said he wanted to be alone for a little while.” Hosea stares at you as he utters that last sentence, hoping to emphasize it for you.

You scoff a little and shake your head.

“Please.” You say. “I just wanna see if he’s okay.”

Hosea lights his pipe and studies you across the table.

“He went North,” he finally says, pointing his pipe in that direction. “Not too far out. Several miles, I’d say.”

“Thanks,” you say as you rise to your feet.

You turn your back and begin to walk away when Hosea calls.

“You’re a good friend, Y/N.”

You turn to Hosea, and he gives you a wink. You smirk and start walking over to the horses to saddle your own. John has already finished unloading the last bale for the horses and is resting under a nearby tree.

“Where’you goin’ now?” he asks, tiredly. For a scrawny young man, he sure tires easily from physical labor. But he still works hard, unlike Uncle.

“Nowhere,” you lie. Heaving your saddle and horse blanket onto your steed.

Your horse is a beautiful black thoroughbred you stole from a rich stable owner, one who trains racehorses. Your horse was supposed to be the man’s prize stud, but his temperament was so unruly, he was gelded and trained to run the tracks. That horse never made it to the tracks though because of you. You wanted him. After successfully stealing him with Arthur’s help, you decided to name him König.

Arthur wouldn’t stop making fun of you for that.

“Kahn-nig?” Arthur reads the etching on his leather halter, “What kinda name is that?”

“It’s ‘coo-nic’ you dummy,” you laugh at him, lifting your chin and tapping your throat, “nic, in the back of the throat. ‘nich’. ”

“Kooo-nick...Well, what the hell is that?” Arthur asks.

You laugh again, “It’s German. It means ‘king.’ My grandma only spoke German. Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember. ‘Member her being a wild, crab-ass of a woman too,” Arthur drawls.

You slap his shoulder with the back of your hand as he laughs boisterously, yourself hiding a smile.

You’re jogged back from your memories as John gently pushes you.

“Liar,” John calls you, smirking.

You try to smirk back and jeer at him in response, but you’re distracted. Your thoughts are only on Arthur.

“Helloooo.....Y/N! What’s with you?”

You cinch the girth of the saddle and look to John, “Sorry. I- I’m just thinkin’.”

“ ‘bout what?” he asks. Your horse is saddled and bridled as you walk to your tent to grab the rest of your things. John walks alongside you.

“Arthur...’m gonna go see if he’s alright,” you respond.

John stops with a annoyed groan and looks up to the sky, rolling his eyes.

“Let him go, Y/N. He’s just out there brooding as usual. He’ll be fine.” he states. “He’s probably in a mood ‘cause of Mary.”

“Well that’s just it,” you look to him as you grab your bedroll and supplies from your tent. “It is about Mary. And I know if someone broke my heart, I’d want someone to talk to. I got you, but... Arthur doesn’t have anyone else.”

John sighs in defeat, “Whatever.”

You walk past him towards König, putting on your satchel.

“Just give him one of these for me,” John punches you hard in the arm.

“Ow!” you yell, rubbing your arm.

“Tell him I said ‘Hi’. ” John laughs and jogs away from your retaliation punch.

“Asshole!” you yell to him, your arm still sore. You hear his wheezy laugh in the distance and turn back towards your horse.

It only takes a couple of hours to find Arthur’s little camp. The sun sets and the sky is painted in strokes of beautiful pink, orange, and purple ribbons. You look above the tips of the emerald trees and view the clouds reflecting the wonderful hues. It makes you feel so small looking at the vast sky. Taking in the scenery, you trot König towards the low plume of smoke from Arthur’s fire, hidden within a patch of trees and shrubs.

At the sound of hoofbeats, Arthur quickly stands with his hand hovering over his gun belt, ready to draw his revolver.

“Arthur?” you gently call out, hands raised, as if trying to avoid spooking a wild animal. “It’s me. Y/N.”

You see Arthur relax a bit, but he doesn’t look pleased.

“What’r you doin’ here?” he gruffly asks, the timbre of his voice like rich black coffee poured over gravel.

You halt König by a tree next to Arthur’s horse and dismount, patting him on his massive neck.

“Figured I’d check on you to make sure you didn’t kill yourself,” you say as you approach his fire.

Arthur plops onto the ground next to his fire, eyeing the small dancing flames.

“Perhaps I should,” he responds, “Be best for everyone if I do.”

You stand at the fire, looking down solemnly at Arthur. He throws a pebble into the fire, sulking.

“You don’t mean that.” you say gently.

Arthur looks up at you, but quickly looks away. In that brief moment, you could see his bloodshot eyes. You could see he was in pain, though he attempts to hide himself beneath his hat. A wet sniffle reaches your ears as he shrugs his shoulders in response. You step over and sit down by him near the fire, the dirt is soft and warm beneath you.

“You wanna talk about it?” You ask him carefully. Arthur is like a trap: you try to avoid reaching him in a way that causes him to close up, making it harder for you to pry him back open...if you can at all.

Arthur quietly shakes his head, fumbling with the toe of his boot. He grabs his neckerchief from around his neck and wipes under his nose with another harsh sniffle.

“You’d feel better if you do...instead of bottling it all up. You’re bound to explode if you don’t.” You reassure him. “But, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Silence.

You don’t push any further. Instead of forcing your way in, you wait patiently and let him come to you when he’s ready, like taming a wild dog.

A few moments pass as you both sit in silence. The sunset now gone as the sky is blanketed in stars. You take off your satchel and dig through its contents.

“Here,” you pull out a bottle of rum. “Want some? There’s not much left, but it’s enough.” You shake the bottle gently, swirling the contents inside.

Arthur scans the bottle in your hands. “Shoah,” he whispers. You hand him the bottle and hear the cork slightly pop with a *fwoomp* as he opens it.

The two of you hand the bottle back and forth to each other. Neither of you say a word, only taking another shot of rum. The only sounds coming out of your mouths are the hisses you make at the warm sting of the rum.

You finish it rather quickly, as it was only half-full. But still a decent sized bottle. Tossing it into the fire, you sigh. Your body feels warm and loose, wrapped in a spiritual cocoon of cotton and distilled molasses. You feel ultimately relaxed.

You look up to see Arthur laying another dead log on the fire, stirring the embers as golden sparks dance into the air like fireflies. He returns to his spot next to you, sitting closer.

You continue looking over at him and notice his eyes are now slightly hooded behind his eyelids. He seems to have relaxed a little as well, but still has a gloomy look on his face. He looks to you from the corner of his eyes. You notice and quickly avert your gaze to the growing fire in front of you. You decide to move closer to the warmth of the flames as the chill of the night air gets to you. It still amazes you how cold it gets when the sun goes down in this arid climate.

Pulling your knees to your chest, you rest your arms on your knees, your chin on top of your arms.

“Got a spare blanket?” You ask him, still gazing into the fire. You can feel him stare at you, so you turn your head to him, now resting your cheek on your arms.

His features are softened in the orange glow of the fire. You can’t help but smile a bit at how handsome he looks. He always made your heart flutter when he winked at you with those gorgeous eyes. Or when his nose crinkled as he smiled and laughed at your jokes. You would give him anything and everything to make him happy.

“No...” he finally answers, breaking eye contact and looking over to his shelter. “But’chou can have mine.”

Despite your protest in taking his only blanket, he slowly gets up and walks over to his small tent. It’s more of a lean-to than a proper tent. The effects of the rum rush to his head as he loses his footing a bit, showing his slight inebriation.

You didn’t think that the rum would hit him that hard, as you only feel tipsy yourself.

“Have you eaten anything lately?” you query.

“Besides whiskey and that rum of yours? No,” he mumbles. “Ain’t hungry.”

After handing you his blanket, he plops down next to you again. His leg brushes against yours as he clumsily adjusts himself to sit comfortably.

“I should get you something to eat, Arthur. Otherwise, you’ll be sick in the morning.” You ready yourself to get up and walk to your horse until Arthur grabs your wrist.

“I said I ain’t hungry!” he pulls you back down angrily. His nostrils flaring as he looks at the fire, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Ow, geez! Alright, Arthur...god.” You hiss. He nearly popped your elbow out of place when he pulled you down. You rub at your wrist, the knees of your trousers are rubbed with dirt. Arthur hadn’t been physical like this towards you in years. It was only when you really pissed him off, usually during your shenanigans with John to get under his skin.

Suddenly, you notice Arthur huffing, breathing in short heavy breaths through his nose. In the firelight, his eyes have turned glassy. He appears to be holding back tears.

His voice is hushed, “I just don’t understand.”

You look at him silently, letting him gather his thoughts to continue. He continues staring at the fire, like he’s speaking to it instead of you.

He looks up to the stars with a sniffle, “I thought she was gonna marry me...said she would, but...”

His breaths are ragged as he holds himself back, biting his lip.

“We’ve been fightin’. Fightin’ so much lately. And then she told me that–that she can’t live with someone like me. That...if I can’t change –won’t change –” he pauses. He can’t bring himself to continue.

A moment of silence passes and you rest your hand on his knee. You caress the fabric of his jeans with your thumb, feeling the bone of his knee beneath the material.

Normally, Arthur would tense at the touch. But this was you, he trusts you. You were always there to comfort him, like the good friend you are. When it comes to fighting, you’ve seen Mary and him argue from time to time. Mary never liked arguing though. She would always recoil and shed a small tear, asking Arthur to ‘be considerate’. Arthur liked arguing, with anyone and everyone. Including you. Sometimes you’d get him riled up on purpose; say something to him that you knew would get him pissed. You liked getting him mad, and he knew it, and he’d do the same to you, much to Mary’s dismay.

She was always trying to cage the bear in him, but you regularly let him loose.

Arthur continues to explain, “She said...a lady of her standing has to think of other prospects. That she has her family’s reputation to uphold...whatever that means.”

Finally, you speak. “It means she wants you to change but isn’t willing to do the same for you.”

Arthur finally looks to you, “Well, she has. I mean...look at what she’s done with us.” He tries to defend. Even in heartbreak, he still sides with Mary. She really did have a hold on him.

“Really, Arthur?” You question him, holding his his gaze, his eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed tightly. He’s rethinking their whole relationship, dropping his head at the realization.

“I love her,” he says defeatedly. He rests his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes.

“I know, Arthur.”

Truth be told, your heart breaks too. You never had a chance to tell Arthur how you feel about him. Once he was with Mary, you thought your opportunity was gone forever. Now that you have a chance, you still can’t bring yourself to do it, to tell him that there’s someone else waiting for him. Someone else who is willing to take him for who he is. But it’s too soon.

Arthur sighs, his voice breaking, “I wish I can forget about ‘er. Make the pain go away.”

You sit there thinking, “Well, I know something that could help.”

Arthur turns, staring at you like you’re a magician ready to turn a trick.

“It’s not like you’ll forget her forever, but at least for a moment you can. You wanna come with me to town? Get some drinks at the saloon?”

The idea of getting drunk with you in town made Arthur give you a teary smile. You are best friends after all. You always were a good time...when you weren’t fighting with him.

Arthur nods his head, “That sounds good.”

“On one condition,” you point, “You gotta promise me you’ll eat something.” You give him a wicked smirk.

Arthur chuckles, his eyes still bloodshot. His expression is a bit more cheerful. “Okay,” he mumbles.

You help Arthur tear down his shelter and fire and mount up on your horses. Before riding into town, you head back to camp to tell Dutch and Hosea. The last time you didn’t, you caused a ruckus in town and Dutch chewed your asses out for days. That was tame compared to the tongue lashing you both received from Hosea when he bailed you out of jail. It took you both a month to get the money to pay him back.

Luckily, Dutch and Hosea let you go to town. But only if you two promised not to cause trouble again. They threatened they wouldn’t bail you out this time.

Making it into town, you both step into the saloon. Arthur saves the both of you a table at the far, dark corner of the building, as a precaution to stay out of trouble. You’re left at the bar to order drinks, and a simple meal for Arthur. He must’ve lived off of nothing but whiskey for the past few days because he didn’t appear to sober up. Which means you’ve got some catching up to do. You sneak a double shot of whiskey before walking over with your beers and a humble bowl of stew.

“Here,” You say, sliding the porcelain bowl in front of him, grabbing his hand and wrapping his fingers around the spoon as if he’s a child learning how to eat.

“Eat that, and I’ll let you have a beer,” you bargain.

Arthur sighs with a frustrated huff. He wasn’t one to break promises, but he loved disobeying you. He’d always claim he didn’t have to listen to you because he’s older. But time and time again, you prove him wrong on so many levels. He didn’t want to resist you tonight, he’s far too hungry, but far too proud to admit he’s hungry. So wordlessly, he shovels the beef and vegetable stew into his mouth, holding back groans at the delicious taste.

Time has quickly passed throughout the night, along with several jaunty tunes on the piano, and a table full of beers between you two. You’re entering the twilight hours as the number of patrons begins to filter out like the candlelights on the walls, but the night is still young for you. You both find yourselves chatting about everything and nothing. From an outside glance, it’s as if the pair of you haven’t seen each in other in months, and are now catching up and relishing in each other’s stories. Somehow, the topic of conversation veers to the subject of “who has had the best sexual conquests”...

“Nuh-uh! You and Mary?” You pretend to be shocked. You’re only slightly shocked at the knowledge that he and Mary were physically intimate. She would be a fool not to sleep with Arthur. You just didn’t want to believe in the thought of the two of them in bed.

In fact, the image made your blood boil.

“Yup.” Arthur replies, popping the ‘p’.

“She was real good too,” he continues to boast.

“Pffft! Yeah, right,” you scoff, taking another swig of beer. You hold a belch in your mouth.

Arthur is offended at your scoff.

“She was!” He defends. “She would—” he laughs. “She would sneak outta her room and meet me in the barn. We’d lay down in the straw, real nice and...Y’know.” He waves his hand to make his point.

“Do tell,” you say to him, resting your chin on your hand as if you’re entranced by his story.

“Shuttup...” he replies. He can see right through your façade. He knows you’re mocking him.

“She’s the best woman I ever had.” He says lovingly. He stares down at his bottle, only a swig of beer left. He guzzles it down.

“She knew how to please me,” he smiles.

“Doubt it.” You cut in, holding the tip of your bottle to your lips.

Arthur’s head snaps up at your jest, looking at you in disbelief. That familiar look of annoyance paints across his face.

“What?” he asks, his voice rising an octave.

“I guarantee you she was not the best lay you ever had,” you state with confidence. “If anyone knows how to please a man, it’s me!”

Arthur is speechless. He looks at you with his jaw dropped, swaying back and forth slightly in his seat from the booze. His world is spinning.

“I bet she’d just lay there like a dead fish and just take it. Hmm?” You ask.

Now perhaps you’re taking things too far.

“I bet she was too ladylike to do it out in the woods, y’know? Ride you like a bronco...”

The resonance in your voice drops to a whispering, sultry tone,

“Out in the wilderness at your camp. By the fire, naked...out in the open. Howling so loud that the coyotes join in.”

Without realizing, you’re holding the neck of your bottle between your index finger and thumb and began stroking. You’re too busy staring down Arthur.

At his lack of response, you take your chance.

“I’ll bet you that I can do a better job in just one night, than she ever did with you.”

What the fuck are you doing?

You silence your conscience.

Arthur’s eyes run up and down your face. You could swear that he even sneaks a quick look to your breasts, your silky skin exposed through the open buttons of your blouse. You forgot you undid the top three buttons in the heat of the crowded saloon.

“You really think so?” Arthur asks softly, the gruff of his voice causes the hairs on your neck to stand straight up.

You reply slowly, “I guarantee you...that I can make you cum faster than she could.”

Arthur eyes you with hooded lids, giving a devilish smirk. When he leans across the table, you can faintly detect the smell of yeast from his beer breath.

“Prove it.” He growls.

Your heart is beating frantically. You were joking, of course.

But, every joke has a kernel of truth.

You keep your composure as you don’t want to ruin this moment. You know Arthur is calling your bluff. But this is your only chance at finally getting him to yourself. Your chance to finally get what you want.

“Alright,” you say coyly. “Gimme a second.”

You rise to your feet, not very gracefully, mind you. The beer is dulling your senses but you continue to the bar. You pay for a room upstairs.

You leisurely strut back to the table with confidence, thanks to the beer. Arthur watches you the entire time, not breaking eye contact. When you reach the table, you barely falter your stride and lightly grasp his hand, “C’mon,” you beckon him. You hold the key to the room in your other hand, leading Arthur up the stairs to the door of the bedroom.

You can’t help but tease him as you softly moan while slowly inserting the key into the keyhole. Arthur steps closer to you as you turn the knob. You can feel his heat behind you as you step into the room. If you were to bend over right now, your ass would brush against his crotch, perfectly. You turn to him, he silently closes the door behind him. Neither of you has uttered a word yet, just staring into each other’s eyes with mischievous smiles.

Your eyes wander down to his muscular neck, his shoulders, the dip at the base of his throat exposed by the open button of his shirt. Taking two steps forward, you gently push him into the door, placing both hands on his chest. Your fingertips brush against his exposed skin, your faces mere inches apart, the smell of beer and rum now strong in your nostrils. The tips of your noses faintly touch, as you both breathe heavy, calculated breaths.

Arthur’s hands are now at your waist, resting on your love handles. The touch of his bulky, calloused fingers send goosebumps to your skin. You’re lazily unbuttoning his shirt as he explores your hips with his massive hands. You tip your chin up and brush your lips against his. His hands now wandered to your upper back, and he pulls you closer to him. Your hands are pinned between your bodies, and you feel his luscious, wet lips against yours. They feel so soft compared to the coarseness of his beard. Arthur may hate dealing with his facial hair, but you love it. The way his follicles scratch against your upper lip and cheeks make you wet.

Your bodies are now pressed against each other. Reaching down past Arthur’s belt, you feel for his cock. It’s now bulging against his jeans. You lightly squeeze and rub over his pants. Arthur gasps, his tongue in your mouth. You chase his tongue with your own. Your teeth click against each other awkwardly in your drunken stupor. You’re ravaging him, pinning him against the door and continuously grabbing at his thick bulge.

Arthur moves his left hand from your back to your breasts, his right hand is on your supple rear. He grips your cheeks tightly, pushing your groins together. Continuing to moan into your wet kisses, he grabs at your breast and squeezes. You gasp and moan into his mouth, eventually breaking the kiss to take a breath.

Moving to his brawny neck, you litter it with kisses, teasing him with bites and suckles that leave behind marks. Your hand still on his bulge, you feel his cock pulsating as his blood continues to rush south. You decided to free it from its confines. The sound of his belt clinking as you unbuckle it is the most beautiful sound in the world, like you’re opening the gates to heaven. His gun belt drops the floor with a heavy *clunk*. Continuing to his fly, you unzip it, brushing off his suspenders at the same time. You pull your head away from his neck to look down at his cock.

“Oh my god,” You breathe.

“What?” Arthur asks with genuine concern, bless his heart.

“It’s...so big.” You exclaim.

It’s so thick and hard in your hands.

You wrap your fingers around it, but it’s so fat that you can barely connect your fingers. It’s like stroking a fleshy rod, it’s so hard.

You admire it. While it seems to be the same length as most men you’ve been with, there was something special about it. Gently pulling back his foreskin as you stroke him, you notice the girth of his cock bows out, starting right below the head and straightening out again further down the base.

Arthur stops massaging your breast and leans his head back against the door with a gravelly moan. You continue stroking his fat cock from base to tip until you see that glorious pearly bead of pre-cum on his tip.

I wonder if his precious Mary has ever done this? You think to yourself as you drop to your knees and pull Arthur’s trousers down to his ankles. Using the tip of your tongue, you lick the bead of pre-cum off the tip, causing his penis to throb.

Arthur sucks in a breath, “What’r’you doin?”

You look up at him, licking your lips seductively, his cock in your one hand and his balls massaged in the other. Compared to the men you’ve seen, Arthur definitely has the biggest set of them all. They feel so soft and warm as you admire them in your hand. You almost need both hands to cup them.

“Hasn’t anyone ever pleased you like this before, Arthur?” You wink at him as you lick the head of his cock again, then enveloping your lips on it, giving it a sloppy kiss.

“N-n-nooo.” He tries to groan out the words.

“No?” Your voice rises in surprise. “Tsk. What a shame,” you groan.

You don’t even give him a second to breathe before completely taking him in your mouth. You notice it’s been a while since he bathed as you taste him- a hint of saltiness- but you don’t mind. You moan, sending vibrations through his cock as you slowly bob your head. Looking up, you see Arthur’s eyes are now squinted shut in intense pleasure, breathing short shallow breaths, his hands hovering by your face, afraid to touch you. You wonder how long you could go on sucking him. You can handle all of his length no problem, but the issue was that bow in his girth. You could already feel your jaw getting sore, worried his thickness could pop it out of place.

It doesn’t take long though.

You continue to slurp along his cock, roaming your tongue upon his veins, relishing in the quiet moans and hisses coming from his plump lips. You take both hands and explore beyond his muscular hips and thighs, going around to grab onto his ass cheeks, feeling the dimples on the sides of his cheeks along the way. You continue sucking him hands-free, looking up at him, and he finally looks down at you. Seeing himself inside the mouth of a beautiful woman must have set him over the edge, as he involuntarily thrusts into your mouth. You sense he’s about to cum.

Immediately, you pop your mouth off his cock, denying him his release. Arthur gives a loud, rough groan at this denial and looks at you with passion in his eyes. You rise to your feet and feel his bulky hands grab harshly at your waist, yelping and giggling in surprise. Arthur rests his forehead against yours, his hands returning to grope your rear. You’re secretly begging for him to rip your trousers off and take you, as you’re soaking in anticipation. His mouth moves to your ear.

He whispers in a low growl, “Go lay down.”

You obey and step backwards, hitting the bed with the back of your knees, causing you to fall back gently onto the soft mattress. The springs squeak as you land. Meanwhile, Arthur kicks off his boots and removes the rest of his jeans that have pooled at his ankles, never breaking eye contact with you.

Lucky for you, there’s a full moon tonight, and the window curtains are torn, allowing the moonlight to shine into the dark room. Arthur stands completely naked before you, his skin glowing in the pale moonlight, the shadows accentuating every dip and curve of his muscles. He looks to be made of marble or porcelain, as if he’s been carved by Michaelangelo himself.

As he approaches you like a prowling wolf ready to strike its prey, your heartbeat races with excitement. You watch his dick lightly bounce up and down with each languid step he takes. He hovers over you on the bed, the springs of the mattress groan under his weight as he places both hands on either side of you. He moves to kiss you again. You can faintly taste the rum, now overpowered by beer and a hint of beef broth from the stew.

He’s much more aggressive with his tongue now, slipping it into your mouth and demanding control. You feel a warm hand slip under your shirt, caressing the skin of your stomach before stopping at your silky, soft breasts. In one smooth motion, Arthur pulls your shirt up over your head and tosses it on the floor, exposing you to him. For a moment, you feel self-conscious as he stops and stares at your naked torso. You begin to wonder if it’s not good enough for him, but you’re quickly mistaken as he drops his head to your chest and devours you, sucking and twirling his tongue on your left nipple while kneading the other with his hand. You let out a surprised and pleading moan at the sensation, the room filled with your raspy ‘oh’s’ and ‘ah’s’.

You let Arthur take more of you into his mouth as you arch your back off the bed, tenderly holding his head with both hands, pushing your breasts together as you do so. Arthur moans, sending a wonderful vibration onto your sensitive nipple. He picks his head up slightly, lips still latched onto your nipple, continuously sucking until it pops out of his mouth. He moves over to your other breast and repeats.

Writhing beneath him in pleasure, you desperately want to take your pants off, as they must be soaking wet by now. You move a hand from his luscious locks of hair and lower it between your bodies. Slipping your hand beneath your waistband, you rub a finger towards your opening and feel the juices pooling.

Arthur notices and straightens himself up, still straddling you and sitting back on his heels, his huge set conveniently resting on the fly of your trousers. He moves a burly hand to your crotch, unbuttoning the fly effortlessly with his lengthy fingers, the other slowly stroking his cock. A gasp escapes your lips at the feeling of his rough fingers exploring your vagina, his thumb hovering your clit. He slips a finger tenderly into your opening...then another.

“Damn, Y/N.” he sighs, “You’re soaked.”

You grin and bite your lower lip. Arching your hips, you wordlessly give Arthur permission to remove your pants, raising your butt off the bed. With both hands, he effortlessly slips your trousers off, taking your boots off with them, leaving you completely naked as you lean back on your elbows.

Arthur returns to hover over you on the bed, both hands on either side of you on the mattress.

“You gonna show me how you please a woman?” you whisper provocatively.

“Thought the deal was you pleasin’ me?” he cites with a wink. His nose brushing against yours.

“Alright then.” You answer, and playfully bite his lower lip. “Lay on your back” you order gently, he gives you a confused look.

“Let me please you,” you assure him.

Arthur obeys and rolls off you to lay on his back. His hands laying idle on his chest. Swinging a leg over, you straddle him, looking down at him. His hands move from his chest to gently grasp your hips, softly rubbing your skin with his thumb. His eyes are gleaming in the bright moonlight. You no longer see sorrow in them, but pleasure. You reach down beneath you to grab his cock and stroke it gently, watching his eyes flutter shut and his lips open to allow a small moan to escape.

Lifting your hips, you lean forward and tease the both of you by rubbing his tip along your clit- the feeling of his sleek head sends a tingle to your core. Placing it right on the edge of your opening, you continue rubbing his cock along the outside of your vagina to lube him with your juices.

Arthur jerks his hips impatiently, so you take your cue. Adjusting your hips, you guide him into your opening, your slick wetness allowing him to slip perfectly inside you. Your breath hitches as you feel the entry of his tip, then comes the stretch of your walls as he slides his girthy member further. You both gasp at the sensation, freezing in place as you make it all the way down the base of his cock. You look into each other’s eyes, your body trembling, lips quivering as you relish in the feeling of his thick cock filling up your tight pussy.

“Oh, Arthur,” you whine.

Arthur tightens his grip on your hips, sinking his fingers deep into your flesh.

You straighten up and begin to steadily grind on his cock, allowing him to stretch your walls out further. Arthur’s eyes roll back in his head and the sound of his guttural moan beckons the return of goosebumps to your skin...like the low rumbling growl of a grizzly bear.

You begin to pick up the speed with his cock deep inside you, Arthur’s hips moving with you in sync. You lean forward on his chest and let him wrap his arms tightly around you, holding you close to him. You feel Arthur’s knees raise as he readies himself in a new position, his feet planted on the bed. He thrusts up into you, hard and quick. The sound of your skin clapping together echoes across the room.

“Oh...God!” you breathe, “You feel so good.”

Arthur groans and tightly shuts his lips.

“So do you,” he finally moans.

He continues to drive his hips upwards at a rapid pace. God, you’ve never laid with a man with so much strength, so much power.

You look up at the ceiling and cry out. You no longer care if anyone hears in the saloon below. You, m’lady, are getting pounded by Arthur Morgan, and you don’t give a damn who hears your screams.

You don’t want it to end. You want this moment to last all night.

“Hang on,” you say. Arthur pauses and releases his grip on you, allowing you to sit up.

Laying a hand on his chest to steady yourself, you bring your knees up and squat on your feet. With Arthur still inside you, you sit on him in a low, frog-like crouch. You bring both hands to his shoulders for stability while you slowly bounce up and down off his cock.

Arthur’s eyes go wide at the sight of you hopping up and down, seeing his penis disappear into you. This position is an amazing new discovery for him. Never has he had a woman ride him like this. The feeling of your lovely bottom smacking against his pelvis, the power of your thighs and calves holding your weight up as you raise and lower yourself on him...it’s enough to make him faint.

Yourself though, you’re quickly losing strength in your legs. You power through the burning in your calves, the twitching in your thighs. You focus your attention on the feeling between your legs, the divine feeling of Arthur’s cock inside you. Luckily, the curls of his pubic hair tickle your clit wonderfully as you hop up and down. You feel so close, and Arthur sounds like he is too. Suddenly, he grabs at your hips again and retakes control, relieving your tired legs. He thrusts upwards and pounds into you at a much more frantic pace, leaving you screaming.

“Oh, Arthur! I’m so close! Cum for me baby!” You shout, your voice high-pitched in ecstasy.

His thrusts falter as he drives himself in you as deep as he can, the two of you gripping each other tightly as you orgasm simultaneously. Explosions of color flash brightly behind your shut eyelids. Your body releases a rush of endorphins, wave after wave like an electric circuit. Once you’ve been released from your orgasms, you’re both left a panting, sweaty mess.

You roll off of him and lay back with a satisfied sigh, breasts heaving with every pant. Your eyes look to the ceiling as your head swims and the room spins.

“I never came like that before,” you confess, slightly embarrassed. Here you were bragging about being the greatses in bed, when you never even got your own rocks off by a man. Most were two-pump chumps who’d leave you high and dry. Well, more like wet and unfulfilled and with stains on your skirt.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Arthur turn his head towards you.

“Really?” He asks inquisitively. You turn to look at him and see a crooked smile on his face. He looks so pleased with himself. Turning back bashfully and laying your forearm across your eyes, you chuckle out a “Yeah.”

“Can’t say I have either,” he admits softly.

Quickly, you turn your head back to him and cock an eyebrow.

“So...I won the bet?” You ask with a big grin.

Arthur stays silent, only shrugging his shoulders and smiling as he rolls over on his side to wrap himself around you. He was never one to admit he’s been proved wrong. So you accepted your victory in silence, rolling to your side to let Arthur spoon you.

It may already be a warm night, but you enjoyed the heat from his body huddled close to you. You feel safe and secure in the weight of his arms, though you worry if you need to pee you might not break out of his heavy embrace. Nevertheless, your eyelids quickly pull down like weighted curtains on a stage, as you fall into a deep sleep.

#i hit the max number of text blocks #tumblr wont let me continue #:(#so stay tuned for more!#a LOT more #cause we gotta know when that baby comes #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #nsft #fan fiction

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louisapennyfeather2021 · 4 years ago

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Newsies Adopting Unique Animals AU!

For the sake of this AU, most of the more exotic pets are adopted after being in abusive homes/black markets and it was after they were rehabilitated.

The only characters I explicitly recognize as a couple are Spot and Race. Any others could be taken as romantic or platonic, you can decide!

Strap in folks, this is going to get interesting:

Jack: Bearded Dragon/Pogona. His name is Oliver. It was literally an impulse decision. Jack was painting a mural at a new pet store in town and he was just finishing as they were moving in some animals since they were about to open. Jack's jaw dropped when he saw a "spiky lizard with a big head", as he later told everyone else, and he couldn't leave without taking one home. So after careful negotiation and buying any and all supplies he'd need, he brought little Oliver home with him. It took some getting used to and many articles on google, but eventually Jack found his new best friend. He'll paint and draw pictures of Oliver and he even created the desert backdrop in Oliver's tank. And sense Jack mostly works from home as an artist, he can always keep an eye on Oliver. At the end of the day, Jack will sit on the floor and entertain Oliver. Over all, they both have a new friend in each other.

Davey: Hyacinth Macaw. His name is Apollo. Sort of an impulse decision, but Davey kind of thought it through. He read up on hyacinth macaws and he knows there are only 2,500-5,000 left in the wild. After a group was busted for illegally trading animals, Davey erratically offered to rehabilitate some one of the macaws said to have been in the traders homes. You can imagine how dumb he felt when the SPCA showed up at his house with everything he needed to get started. Still, he owned up to it and took in the macaw who he affectionately named Apollo. He was angry and upset when he realized Apollo's wings were clipped and that he couldn't fly, meaning Apollo would likely be adopted out to a home. It was rough for months, Apollo didn't trust Davey until the second month and hardly trusted anyone else besides Davey's sister, Sarah. Davey slowly earned Apollo's trust and trained him to the point where Apollo finally "spoke" to Davey about five months later. After that, they were inseparable. Apollo would nuzzle Davey with his head and Davey would stroke him while he read a book or worked on papers. Eventually Davey adopted Apollo and they both found a safe ace with each other

Crutchie: Bush Baby/Galago. Her name is Pip. Another animal rescued from the illegal traders. Crutchie also works from home and after hearing about the requirements of taking care of a bush baby, he volunteered. It was somewhat difficult and he had to ask Jack for help in the first two months because if his wheel chair, but he eventually got the bush baby, who he named Pip, to warm up to him. She would watch him curiously, but she never got too close. Over time, Crutchie earned her trust by offering little treats and playing little games with her. It got to the point where she would jump back and forth between his desk, his wheel chair, and his bookshelf. She would either cling to his shoulder and take a nap or sleep in a small cushion Crutchie keeps on his desk for her. No matter how difficult she can be and how energetic she is, Crutchie wouldn't change a thing.

Katherine: Baby Fennec Fox. His name is Archie. Sort of a random decision. She was watching a documentary on Africa on Animal Planet and for days after she couldn't get the Fennec Foxes out of her head. It got to the point where she did so much research before contacting the local SPCA and asking if they had any fennec Foxes in need of a home. She was excited to hear they surprisingly had one, but that he was just a baby and had been separated from his mom. Katherine knew she'd have to out in a lot of time, but she runs her own business so she could be home enough to take car of the fox that she, upon seeing him, named him Archie. He was finicky, no pun intended, but he was curious. Katherine noticed how he'd eat and sleep often like a cat, but that he could be energetic and lovey like a dog. She'd play with him and give him affection when he wanted it. They bonded and in the end Katherine had someone to curl up on her lap or right next to her while watching TV or reading a book.

Sarah: Serval. Her name is Carmen. Yet another poor animal that suffered going through life with the trader. It was her slight, good hearted sibling rivalry with Davey that made her do it. She offered to take care of a serval under the impression that it was just like any other cat. She wasn't completely wrong. The serval, which she named Carmen, was nervous and didn't like Sarah much at first. She'd run away and hide in a cage that Sarah always leaves open or under any object she could. It took months before Sarah could sit in front of Carmen and pet her. She slowly built up Carmen's trust and by the time she was considered rehabilitated and it was established that she had been in captivity too long to survive in the wild, Sarah adopted her. Carmen did act like lost cats, she'd sleep for an unreasonably long time and rub against Sarah's leg when she was hungry or just lovey, but she could also be energetic and chaotic. Sarah loved it though, it made her home feel alive.

Race: Baby skunk, well, skunks. Their names are Sugar, Spice, and Kyle because we all know Race would do something like that. Not exactly a happy story. Race was driving home one night and he didn't even notice something run under his car before he felt the tell tale thumps. As soon as he got our of his car, he gagged and tears welled up. The putrid smell of skunk met his nose and he turned on the flashlight on his phone. He gagged at the site, but his heart broke when he saw three black and white balls of fluff on the side of the road. He knew he couldn't leave them, they were so small and he was so guilty. So, he braved the skunk smell and sacrificed the inside of his car to bring the babies home with him. To say Spot was confused would be an understatement. Seeing and smelling his boyfriend walk inside with three baby skunks in hand isn't exactly common. He was on the verge of angry until he heard Race's story and saw the sadness in his face. So, despite his anger, Spot lets Race keep the skunks. Race gets everything he needs and does everything necessary. He takes the babies outside to run in the back yard and he loves them so much. His favorite game to play is "Which friend will we scare this week". He's had one too many shoes thrown at him for that game. Over all, he loves Sugar, Spice, and Kyle. Especially Kyle.

Spot: Hedgehog. Her name is Holly. Spot adopted Holly long before Race got his skunks. He adopted her from the pet store where Jack adopted Oliver. Holly is quiet for the most part and after nearly a year together, she finally let Spot rub her belly. He should her beyond reason. He bought her a pink blanket with hedgehogs printed on it and he even bought a floaty meant to hold drinks just so Holly could sit in it in the bath tub. Race used to always say Spot spoiled Holly too much, but Spot didn't care. Holly was his buddy and he wouldn't ever change that.

Elmer: Baby pot belly pig. Her name is Calli. Elmer doesn't even remember how he got Calli. Everyone tells him he won a vet with some kid who raises pot belly pigs and the kid gave it to Elmer on his birthday. Elmer isn't complaining, though. He loves his adorable black, white, and pink speckled piggie. She can be extremely greedy with food, but Elmer adores her nudging his leg or occasionally oinking at him. She's just a big cuddle bug in a small body and Elmer's thankful for whatever bet he made.

Albert: Baby otter. Her name is Poppy. Her story is similar to Sugar, Spice, and Kyle's. Albert was driving home when he watched a vehicle hit an otter. He stopped, knowing it's common courtesy to move the animal off the road despite how sad or frankly gross it is. He's thankful he did though, because he found a baby otter hiding in the grass. No matter how hard he tried to turn away, he couldn't. He eventually coaxed the baby closer and picked her up, giving her the name Poppy. He absolutely loves her. After taking her to the vet and getting all his paperwork done, Albert took her home and raised her. He helped her swim in his bathtub and eventually a small pond he installed in his backyard. He plays with her and he spoils her with warm blankets and even her own teddy bear which Albert named Fluffy. They're practically inseparable and Albert wouldn't trade anything for Poppy. She's his little girl and she's like a part of him.

Some of this might be inaccurate and might even be illegal in some places, but it's cute and that's what matters😂

If you want to see any other characters, just send me and ask! Don't be afraid, I promise I won't be upset about questions or suggestions.

#newsies memes #newsies imagines #newsies broadway #newsies imagine #newsies #newsies au #pet adoption #pet adoption au

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giannimaldonado · 5 years ago

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Album Of The Day: Satan Is Watching

When most people born after a certain period of time think of the genre that is “country”, and what it has morphed into in the context of this day and age, a lot of unpleasant images spring to mind. Pretty boy, clean cut, poser rednecks who’ve never seen a farm outside of their music videos, trying to pretend to be another “honest Joe” when they couldn’t be any further from such a thing, making trashy, twangy glam rock mixed with watered down trap music/EDM for white southerners who might have interesting views on those of different races, rolling around in million dollar sports cars while adopting the moniker of “working class”...is probably what your mind immediately begins to conjure up in that brain of yours.

I honestly can’t say that I blame you. Country, or, at least, MAINSTREAM country, has lost its way completely. Luke Bryan, Brad Paisley, Tim McGraw, and Blake Shelton polluted this once proud, grassroots, amazing genre with pandering, trite garbage aimed at making money off of dumb hicks in the bodies of frat boys whose trucks cost more than your own damn house. Gone are the days when country music was filled to the brim talent, creativity, passion, and heart. Now, this “jock country” has taken its place, having thoroughly fucked country up the ass a few too many times that it has lost its way. For good, perhaps.

Underground country’s usually no better. There’s some exceptions (we’ll get to those soon), but for the most part, it, too, has gone off the rails and destroyed itself completely. It’s often just indie folk or what have you with even more acoustic guitars, though perhaps with more twang, whiny vocals that are trying (and failing) to recreate a stereotypical southern accent, a reliance on cheap gimmicks, sarcasm, and irony to carry their trash because the excrement can’t do that itself, and a musical quality that tries SO hard to imitate the great Mr. Cash, but is little more than a cheap, pale imitation that folks who wear WAY too much flannel and wire rimmed glasses will eat up like it’s the second coming of Joy Division.

No matter how you look at it, country has been thoroughly gentrified for the most part, just like many genres that were previously for a much different variety of people. Like trap music, or blues, or hardcore punk, or black metal. All of the original meaning is gone, driven out by money hungry label executives, clueless and ignorant listeners, and musicians hellbent on half-assing their way to fame and fortune.

It’s a crying shame, it really is.

But fret not, dear reader! There is still a soft, seedy underbelly of the country genre that has taken the long dead (yet forever revered and loved) sound of “outlaw shit”, as Mr. Jennings would put it so eloquently, to its most logical extreme. One that would make Nelson, Cash, Haggard, Coe, and others that might’ve been at the top of their “underground”, “anti-mainstream” game seem rather...accessible. These aforementioned artists and their peers are still greats who, in their primes, were powerhouses that made some of the greatest works the genre would ever produce. But when compared to this particular sound...they just don’t hold up as well. The rawness, the grassroots nature, the down-to-Earth (and sometimes below the Earth) attitude, the simplicity, the honesty, the bluntness, the intimacy, the melancholy...all of it gets turned way up to eleven. It’s dark, it’s mischievous, it’s harsh, it’s gritty, it’s angry, it’s bitter, it’s darkly humorous, it’s lonesome, it’s ornery, and it’s damn sure pretty fucking mean.

Call it whatever you want. “Southern gothic”, “dark country”, “death country”, “gothic country”. It doesn’t matter what name you apply to it. All that matters is that it’s country. Real fucking country. Country meant for the guttersnipes, punks, street urchins, hobos, peasants, and forlorn drifters. This ain’t pretty boy music. This isn’t nice, Christian contemporary that you can play at your local uptight establishment. These aren’t harmless tunes your the posers can get drunk and go mudding to. This is country as it was meant to be. The eptiome of the term “outlaw shit”.

There’s a plethora of wonderful bands in this scene. Sons Of Perdition, Sixteen Horsepower, whatever project Jay Munly’s got going on this time around, The Dead South, the early days of The Devil Makes Three, The Builders And The Butchers, Wovenhand, Ghoultown, Coffinshakers, The Pine Box Boys, and, of course, everyone’s favorite descendant of the Williams family tree. The third one, that is.

But all of those fall short of that truly, truly, TRULY horrific honky-tonk, old-time, folksy, backwoods atmosphere that this duo produces. One that hails from the isolated, empty thickets that lie out in rural Wisconsin. A mentally disturbed pair of “prophets of the country doom”, as they have decided to label themselves. A fine example of those who have gone completely mad, completely sad, and doing so makes them feel very glad. They revel in their craziness, and while no album sounds the same, each one is marred by a couple of recurring themes: humanity is worthy of being sent straight to the fiery depths, these boys are depressed beyond your wildest comprehension, a rebellion against both God and Satan, and a desire to document the lifestyle of society’s forgotten ones, hated ones, and feared ones.

Let me introduce you to Those Poor Bastards.

Fitting name for a couple of enigmatic, largely unknown, extremely obscure pair of men known simply as Lonesome Wyatt (impassioned orations and guitar-based melodies) and The Minister (everything else).

The Minister is completely anonymous, with no one having even seen his face, while all that’s known about Lonesome Wyatt is that he’s from Wisconsin, (probably) lives alone, and is likely of an unsound state of mind.

Why is that all important? Well, go listen to their albums, and then you’ll find out why these little intricacies are vital to the dynamic duo’s imagery, music, and cult status.

While all of their material is quite good in my opinion, today we’re going to look at my favorite album from them, and possibly my favorite album from any country artists EVER! Everyone, please proceed to throw on “Satan Is Watching.”

What you’ll first be met with Lonesome Wyatt letting out a loud, wild, manic screech that almost doesn’t sound...human. It’s not even a word. Just an unhinged howl like Lonesome Wyatt’s been possessed by some sort of demon from the pits of Hell, having taken over the “doomsday preacher boy” to spread the wicked gospel. A hell of a start to an album of any kind, let alone a country album. It’s bold, but it lets you know right off the bat that they aren’t fucking around. This is going to be a rough ride from start to finish, and you’ll be left quaking in your seat once Those Poor Bastards has pierced your mind, heart, and soul with their fiendishly unholy sound. A truly nihilistic piece of art about how this world is foul and wretched, and deserves to burn to a cinder.

But that’s just the first song.

Things only manage to get worse from there. Everything from songs about how Lonesome Wyatt’s a degenerate who revels in just how much filth and squalor he lives in, to songs (well, more like suspiciously suicidal rants) about how life is fucked and there’s just no point in living it anymore, to various “take that!” pieces towards lovers who have wronged him in times that have long since passed, presumably. Typical topics for country artists, but contorted and warped to the point where they sound like miniature horror stories being yelled and hollered by a crazy, top-hat wearing yokel than the struggles and strife that are endured by the common man/downtrodden fellow. Hell, there’s even a Johnny Cash cover! A twisted, perverted, scummy, bone-chilling, haunting, eerie take on the previously wholesome, innocent love song The Man In Black made for June. I can’t exactly look at it the same way, what with these mysterious hooligans having thoroughly butchered it.

Instrumentation is minimalist and simple. Nothing too fancy or technical here. It’s quite self-explanatory. Despite how evil it is, the rhythms are still toe-tappingly catchy. The drums, being pounded upon by the fiery hands of The Minister, provide anything from a nice, plodding beat you can stomp your feet to, all the way to a rowdy raucous of a banger that’ll have you doing some sort of line dance with the living dead. Lonesome Wyatt beats upon his acoustic guitar like it owes him money. Not even really playing it. Just smashing the strings until weird, disgruntled, odd noises come out of it. He also seems to thoroughly shatter his ability to talk without a sore throat, pushing his voice to its very limits. The bass compliments everything very well, providing a creepy, fuzzy, dirge-like texture in the background to keep the menacing tone alive and well.

All in all, while this may not “experimental”, “avant-garde”, or even “progressive”, this is certainly an album that’ll give you the heebie-jeebies, and for a country album, it is most certainly “out there”. It takes the usual country tropes, and either turns them into something out of a David Lynch movie, or subverts/plays with them to fuck with the audience and make them contort their face with confusion...and excitement. A spooky bit of acoustic noise that’ll restore your faith in country music, and remind you that there is still a small resemblance of a spark left within the dying genre.

Please, I highly recommend you check this out.

This has been another installment of “Esoteric Warfare”, and remember...

NOISE, NOT MUSIC!

#gothic country #those poor bastards

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mitarashiarts · 5 years ago

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April art from Patreon !!!

Copy and Pasted from Patreon >w> There’s a lot to say here cuz these characters were around the time I first made OCs back in middle school. They’ve gone through many revisions design wise and personality wise v/w/v <3

Also sorry for my absence ;w; I don’t come around to Tumblr as much since the ban;;; And a lot of art lately has not been focused on sfw stuff, so it’s a bit hard to be here at all. Either way though, I do appreciate the fact people still follow this account ;w; Currently working on Sabers as much as I can and am at the halfway point with colors... Depending on how fast I can be, hopefully Sabers can update sometime in late June/Early July. OTL

About Mercier and Shimo : Verrrry old ocs that I've had longer than I've had Noel but just around the same age. My boys Shimo and Mercier are very personal babies that I've kept with me since middle/high school. They've changed a lot since then and so have their stories, so bear with me when I type it all out ;v;

Starting with Mercier (His nickname is 'Ion' so just remember that lol), he's somewhat of a typical case of 'straight A student becomes a rebellious wild case' due to a number of things in his upbringing that caused a huge change in personality. Though he's blunt, brash and overall rude, he's got a good heart when it counts for people he cares about. But being someone that is a loooot more destructive than most of my OCs, Ion dabbles in really shitty friend circles that promote shitty behavior. He thinks himself to be garbage and doesn't really wanna change, but his better friends (his best friend and roommate, Zadoc, and a couple other bros, which includes Shimo), all keep him from ultimately doing the worst kind of shit he possibly can. He can't technically 'die' due to a rapid healing ability of his (which he negatively exploits for fun), so there's a lot less care for himself in a lot of his actions.

Shimo on the other hand, likes to think he's very different from Mercier. They're both very sure they're stark opposites but it's more in how they carry themselves. Shimo is a lot less of a blunt asshole, and tends to keep his actual emotions to himself. He's used to unwarranted attention so he puts on smiles a lot. It also comes at the cost of his own ability of reading minds, which he honestly hates. Having that chance of knowing people's true intentions or emotions and hearing them openly lie about it, whether it's for the best or not really irks Shimo in a bad way. He too is exactly like that and he's just not okay with it. Honesty is very important to him and for that he kind of admires Mercier for being so blunt about everything (vice versa, Mercier is jealous that Shimo can keep his emotions and issues to himself). It also doesn't help that having albinism has brought very unwanted attention from a male teacher that has acted on very damaging thoughts to which Shimo has suffered abuse from that. So he and Mercier can relate with one another on these shared experiences that they mostly talk to each other about. It's the one connecting tissue that brings these two together as friends as they used to hate one another due to Mercier's brash personality.

Both boys come to a place of admiration of one another, though there's a lot of rough patches thanks to Ion being so openly shitty to Shimo from time to time. They're basically the trope of 'two dudes that hate each other but are more alike than they want to admit'. They come together at some point and Shimo dates the girl Mercier used to like lol. It's not a scummy sort of way, they just liked the same girl and she picked Shimo. Mercier gets his own gf who also fits his high libido later on... but that's after he goes through his really bad and really horrible womanizing stage from partying all the time. Mercier is a hypersexual boy who uses sex and alcohol to cope with his problems;;;

These two have... a lot of history... and a few of my last surviving straight boys LOL. I love them so much, it's taken me a long while to feel anything motivating me to draw them again ;o; <3

About Kai : Mercier's family consists of his parents, his brother Kai and his adopted sister Nasome (Na-So-May). They're kind of dysfunctional, with most issues consisting with Mercier and his parents. Kai here is a bit more timid than his older brother. He and his sister are very close. Though he really admires Mercier in many ways, there's a part of him that also feels a bit embarrassed over his actions. Mercier ain't perfect of course, and he tends to act out a lot and argue with their mother a lot as she seems to be the one that tries to drive him out of the house... to which Kai is caught in between being on his parent's side, or being on Mercier's. When he was younger he ofc, would choose his parents but nowadays, he's come to realize his parents play favorites (Kai mainly being the fav and overprotected one because their mom doesn't want him to end up like Mercier). He becomes a bit more critical of his folks as he gets older and starts to sympathize more with his older brother when coming to fully understand the reasons as to why he became so wild in the first place. The days when their uncle would come watch them and Mercier would be warded off elsewhere with the older man, at the time, never made sense till recently (Kai didn't understand what was happening;;;; ). These days though, Kai is a little more open to bringing Mercier into the house late at night cuz he misses his brother. Him and Nasome tend to visit him at his shitty apartment lol. But otherwise, Kai's takin care of his pet rabbit and hanging with his parents. He's got some personality hang ups i need to figure out tho ;w; <3

#Mercier #Shimo #Kai #Ion #Albinism #Albino #ocs #that trope with really soft boy and really trashy boy #but straightlol #and good babbi brother

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deonisms · 5 years ago

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━━ ( booboo stewart + cis male + twenty one ) oi , have you seen deon damgaard around he lives in flat 14 in bedroom 2 ? i was meant to meet them this morning at bean me up before our lecture but he didn’t show . no ? well , shit . if you do see them , can you tell them i’m looking for them ? they’re a 3rd year robotics engineering student from gainesville, florida & you’ll know it’s them because they might just remind you of the faint smell of something burning, the restless clicking of a tongue piercing against teeth, boisterous laughter muffled by thin walls, dark circles combined with blindly bright grins, the warmth of overheating machinery . just be careful, he can be a little tactless, gullible & mercurial sometimes . —- oh don’t look like that , they’re usually eccentric, innovative & intuitive most of the time . ✏ pepper , twenty three, she/her, est

ABOUT THE MUN. hey demons, it’s ya gurl pepper

djkdsjk hello it is me again,,, simply out here being a slave to my own inspiration. honestly, i love ismael but i was torn between him, theo, and deon before apply for this rp and i am just feeling deon a bit more atm. i might still bring ismael in later as my third muse but for now it’s going to be all chaotic energy with one mr. deon! but omg okay a bit about me, i love the bachelor/bachelorette so hit me up if you want to mourn the death of pilot pete’s last braincell. i have a yorkie who literally runs my household as she should. i am honestly a hoe for a good aesthetic, like pinterest runs my ass. and i love sparkling water, which is controversial i know but perrier? god. fuck me up.

BIO. i need a himbo! i’m holding out for a himbo at the end of the night! he’s gotta be strong, and he’s gotta be fast, and he’s gotta be dumb and polite! suicide tw, depression tw, death tw !!!

Deon Damgaard was born from a tryst of passion. In other words, an affair. A very exciting affair, if that makes things any better. Said affair was between his mother, a talented young pianist, and his father, an influential, very much married businessman. You see, his father saw his mother play once and instantly fell in love. He came to every single one of his mother’s performances after that, and every time he did he left her flowers. Extravagant, beautiful flowers, the kind of flowers that make an impact on a woman, apparently. And they must have, because before long Deon’s mother was falling just as in love with Deon’s father as he was with her. And obviously you know what happens next. Deon.

Now, the thing about passionate love affairs is that they’re love affairs for a reason. There’s the love part of course. But there’s also the affair part. And that’s where things get complicated. Because despite being utterly, and completely in love with Deon’s mother, his father was still married. And he had no intention of ending his marriage, even for love.

But Deon’s mother didn’t know that at first. You see, Deon has inherited his mother’s easy optimism. The woman was in love and she believed with absolute surety that the love of her life would ultimately choose her. And so she waited for that day. And waited. And waited.

She spent most of the first few years of Deon’s life waiting, but the longer she waited the less Deon’s father even bothered to come around. The thing with falling in love hard and fast is that you can fall out of love just as quickly. And that’s exactly what Deon’s father did. He fell out of love like it was nothing.

So there was Deon’s mother, with a baby she shared with a man who didn’t love her anymore. One that carried his last name against his wishes, one that even had the name that he’d said he’d always wanted to give a son. One that she loved, truly. But that love wasn’t enough. Because Deon’s mother was in pain. More pain than a little baby like Deon could understand. Enough pain to end her own life.

Deon was six at the time. Not old enough to know what the big deal was, but old enough to understand that something was wrong. Especially when he quickly found himself in an orphanage. His father never claimed him of course. Deon doesn’t even know if he mourned his mother. Or if he wanted to come to her funeral. All he knows is that he wasn’t there.

There’s not much to be said after that, or at least nothing as poetic as the beginning. Deon was put into the foster system and he was never really wanted again. Well. Maybe that’s not completely true. The truth is no one ever wanted to adopt him. But he always hoped someone would. He’d be passed from family to family to family, bright eyed and hoping like the optimistic child he was. But they never wanted him. Some said he was too hyper. Others said he was too curious. More than a few just said he was too odd, and Deon always found that strange. That he was too odd to keep. Too odd to love.

Of course most of them didn’t expect Deon to be eavesdropping when they said these things so Deon couldn’t really fault them. They didn’t mean to hurt him. And so she could never truly hate them. He couldn’t find it in his heart to. But it was painful, to get his hopes up each time only to have them dashed away. Whether that be by being tossed aside like nothing but a nuisance or tossed around like nothing but a rag doll. It always hurt to seek love and give love and yet never get any in return.

The bright side in Deon’s eyes was that at least he never made any friends. Because could you imagine how hard that would be? To pack your bags and have to say goodbye to your family and friends every time? It’d be too much to bear. So Deon counted his blessings. There weren’t many but he cherished the ones he had.

One of which was school. Deon didn’t have much at all, but at the very least he had school. Because everything had a price. Toys. Food. Even families (Deon wasn’t completely ignorant to the fact that his families got paid just to take care of him. For a lot of them that was the only reason they kept him around in the first place.) but school? School was free, and he adored it. Okay, maybe not all of it. English and foreign languages and god, history, all of that was painfully boring. But science? Science was the one thing that he had to look forward to throughout most of his childhood. And it continued to be that one thing into his young adulthood.

The majority of Deon’s said young adulthood was spent sporadically behind bars. Let’s just say Deon fell into the wrong crowd. It wasn’t on purpose, Deon has just and likely always will be the kind of person who is eager for friendship. All these kids had to do was be even slightly nice to him and ‘sure, man! i can totally hotwire that car for you!’. That’s not to say Deon was completely innocent himself. Most of his arrests for theft, graffiti, and street racing, were products of his own doing. But sometimes, Deon just happened to be the guy abandoned at the scene of the crime. He never gave up his friends, no matter what the cops threatened him with, but he unfortunately never had the privilege of having his loyalty returned.

Deon stayed out of juvie by the skin of his teeth. It was mostly due to the fact that he lived in a lot of different small towns for majority of his adolescence. Deon could usually endear the small town sheriffs to him with his incessant chatter, and well meaning demeanor. He honestly made friends with more than a few of the cops that had arrested him, and there are more than a few that Deon would still call up today and chat with.

Despite his dabbling in crime, Deon graduated from high school with an almost spotless GPA and partial scholarships to more than a few universities including Harvard, MIT, Yale. Deon was kind of startled by all of the offers, but he did have more than a few projects during his years of schooling that caught the universities attention (including making a car that ran on used vegetable oil, a charger that could charge your phone to completion in less than a minute, etc). But with all the offers, Deon picked Larnswick. Why? Well, mostly because he’d never been on a plane but also because he picked his university by playing eenie meenie miney mo dkdskj

Deon showed up to flat 14 with one pretty light suitcase, a rat in his hand, and a beaming grin despite being in a new strange country. He’s here on a full scholarship, but doesn’t really have any money of his own so he works a lot of jobs, or rather he gets fired from a lot of jobs. Every month or so you can see Deon in a new uniform for a new establishment, and every once in a while Deon will tell you the wild story of how he got fired from said establishment. Honestly he could really do well in a job as a handyman, but jsdkj he hasn’t thought of that yet.

HEADCANNONS. if i get shot do i own the bullet? like can i keep it?

fun fact, i originally made deon as an npc in a house party para i was doing with my friend sdkjsdjk he was genuinely made to be as annoying as possible but then my friend actually really liked him so now he’s a whole ass muse. that said if he is annoying... it’s because he was legit designed to be i’m sorry folks sdkjdskj fingers crossed he’s not though! but grating traits he has: never stops talking man, says man, dude, bruh, and bro, constantly. CONSTANTLY. you’ll be having a conversation with him and he’ll just blurt out something completely off topic??? HE’S SO LOUD TOO! And incredibly inappropriate god

that said deon was also inspired by jason mendoza and i literally teared up writing that because i’m pmsing so sdkjsdkj let’s move on!

has a septum piercing, a tongue piercing, a smiley piercing, a nipple piercing on his left nipple and several tattoos, most of which he’s done himself after buying a tattoo gun (honestly you shouldn’t let deon tattoo you because he just does whatever comes to him at the time but also LET DEON TATTOO YOU!). honestly probably has more than a few earrings too, and he’s very proud of all of his piercings honestly.

loves colour and neon especially, but also loves to wear a lot of black like he’s a whole ass mess. his favourite colour is yellow btw. generally just wears what he likes, but he pretty much never looks polished.

his favourite number is 0!

wears a lot of rings and jewelry as well, you will rarely find your boy without something on his fingers.

has a rat named titty boy that he calls titty for short. his name is titty boy because he only eats hot cheetos and likes to watch the real house wives. as sad as it sounds he was one of deon’s first genuine friends so he loves him like BIG. takes him everywhere like he usually has him in his bag at lectures. titty can be found scurrying around the flat having the time of his life at any given moment that deon is in there.

built a little helper bot and named him douche bag, or rather deebs for short. also loves him big. deebs is constantly getting updated by deon honestly, but your boy actually probably won a prize when he made him because he’s actually?? very like advanced for what he is (he runs on used oil from fast food chains, has a near nonexistent carbon footprint, facial recognition, etc). deon literally made him so that he could help him remember to take his pills (deon has clinical depression and adhd unfortunately, so he needs deebs around to give him that nudge), and he can do that and more now. deon kind of wants to see if he can break him into the service animal industry, cause he figures he could be good for people who need service animals but have allergies to fur.

gets around, mostly because he is attracted like everybody and feels no qualms about telling them that? and omg he’s another muse of mine that’s bi btw, no one is surprised. but honestly isn’t really a player just cause he’s too dumb to be one man. like if he was suppose to call you and he didn’t he literally just forgot sdkjsdkj

does not talk about himself at all! ever! like legit learning anything about deon’s past is like pulling teeth!

like i said deon has depression, but like most people probably don’t know that because again,, your boy is close lipped. that said he doesn’t try to hide it, like if you see him taking his pills you see him taking his pills. there are times though that deon will just not be found for a week or two when his depression gets bad and usually at those times his door will be locked and will not open for the entirety of that week like MAYBE at night when everyone is asleep so he can pee but that’s it! he usually emerges from these occasions chill and chipper as he usually is with sdkmds absolutely no mention of it. i don’t know if he has any friends he’s close enough to that he’d talk to about that though you know, like honestly from deon’s perspective *deon vc* i don’t wanna bring anybody down, man...

says man and bro and bruh and dude WAY TOO MUCH like they punctuate most of his sentences sdkdjs

surfer dude energy. skater dude energy. stoner dude energy.

smokes A LOT of weed. LOVES to party! that guy you see at every house party and have to wonder like??? how is he passing ANY of his classes sdkjsdj

honestly when i usually write deon he’s an MIT graduate so dskjds he definitely got an offer from there that he casually responded to like ‘oh shit, thanks man, but i’m cool!’ sdkjdsjk also probably has gotten more than a few offers to work at like google but refuses to work there until every image that shows up for the search ‘donald trump’ is just the angry orange. it’s his own negotiating point and he refuses to budge on it.

sometimes you can catch deon sitting in his car blasting sara barailles and crying in the university parking lot.

and finally, in ode to ismael,,, deon has a crush on claire from the bon appetit test kitchen. like he wants to marry her. his twitter is just nonsense stream of consciousness stuff and then occasionally ‘@clairesaffitz MARRY ME CLAIRE’. people have probably tried to point out to him that claire doesn’t have a twitter but deon always forgets djhddfjk

knows all the words to TLC’s waterfalls and will sing it to completion whenever it’s on.

will come to your flat and like fix your heater if it’s acting up. literally just hail deon down if you need anything fixed and he will do it for literally nothing. he just likes to help, and to be wanted around tbh rip

swears A TON omg i almost forgot deon swears constantly dkjds he doesn’t see a problem with it honestly, and he’s never like angrily swearing honestly it’s usually excited swearing but sdkjsdkj he’s a potty mouth nonetheless and if your muse doesn’t swear deon will pay them money to do it despite being BROKE. “will you say fuck for a dollar?” sdkjdsj despite the fact that he’s in england rip.

PERSONALITY. do u are have stupid? hell yeah brother!

honestly one of my most kindhearted muses. like deon wouldn’t hurt a FLY! he catches spiders in his hands and takes them outside sdkjsdk. like even if you’re a dick to deon he will still be nice to you! never gets mad at ANYBODY, like it’s so rare to see deon pissed man he has the heart of a surfer dude

just freaking says things man. doesn’t think before he says anything ever. no brain to mouth filter at ALL.

that said he’s a lot smarter than he looks and acts skjdsj but he’s also so stupid, it’s a bit contradictory honestly because deon is a DUMBASS! but he be knowing things man i can’t explain it. like he has no brain to mouth filter but like if you tell deon a secret no one is ever going to know.

PAINFULLY loyal to his friends like to a fault! even if you betray deon or abandon him he legit will not do the same to you, like if you were ever his friend you will be his friend until the day he dies.

generous. would give the shirt off his back to someone if they needed it

humble? like deon knows he’s good at what he does because people keep telling him that but he doesn’t do it because he’s good at it he does it because he thinks it’s fun and like rewarding, like seeing deebs beeping around just makes him happy.

doesn’t have a competitive bone in his body when it comes to academic success or professional success but when it comes to mario kart or ddr or tWISTERand suddenly nothing else matters in the world

lowkey still desperately wants friends and to be accepted, and cares a lot more about what people think of him than he lets on, rip

you absolutely could manipulate deon whenever you wanted to, he would skdjdsjk probably never catch on man. it’s like ‘fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, come on man... fool me THREE TIMES?? bro.’ dkjdskj

lowkey sad sometimes because it be like that, but he will hide it the minute there’s someone around him.

one of those muses that is like... are you pretending to be dumb or are you really that dumb? and like legit i don’t even know the answer man and i’ve never actually got to play him long enough to find out so i’m hype for that!

WANTED CONNECTIONS. *tries to crowd surf at a ted talk*

BROS. give deon some a group of close guy friends he will adore them with everything in him!

A NEIGHBOR THAT’S ANNOYED BY HIM. whether you’re trying to get inside and deon is talking your ear off about the toe he found in his subway sandwich, or it’s just the damn loud music he’s always playing (if you hear cotton eyed joe at two am, it’s definitely deon) you have a right to be annoyed by him. you are valid.

CONFIDANTE. despite the amount deon likes to talk he’s actually a really good listener and will keep all your secrets forever! so confide in him man, he’s got you. or the other way around someone deon feels like he can confide in and talk to?? a concept.

EXES. give me someone who broke his heart! i’ve never gotten to play brokenhearted deon but it would be fun. or someone who’s heart he accidentally broke, honestly he wouldn’t know it until it was too late sdkjsdkj.

CRUSH. give me someone who has a crush on deon that he is completely oblivious to. give me someone who deon has a crush on that he doesn’t know what to do with! honestly for the most part deon is either very blunt and forward or awkward and dumb with a crush, but either way it will be entertaining for all involved.

DAD FRIEND/MOM FRIEND. deon is a whole mess honestly, and he just needs someone who will make sure he doesn’t die you know? because he’s used to taking care of himself generally but he really will get himself into dangerous situation because he’s just stupid. some random stranger offers deon crack at a music festival? deon will take it! it’s so nice that they offered him some! *deon vc* yoooo, thanks man!

ENEMY. i just find it funny that deon wouldn’t know they are enemies. he’d wave to them and say hi and they’d be like I HATE YOU and he’d laugh like it’s a joke dkjdsk it’d be very one sided but very entertaining.

CHILDHOOD FRIENDS. deon has traveled all around america so give this to me friends! could even be friends from high school or something or middle school, whatever it is i’m game.

FWB. just really chill buds who also have sex. deon will try to high five them after sdkjdsjk maybe someone involved is catching feelings or maybe they’re just going to always be friends who have seen each other naked, and you know what that’s okay too.

alright that’s all i’ve got for now friends, because i’ve been up since 7am and i am slowly losing steam sdkjs but we can always brainstorm! like this and i’ll slip and slide into your dms!

#theflats:intro #suicide tw #death tw #depression tw #aye here he is folks!#i am too tired to edit this so dfkskj it is what it is!

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courtorderedcake · 5 years ago

Text

Roses : A CS retelling of ‘Tam Lin’

Hi, everyone! Thanks to @kmomof4 and the extremely talented @eastwesthomeisbest for their patience on this. As usual, thanks to @ultraluckycatnd who I would be lost without, the woman is a monster editing machine, and super beta. I live for my updates from her. Without further ado, here is my laaaaaaaaaaaate contribution to @cssns. You get TWO chapters for the price of one! WHOA!

Read on Ao3 right here, darlings! Chapter 1/4 Chapter 2/4

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The rain pours for several more days, and Killian lurks indoors anywhere she is not, a ghost in the corners of her eyes. The cable company's arrival makes him bolder, showing the workers the drilled holes in the wood from previous owners, and identifying the ancient telephone cable.

Laughing, a bewhiskered man clapped him on the back in good nature as he held up the cord. “Haven't used these since 1910! This used a switchboard to even operate, probably used for transmission in the First War. This is a damn antique!”

Killian laughed with the men doing the installation, but as Emma looked closer, it seemed to be only for show. He followed them asking questions, watching the cables thread through walls, helping where he could. It was not a one day job, which luckily Emma had predicted.

The next day was even busier, with deliveries arriving, a team looking at the major pipes, electrical repairs and more cable installation making the quiet halls echo with voices. Emma directed what felt like a never ending stream of people carrying various items to rooms, instructed men on how she wanted furniture arranged, and helped identify the structural issues she had noticed, or take note of the ones the contractors had. Carterhaugh stood strong and not many issues were found, although the plumbing and wiring were a mess that would need to be addressed and modernized.

Around lunch time, Emma took a pop tart out of its sleeve and noticed she hadn't seen Killian all day. Walking to the back solarium and sunroom that looked over the gardens, she watched as he worked. His back muscles rippled under an undershirt, plaid flannel wrapped around his waist. His arms were deeply defined, and she didn't notice how lost in thought she was until he gave a sarcastic little wave. Blushing she gave a half wave back, stuck half the pop tart in her mouth, and quickly went back to ordering people about like some evil queen.

At the end of the day and after a hefty set of invoices, Emma collapsed in the plush chairs that sat next to the great room's fireplace. Closing her eyes and rubbing her temples, she groaned.

“Miss Swan? Are you alright?”

Killian’s voice. She nodded with a sigh, opening her eyes. “I… Your phone came today.” Nodding her head at the package that sat on a small table, she closed her eyes again.

"Oh. Okay." He looked down at the box with a frown.

"Don't worry, it literally walks you through the set up process. Just turn it on with the button, and follow the instructions." Emma stretched with a groan, letting her joints pop.

"You got a lot done today, it looks like."

"I did. The teams I chose are phenomenal, but it will be nice to be alone again here soon. I have never had a home, so I would like to enjoy this while I can."

"No home? You're an orphan, then?" he asked, and she nodded. "Did you live in a foundling home or ministry?"

"No. No. It must be different in America, I don't know what a foundling home is, actually. I lived in an orphanage, then foster homes. My adoptive mother legally got custody of me at 15. I consider her and my brother my only family."

"Ah. A foundling home is for found children, usually abandoned by their parents or orphaned by war, famine or plague."

"Oh, crap, I didn't mean to be insensitive. Those must be rare nowadays, I don't think that there's been any of that sort of thing over here for at least 60 years."

Killian muttered under his breath, laughing bitterly. "Yeah." picking up his phone he gave her a nod, then returned to work.

After a few more hours, Emma sat aside invoices neatly arranged into piles after double checking everything scanned into the cloud by her phone, and began a small fire in the grate of the ancient fireplace. She went to the kitchen for a glass of wine and some chocolate, surprised to find Killian sitting enraptured by the light of his phone screen.

"Emma, this device is… It's bloody magic. I have never seen such a small encyclopedia of knowledge. So many flowers and plants have been discovered, animals and places. The pictures are so close up I feel like I'm there -"

"Calm down, Buster, have you seriously never had internet? You might of well have been Amish."

"What's Amish?"

"Alright, forget Amish. What's your favorite thing you have learned so far."

"The sky, I've mapped the stars in detail during my time in the Navy, and written about clouds, but there are so many more names, the conditions that create them are all documented, and the stars, we've been in space -"

"How did you miss Neil Armstrong? One giant step? Do I need to rent 'The Right Stuff'?"

"When you live here, and you have no one, it's easy not to know anything but this. Thank you Emma. I… I can't say how much this means to me."

"I'm glad you like it. I guess." Emma said shyly back, surprised by the genuine delight in his voice. Shrinking back without her glass of wine, she doused the fire and went to bed instead, her stomach full of butterflies sorely in need of some Raid.

In the morning, the butterflies became a full force flock when Killian called her name from the conservatory. She waited, stopped and watched his easy jog over to her over the parquet as wingbeats tickled her insides. The rose he held out to her did nothing to help her distress either.

"Would you let me take you for lunch, out on the meadow? It's a perfect day to watch the clouds come in, and you look like you could use a break. I'd like to repay you for the phone. It's been truly… I have not words in which I can express my gratitude fully."

At her hesitation, he backtracked. "If you don't want to, please, it's alright. I'll just go -"

"No, no. You're right, it's a beautiful day for it. Yes. Yes, let's have lunch. I'll set up some quilts and you can meet me there."

"Cheese sandwiches alright?"

"As long as there's cocoa."

These lunches become a weekly part of their routine. On the nicest days they find one another wandering the grounds, and in the rain the eat in the kitchen or in the solarium watching rain pour down the glass. There are many nice days, mild breezes carrying the sound of their lively conversations, the weather becoming temperate and fair. He brings tea, cookies, cakes and sandwiches, while Emma brings pop tarts, cocoa or coffee.

It turns out that his sense of humor is actually amusing, her face and sides hurting from the way he somehow gets her. It's in the late summer, when he places a daisy crown on her head while talking about the constant storm on Jupiter (he's obsessed with learning everything about space and technology lately), and she realizes after that she didn't flinch. It's easy to forget that he hasn't been a fixture in her life forever when he greets her in the morning in the kitchen, or when he gives her a lazy grin with a wave with soil covered hands.

It's hard to be in the quiet when Killian has recited poetry, or shows her how to tell if a tree is 'wick', and how to take cuttings to grow more of certain bushes that have started to thin. She reciprocated to her own surprise, and tells him about life in the city, about the movies she loves, and about the best apps for his phone. He's great at candy crush, has a following on GreenThumb, and when she lets him on her Spotify he shocks her with a Playlist of roaring twenties, classical, and old swing band songs mixed with the classic rock he has heard her screeching out lyrics into a broom handle. Emma watched him weave magic with plants, feeling aimless and antsy when she went back to work in the house alone.

Occasionally he joined her, and in those moments it's almost as if he saw the house in its full glory. He knows everything there is to know, except the local legend of the estate.

"So did the family really just up and disappear? Were they really cursed by Leprechauns?"

"Fae folk." The grimace he made was tight when he gritted out the words. It was warm, the cliff side by the sea enticing with its cool spray. Both of them had worked long enough to have a break as they stretched across slightly damp stone. Killian licked his lips, looking almost pained. "They probably left before the next war hit. That's my guess. Although, tales of the Fae due run rampant out here. ‘The Fae court will ride their wild stallions across the plain, under the cover of thunder and lightning’. They ran their undying horses too loudly to go without notice otherwise."

Killian’s face fell, and he looked out pensively towards the estate, his features tensing as a sudden chill nipped at them. "Or teaching wee ones to be kind to strangers without asking for something in return… Fae folk have dominion over anyone who violate their hospitality unless given sincerely. Even then, they're bitter, wicked, twisted creatures with not an ounce of warmth in them. That falls back to 'Never find friend in Fae, or show them favor'."

"You sound like you believe they're real." Emma said quietly,

"Do you, Swan?" The question comes out strange, not quite teasing.

After a moment and a steadying breath, Emma let the truth eke out. "Maybe."

Killian didn't laugh, didn't say anything, really. Emma found that the best reply, her heart beginning to slow again when she confirmed that he's truly not mocking her by glancing up at his darkening eyes.

"Just who are you, Swan?" This question is worse, worst - it lodged deep as her walls snapped back up around her.

"Wouldn't you like to know." If he noticed the iciness in her glare, he didn't say.

Instead he called after her as Emma made her way back inside, a sudden cold rain pouring down. "Perhaps I would."

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Emma lets the days go by leisurely as Killian and her spend more time with each other. They eventually start sharing books, movies, excerpts from history (He loves the Today I learned section of reddit, learning things in leagues) and music. Her selections of rock and classic punk pop seem to genuinely bewitch him - on several occasions she's gone out to the garden to find him smeared with dirt, shirtless, gloves in his back jeans pocket shaking along with his - assets - while 'Welcome to the Jungle' blared from the sound system.

The beginning of want pooled in a well Emma thought had long gone dry, her blush a strawberry stain across her face and chest. Not that Killian knew, or if he did, hid it under his normal self-deprecating cheekiness by teasing her as much as normal. Emma had thoughts at night after a glass of wine that left her feeling like a breathless high schooler who found a note in their locker, except she wasn't a high school student. She hadn't been in far too long for this sort of crush.

Even in the mornings when she tried to beat him outside, he's there. Sometimes just sitting and talking to the plants or pruning, and it's like he's a fixture in her garden. A fixture that notices her arrival or sneaks behind her with a branch to tickle her ear, smiles at her, beams at her really, in a way that makes her heart sing. It's as if he's gently tending to her too, like he knows how hard it has been to lay down roots anywhere since Neal burned away everything she had hoped for a home.

Killian just grows on her, and she feels like the sun has warmed her enough to tentatively take a chance, to bloom.

And she likes it. It scares her more than anything. She likes that he wants to cultivate a friendship, that he is just happy to be near her for whatever reason, and that she can find comfort in his stability. He has set roots, deep into the earth that for so long she has resisted against letting her feet touch.

Maybe Emma Swan was finally tired of flying, and could try falling, just this once, knowing that a safe harbor might lend itself to her landing.

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Emma read the faded ink on dark and crumbling paper, careful to slide it into a protective plastic sleeve. The attic had proven to be a massive undertaking, just like every other aspect of Carterhaugh. She originally planned to do just documents by herself, but Killian had found her and demanded to help, proving to be just as stubborn as her. He also demanded that they wait on the furniture and strange chests in the dusty gloom, warning her that he was not risking her falling through the floor or down a ladder.

"I quite fancy you, when you aren't yelling at me." He smirked, and butterflies erupted in her chest. If only.

The Lord of Carterhaugh had found the Fae portal, and made his way through the shadows to the seat of a great golden throne. He'd changed, heard the whisper of a devil or some dark voice that crawled into his veins, his name the first to go. Rumplestiltskin.

And Rumplestiltskin knew things, things he shouldn't have, and couldn't have. Things to sweeten a deal already suspiciously too good to be true. His wife, the lady of the house, did not love him. He tried many times to use his new found shadows to gain her heart, but they had limits. He tried stranger and more powerful beings in the woods until they fled as far as they could. Nothing worked until he threatened to take their child into the dark without her. She begged him to compromise, and they would split time with their child between their worlds.

For a time, it was good. Rumplestiltskin twisted into something strange, The lady stayed near the same, and no one could tell which way their son might go.

She joined them when her son finally decided to rule beside his Father. It was short-lived, an argument breaking out between the three as they chose whether they would abandon their old home of Carterhaugh to a great war that had begun. The Lady and her son returned, not a day older than when they left, blessing the land so no Fae could cross - as long as a rightful owner held the key.

No one noticed their return, thinking of only the war that held the world in turmoil or that they were distant relatives. When the war ended, no one remembered they had been there far too long.

Especially a soldier trying to return home on foot, lost, hurt, and sick.

The paper was ornate, script flowery and bordered with roses like the ones in her gardens. Emma slid it into a sleeve like the rest. When Killian emerged from the attic with cobwebs in his dark hair, Emma carefully pulled the dust and spider webs away as he huffed in annoyance. Carrying boxes of dust covered books, photo albums, old documents, journals where the ink has bled into the pages making them unintelligible, ledgers and sketches.

Emma was quick to pull out as much as she could, not noticing Killian’s change in posture or how he frowned as he placed albums aside to ‘sort through later’.

Opening a dark leather bound album, she flipped through the pages, as Killian froze behind her, flinching with every turn of the page.

"Look at all the staff here. This place used to run 30 people deep, can you imagine? I'd go crazy trying to organize all that. I guess your family has been doing this for years though."

"My family?" Killian looked confused for a moment before shaking it off. "Oh, yes. We've uh, one of us has always been here." he smiled weakly, and Emma felt an odd twinge in her gut.

"This guy even looks a little like you!" Emma laughed, and Killian frowned deeply, looking over the photo.

"Yeah. He could practically be me." He said in a dry tone, chuckling darkly. Emma felt that sour stone turn in her stomach, and this time she knew there was something behind the offput smile he gave her, more firmly planted than genuine; it took the air completely out of the room. In a sharp and impossibly fast movement, he slammed the book shut with a look of pure frustration, as Emma made a startled noise.

"Killian, what -"

"I'm going to put some of these to the other room. They're later in the period and it will be easier to start at the beginning." Putting the book away, he carried off several to stack in a corner.

"Alright." She gave him a wary glance, but opened up another old book. Several families in Victorian era clothing played croquet on a small lawn, the surrounding forest held back by large stone walls. "Oh, look at those!" Emma exclaimed, fingers pressed to the page. A gargoyle of a vaguely human creature stood at the corners of each side. Killian sat again, leaning over to look, his presence so close. His shoulder fell slightly against hers. She moved slightly away, just enough to feel the warmth of his body but to where he had no weight against her.

"Fae folk," Killian whispered quietly, finger pointing.

"Well. You weren't kidding when you said people here thought less of them than you!" Emma laughed merrily, moving to another album, not noticing Killian’s fingers tracing the large iron spikes that topped the heavy stones. "I guess most people think they're hideous creatures, but I think -"

"There's many, many things in this world. Fae folk happen to be one that, at least here, are known to be dangerous. It's why in lore, you never make deals or supper with strangers on the road, or you count the teeth and fingers of someone who offers you hospitality. Nothing in life comes without a price, and these woods are proof of it. They should have never taken that wall down."

"I agree, it's aesthetically pleasing for sure -"

"Promise me something, love?"

"Uh." Emma looked at him, his jaw clenched as he stared at the photo. "Maybe, it depends -"

"Put that wall back up, please. I'll help whoever lays it brick by bloody brick, but put that wall back up."

"Um. Okay, I will."

"Promise me." His eyes were icy blue as they snapped to stare at her, cold and without any of their normal glimmer of snark. Emma nodded, and he looked back at the photo, tracing the lines of the rock again.

"I promise."

"Thank you, Emma." He sighed, relaxing slightly. Pushing herself against her hatred of touch Emma reached for him. She laid her hand in his, tracing her thumb over his knuckles, and the ghost of a smile returned.

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If there was any advantage of having Killian on the premises of Carterhaugh, it was the cooking. Emma was beyond convinced that the man is the next Gordon Ramsey, showing him videos of the chef's famous temper that made his ears go pink.

"He shouldn't talk to women like that." Killian mumbled, after a particularly bad roasting involving an 'idiot sandwich'.

Emma frowned. "It's something they know going in. They're being respected for their talent, not their gender, or being a woman. They take it just like these men, sometimes - well no, usually, actually - better."

"Women do reserve respect, and to be treated better than this. I don't like this garbage can television you like, Swan."

"Trash TV."

"Semantics."

"Fine, and I guess you would order your kitchen around respectfully?" Emma asked amused. Killian gave a firm nod, washing berries in the sink as Emma sat on the counter top. "Oh captain, my captain! What do you know about bossing around a crew?"

"I was a Captain, Swan. In the Navy. Ranked up after my brother. I'd never speak to my crew like this, and I never did." There was a flat sadness in his tone, and the water ran for a long minute into the sieve that lay in the sink with neither of them moving.

"I didn't - I -"

"I'm thinking pie for this. Have you ever made one?" Killian asked, normalcy returned shakily as he turned off the tap. He flicked water at her with his fingers and she yelped, laughing.

"No. We didn't make pie a whole lot in our foster home." Emma shuddered. "We didn't eat a lot in general, in quite a few of them, really. I guess Neal did get us a pie once when we went out to dinner if you could call it that. He liked artsy food. It was this crazy mushroom tart thing, with all these circular layers. I just wanted - "

"A poptart?" Killian smirked at her, already rolling out dough with small gestures of his wrist on the other side of the sink opposite her. Emma shook off a momentary feeling of hypnotic awe, his movement quick, well practiced and precise mastery, like he had done this forever.

"Actually, I remember wanting of all things, a bologna sandwich."

Killian made a retching noise. "Awful stuff, that. Came out in '57 and they're still using the same cans if it. That and gelatin becoming en vogue is beyond perplexing, and then there were aspics which are a devil's concoction if I've ever seen one. I know bad food Swan, I'm British and was in the navy. Trust me when I say you're better off."

"You like mackerel and pickled herring." Emma giggled.

He looked affronted, giving a faux dramatic gasp. "Well yes, but not gelled, I'm not a savage. I barely put more than 3 tablespoons of vinegar on my food. I'm a purist by my country's standards."

Wrinkling her nose she made a gagging noise, "Gross. Thanks for ruining that for me." He smirked at her unapologetically.

"Hey, before I forget," Emma held up a finger and hopped down off the counter top. Heading to the pantry area, she flicked on the light and pulled down a basket of several apples, bringing them to the counter. Killian continued working methodically, without looking up. "Think we have enough to make a pie out of these?"

She reached down to pull one out, the red skin reflecting her hand like a lacquered surface, but Killian grabbed her wrist roughly. There was a sudden edge to him that made his demeanor feel strange, darker even.

"Where did you get these?" He asked with a hiss. Her eyes widened, and she pulled away briskly.

"The bottom of the hill, where the forest path begins. I hadn't noticed before since we don't walk down that way a lot, but there's an apple tree there -"

"Do not - Never pick those. These apples," he gruffly made a noise between an exasperated sigh and a growl. "These are poisonous. It's leeched into the soil there. Something to do with that New Claire energy. Poison nastiness. Hives of biting, crawling, flying, pests that rot everything they touch. Chemicals."

"Nuclear? Insects? What -"

"Look, just - Never these. Never eat anything from down that hill. Unless it's grown up here, do not eat it."

With flour covered hands he grabbed the basket and stormed out side, throwing the whole thing down the hill, and heading to the back garden. Emma stood open mouthed for a minute, looking around confused. When Killian stormed down the hill from the back garden as a shadowy silhouette in the late afternoon sun with an axe, she slipped on shoes to run after him. By the time she was out the door she could here the swings of the axe in wood. The tree fell as she reached the crest, sliding slightly down the slope.

As soon as the tree hit the ground, the leaves changed to a duller color, and as she came to the even patch of ground, an apple rolled to touch her boot. It was decaying, the lacquered red surface giving way to black beetles and crawling centipedes that fled there safety. Killian panted slightly, before throwing the axe over his shoulder and stalking back toward Carterhaugh.

"What - It wasn't like that when I -"

"Soil is bad, like I said. Just - just don't come down here. It's not safe. There's things left over from the wars, and old wells, mine shafts - there's a reason why all this land is untouched. No one wants it."

"You mean like, fairy circles, those types of old wells?" Emma called after him as he froze, kicking a blackened apple down the hill but away from her path.

Killian tensed, rigid and darkly shadowed by the setting sun. For a moment Emma thought he might yell at her, his stature wound so tight to the point of snapping, and face furious. He took a breath, and let it melt off him, composing himself as Emma watched in confusion.

Mumbling a curse under his breath he walked towards her and in a quiet tone drawled out an emotionless phrase, "Yes. Like those."

They walked back to the kitchen, but Emma felt herself come loose from the strangeness of the black beetles, so much like little black teeth or shiny black tacks, centipedes crawling, circling each other -

Neal loves circles, it's always circles in his art and designs. When Emma first meets him, he is tagging circles on a building, spraying thick lines of black and white that he covers in red to make a ring of what looks like mushrooms. Tucked away, she was fascinated by his fluid movements with the can until he chuckled lowly, turning to stare directly at her with eyes that are brown but somehow glow with tawny humor.

"Well well well." His voice is a whisper, but Emma can hear it all around her, echoing through the concrete, crumbling brick, and metal of the alleyway. "A lost boy has found a lost girl."

It doesn't make sense that he is so wise and young at the same time, but he calls her an old soul, which Emma delights in, especially on his arm in the backroom of a party or club. She is mature for her age, he tells her, nuzzling his nose in her hair. When he waves her past people, he always knows people and they seem to want to please him, his voice is like caramel.

"She's with me. Ems is cool."

It's astounding to her. He has nothing but everything, taking what is and isn't offered with no consequences.

"It's magic, Ems. People will give whatever I ask, because they know better than to ever say no." Holding her tightly, he rubs her arms and her stiffness melts away on whispered words of how happy he is with her. How glad he is to have someone who understands, the only person who gets him, the only person that makes him want to live.

When he asks, Emma does not say no. He is as important to her as she is to him. It does not matter that they've been together a few months, she echoes, they feel as though they have been together for years. It doesn't matter that she does not know what he does to make so much money, to buy her the nicest things even though she does not ask, he holds her hand as they grocery shop.

It does not matter that he asks again and again, more aggressively each time, and when she says no she learns better than to ever deny him again.

They are in love, Neal her first and only love in a long line of loss, the only person who has her full trust after years of betrayal. They are in love, and he holds her heart. It was only once, then twice, then more - but he's doing it for her own good, just correcting her behavior. He always tells her after how sorry he is, and how much he loves her. That he never wants her to hurt again, no more excuses about clumsiness or stealing makeup to cover evidence that fades from purple to yellow. No more late night visits to his doctor, the one across town who won't ask questions about her broken wrist or swollen jaw.

He cares about her enough to make her better. To make her listen and love him the way he needs to be loved; the consequences be damned, because those moments of rage are so fleetingly brief, that it does not matter.

It does matter a little when his time is spent on more trips alone, on business deals that she cannot accompany him to. It does matter when she finds dark plum lipstick on his collar, and it does matter when he storms out when she questions his fidelity.

It does matter when he returns, a silver circle lying in a plush casing, the proposal tainted by his ultimatum :

"Marry me, Ems. Marry me, or lose everything." He asks, and Emma does not say no, there's no way out of this, he's encircled her -

FWOOOM.

Her thoughts are broken by the sound of - something. It's a noise Emma has never heard, followed by Killian’s yelp of panic. He's thrown himself back on the floor away from the old oven when she skids to a stop on her socks to fall into him, his face soot covered and hair slightly charred on the edges.

"Are you alright?" Emma chokes out, but he hits her with a look of absolute frustration that goes so well with the black covering his face and the ember still slightly orange on his eyebrow she brushes away even as it burns her, and it takes seconds for her to dissolve into peals of laughter that make him look even more put out. "Oh, Killian -"

"Don't even start, Swan."

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Killian became a close confidante, the only person Emma had known that she could spend time with just in their presence, enjoying every moment. His presence soothed unlike so many that grated on her, and their routines twisted together until they were inseparable for vast portions of the day.

As it became nicer, they walked the property together and he showed her every plant, bird, animal and bug his work helped cultivate, as if he was completely responsible for the life that flooded where the forest did not touch. Emma could believe he was without trying, especially when fireflies danced around them and lit ginger glints in his hair or cast green and grey specks in his irises.

They sat by the now working fountains listening to mourning doves, or out on the gazebo that looked down the hill towards the wood, and he listened or hummed quietly while they read. There was a sense of calm that came with him that made her feel enveloped in safety. She could just be, and just being meant she could be vulnerable.

"My husband - it's complicated. I just, he was the love of my life and he let me down. No. He did more than that, he - I - I fell so far into myself I thought I would never escape and I can't let someone do that to me again. He was an awful person who was awfully good at pretending he wasn't."

"You don't have to say more, love."

"What about you? A good looking guy like you probably has -"

"You think I'm good looking Swan?"

Emma blushed, fiddling with the flower crown in her hands. "Shut up. You know what I mean."

"I do?" He asked, more amused. "I suppose a dashing rapscallion like m'self -"

Emma groaned, and they both laughed. She smiled at the crown, twisting away a stray petal here and there. Killian broke the silence in a thoughtful voice.

"The love of my life let me down too, so we're quite the pair, you and I."

Emma caught his quick glance in her direction, and the way his face changed from a smile, to carefully polished facade. Walls to never show the world any vulnerability, unsaid things piled up so high on the ramparts, and armor to protect from being hurt again.

"Milah. She was beautiful, smart, so zealous about life and the beauty of everything. She loved flowers, and I was good with them. She said that I was magic with them." Killian sounded wistful, and began to scrub at the back of his neck, talking rapidly, as if he was nervous.

"She was married but so unhappy, her husband had left her to care for their home while he… while he cared for his business elsewhere. It put their son in a difficult position due to it. He was expected to be two places at once, being educated in both worlds. It left Milah alone a lot of the time, and I welcomed her company. We fell in love against better judgment, she was a woman that wanted for nothing and took what she liked - I was something she liked. I don't know if I ever had a choice, really. At first it was wonderful, and everything was perfect. I feared her husband finding out, as he was very powerful in the, er, business world. Surprisingly, I discovered he didn't care. He called me her pet. I hated that, but I wanted her to be happy." He paused, shuddering, and looked over his shoulder. A harsh wind blew from up the forest, and although it had been a warm day, it smelled cloyingly of wet earth.

"She convinced me to run away with her, to join her husband and son in their business. Life had gotten harder and there were other forces at work outside of us, our country involved in a war. She was afraid. I followed her, because I was so in love, I'd follow her anywhere. It was subtle, her mannerisms changed and became more sharp, and we - well, our love changed drastically. She began to enjoy hurting me, and I at first thought that I enjoyed it, just trying to please, but she became worse as if she was trying to break me, bringing others in to torture me. Mind games and intrigues amongst…" His cheeks pinked. "Other things."

"You don't have to tell me this. If you don't want to, if you're not - you don't owe me -" Emma looked away, and he laughed ruefully. She looked back and he was shaking his head with his jaw set.

"I know I don't owe - you're the first person I've talked to about any of this." He sighed, and she picked at her fingernails. "If you don't want to -"

"No. It's okay. I…" Emma bit her lip. "Go on."

He nodded, taking a deep breath. "Her husband and a long line of others degraded me, tormented me, pulled me apart without care and made me wish I had never been born. Where in the beginning Milah at least provided a soothing touch after, she began to leave me alone to watch me suffer, or ignore my pleas to stop. I have never felt so helpless."

"Killian, I -"

"So I know the feeling of shame, I understand not wanting to be touched, I have boundaries from my escape and extricating from Milah's grip. Leaving her was like…" he laughed again, sad and without any humor. "Banishment. I was left absolutely alone, her son had been my close friend, and I had others that I was close with in their business."

Standing, he brushed off his pant legs and looked out at the sky. Emma stood slowly, chewing her lip to the point of pain before making her decision.

Carefully, Emma tucked her hand into his, his fingers intertwining with her own as they walked in silence. They made occasional light conversation, laughing together, and an easy feeling of belonging came over her so strongly. His thumb traced her own, while his smile traced a path through every barrier and straight to her heart.

Returning to the house Killian made a chicken and rice dish that was phenomenal as usual, and over wine Emma teased him about his absolute refusal to consider adding a chicken coop to the property.

"They're nasty birds, Swan."

"They eat pests, and they would have so much room. I think it would be nice."

"Just because you and they are kin, doesn't mean I want to care for them, Swan."

"Are you… Ch- Ch- Chicken?" Emma smiled at him with uninhibited glee.

"You are absolutely ridiculous."

"You love me for it." Emma stabbed a bite and grinned as she chewed, oblivious to the look of longing that came over him.

"That I do."

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

When Emma opened the door for vulnerability in her life, the breeze that came through pushed every idea of a wall out of the relationship she and Killian had built, their likes and dislikes melding and the strangeness of their lives being alike turning into long stories over spiked cocoa in half finished rooms.

Killian was an orphan, the same caged look in his eye when asked about family. His brother was gone, but both their siblings had fought constantly for a better life for the younger.

Where Emma didn't know her parents, Killian remembered his mother and his drunken father, and they commiserated on which was worse. In the end, it came down to loss and abandonment laying a heavy hand on both of their existences in a way that made Emma see Killian in a different light all together. There was a softness that met the same jagged edge of wildness, the raw and crooked pieces that came together in a clash just like hers. There were scars, mental and physical, that she recognized easily now, and that changed the way they interacted.

Emma had always felt like she was walking the thinnest invisible line, unsure what was above or below or ahead, but in Killian’s presence she felt someone's hand in her own. Emma hoped he felt the same balance, and the same surety she did.

Fear was there too, and it came in the night when she examined the synchronicity that she wanted to cling to like a preserver.

If Neal hadn't ruined her, if she wasn't just slightly more broken and absolutely undesirable, Killian would be everything Neal wasn't.

Her wedding is beautiful, but strange in its own right, a ceremony that is a blur of unfamiliar faces, drinking, food, and meeting who Neal demands her to meet. It feels strange, as if there is something wrong with everything, a piece that is missing among the wreckage, but she cannot grasp it.

Neal is forceful when he introduces a few guests, but Emma is the sun, shining on this day and not noticing the sideways looks people shared. The women are striking, Emma unsure of how they know Neal, and unable to ask for fear of her tangled tongue.

There's so much spinning and dancing, his voice low and sweet, warming her and tracing her nerves with fuzziness. Her friends are there too, and they are happy, so happy as they drink and dance and feast. David is there only briefly, the only one ever disgusted by Neal, but her old roommate from college, Ruby, makes it. They share a silly dance that makes Ruby's bracelets jingle while Neal talks to his friends, so many friends she has never seen. There's so much money in this place, so much she did not plan or choose, ostentatious in your face gaudy things that Neal has chosen for her. Neal will choose for her, because he knows best, and she is in his ring, twirling in a gown that glitters with crystals.

Neal dances with Ruby, and she is charmed immediately. There are other people he dances with that Emma invited, the cake shop owner down the street Tiana, a woman from an sculpting course, Ariel, and their upstairs neighbor, Tamara. Each seem to join her new husband and come away with a blushing grin, the wine strong.

They go to bed and it's not as much as making love, but it isn't as little as just fucking or consummation - there's a frenzied edge that makes her toes curl but scares her. When she wakes up, her body is bruised and bite marks line her skin, dark blossoms that feel tender. He's gone, left a note for her on their honeymoon that something has come up back home. The tears come easily, but the call to the concierge is rough. Neal had left her money to do whatever it is someone does alone on their honeymoon in the Caribbean, and she laughs as the clerk judges her while handing her the bag.

The first two days of Plan B she can't drink, and it takes everything to follow through with that, watching Back to the Future 1 - 4 in the pool while gorging on onion rings. The third day is spent drunk and crying over a grilled cheese, then more onion rings.

Getting home, she finds Neal in their living room, and he surveys her calmly like one might do an over tired child. It hurts her, the coldness in his eyes. He sighs tracing a circle around the rim of a whisky tumbler.

"You've gained weight."

Emma laughs angrily and unbelieving, but it's cut short as the circles on his glass continue faster and faster around, until she fades into a smile, gently saying,

"Sorry, Neal, I'll do better."

He smiles, putting down the glass to his side.

"Good girl. Now come here, I missed you."

Emma walks over and straddles him - surprised how wrong it feels but how right it feels to please him. She does want to make him happy, doesn't she? To repay his good will and good fortune? Or is she an ungrateful girl that can still be left if she displeases, abandonment or adoration the choice is hers - which is it, which is it, which is it - and their kisses turn into something more as he turns out the light in their bedroom.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Malcolm of Malcolm's restoration services was the first person Emma had found anywhere remotely close that was able to properly authenticate the rare safe she found hidden in one of the walls. In the old Master's study, Emma had found a loose panel, and had assumed it to be another thing to fix. Finding the safe, and then Googling the safe to see if could be broken into easily led Emma to discover that not only could it not - it might spray some sort of gas all over.

She called the man and he answered first ring, and she booked him to drive the hour to Carterhaugh. He was entirely unpleasant on the phone, but Emma thought that might be due to the surprise drive to the middle of nowhere.

He was wholly, entirely, and awfully beyond unpleasant in person.

Malcolm had shown up reeking of alcohol, his boots caked in mud that he'd tracked over the newly restored entryway, and had only been eager to get the safe out of the wall - and into his truck.

"Ya'dunno what's innit, so I'll charge ye a bit t'take it off yer hands. Be needing special tools anyway, which I only have at m'shop. Most safes are empty, but you'll know yet home is safe from t'gas at least."

"I'm sorry Mr. Malcolm, but no. I wish you didn't have to come all the way out here but I'll pay you -"

"Fine, fine, I'll open it here, I'll just…" He pulled a hammer out of his pocket, and Emma stopped him again.

"I would just really prefer if you don't? I read about these and I really don't want to risk it, when you say you need specific tools from your shop. If it's most likely empty I'll leave it for another day, and drive out there with you."

Malcolm smiled, greasily, lowering the hammer to his side. He nodded and turned to have Emma follow him towards the entry hall.

"Sounds good miss. It must be tough out here all alone by yourself."

Emma answered before she could think better of it. "Oh no, I'm used to being on my own really, and -"

The crack of the hammer missed her by such a small margin, she felt the breeze hit her forehead. It stuck in the wall as she threw herself back instinctively and stupidly, scrambling as Malcolm pulled the hammer free and swung again.

"Killian! Killian, fuck! Help!" She screamed down the hall towards the solarium, narrowly avoiding getting hit again as Malcolm swung wildly.

"You bitch, I thought you were alone up here!" The lunatic hissed, and Emma heard the sound of running steps as Killian yelled after her.

"Emma, if you've fallen again, I swear -" Killian took a look at Malcolm with his hammer raised above her, and became instantly enraged, running full speed at Malcolm with a roar of anger. The older man threw the hammer at him hitting Killian in the chest, scrambling to throw an entry table and chaise in Killian’s path as they ran for the door.

Emma heard the squealing of tires and shouts, unable to move from her sprawled defensive position on the floor. Killian came back in like a blur, and before Emma could find the air to ask him to call the police or if he was alright, he had wrapped his arms around her holding her head as she burst into tears.

"You're alright. Emma, I've got you. You're alright, love. What - Who was that? Did he hurt you? I would have been faster, I thought - I'm such an idiot I thought, and you could have been - Emma, please tell me you're alright because if he hurt you, I swear I will hunt the bastard down and stuff him." Emma wrapped her arms around him, tightly gripping him and crying inconsolably. Her shoulders shook, and he only whispered soothingly, only pulling away to lock the doors.

Emma called the police, recounting what happened to Killian and the department as they asked questions, Killian pacing by the time they thanked her for her statement.

"We'll keep an eye out for him Miss Swan, and if he should turn up again, give us a ring."

"What do you mean give us a ring, she could have bloody well died! Send someone after him -"

"Miss Swan, who is this?" The officer asked.

"Oh, he's - he's my roommate and helps with restoration. Jones."

The officer made a loud sigh. "Seainns? There's another of you?"

"No, Jones. Only the one." Killian gritted out.

"Alright Mr. Jones, well, we can't just arrest someone, as although they did damage, we don't know where they may be, and we are a small town with limited resources. We'll have someone in a car sit at the bottom of the drive until morning."

"Thanks." Emma mumbled. The sound of a click was followed by Killian’s shouts.

"Bloody useless! We'd have caught him on foot, and dragged him through town by his arms -"

"Hey, Killian?" Emma whispered, and he stopped pacing to look at her. "Will you stay with me tonight? Please?"

His eyes widened, and he moved toward her, although she shrunk back. "Oh, Emma -"

"I just don't want to be alone tonight." She mumbled, voice cracking. Unable to look at him, she felt him gather her hands, squeezing gently. When she yanked away he froze, then moved slightly away from her. Emma regretted it instantly.

"Of course, love. Your room?"

Emma nodded. She let him lead her up the stairs, stopping by his room to grab a few things, before he sat on the edge of her bed. He laid his pillow on the floor, but she grabbed his arm as he set about laying blankets there as well.

"No. If you don't want to I understand, but… Please, I want you close, I don't want to wake up and think I'm alone."

"Are you sure, Swan?" He asked, and she nodded.

Crawling into bed with her as she snuggled into him and let herself cry, he held her tightly.

"I promise Emma, I won't let anyone hurt you. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you today -"

"You were." Emma whispered. "You are."

"I won't let harm befall you, in any way I can prevent. I promise."

He held her close, alert for any sounds as she fell asleep.

For the first time in years, she woke with no recollect of nightmares, fully rested, warm and safe. Tracing the scar on his cheek as he slept, the morning light hit his eyelashes and hair revealing auburn glints. They fluttered, and his eyes crinkled at their edges, blue and glints of gold.

"You stayed."

"I told you I wouldn't leave, love. You're safe."

Emma felt words pour out of her, his quiet listening while resting his hands gently in platonic embrace cathartic as she told him everything. Abandonment after abandonment, unending and unrelenting betrayals of trust that she explained as he comforted in the ways he could.

"I know you think that you have to be strong, and I know you think that you can't trust or lean on others. I will do everything that I can to prove myself to you, to prove that you deserve more."

"Why?" Emma asked, more plea than question.

Killian hesitated. Finally he swallowed hard. "It's what friends do."

Emma laughed softly, letting out a hum of contentment when she fell asleep again.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Mary Margaret and David visit once Emma has restored a suite she found suitable for them, her standards on the first place she would invite her adoptive brother ridiculously high. He had been absolutely hell bent on seeing the place, but had finally had enough when Emma had mentioned Killian more times than what was most likely normal for a staff member of the manor.

"I have tickets booked for Christmas. We're coming." He announced on their Skype call. Emma blanched, choking on her wine.

"Christmas?" she squeaked. "But that would mean presents and food, and we -"

Mary Margaret spoke calmly from just off camera. "We will get groceries in London for the week we're there, and ship the gifts straight to your house wrapped. Hell, I'll even buy Christmas crackers. All you need to do is open the doors, put up some semblance of a tree, and have somewhere we can sleep."

"But -"

"Emma. Mary lived with me and my ogre frat brothers on campus for two years. As long as there are no crusted socks on door handles, your place will be as immaculate as the Vatican. We're coming."

Emma tried to argue but couldn't get past either of them, finally conceding when Mary Margaret pointed out that Emma kept saying we when it came to her arguments.

"Did you meet someone? Is there a we now? Tell the gardener to bring a date, I follow him on that GreenThumb app - I want to meet him!"

In her Skype account's chat box, Emma saw her face go red. "No," she snapped, unsure why the thought irritated her. The interrogation probably, that sneaky, bird whispering, cookie pusher of a sister and law. "No, no one for me, but I'm sure Killian will be around. He told me he purchased an ugly sweater for himself."

Emma took a swig of wine while her brother made an irritated noise.

"He's telling you what he's wearing? Emma, is he gay?" Emma flooded her lungs in cabernet, coughing and spraying her laptop screen. "If he is, we know a nice man and can set them up - That Jefferson fellow, the artist at our old complex."

David laughed, both of them not paying attention to Emma hacking and scrubbing at her laptop with her robe. "Oh yeah! The artist that kept getting high and painting rabbits. He had that exhibit he invited us to, what was it called - with all the penises that were 'mushrooms'?"

"'Wünder.' it was called I think." Mary Margaret smacked him on the shoulder from off screen. "I remember because you said it should not have been called that in allusion to Wonderland when it attracted that blonde doctor, and more than a few bears."

"That's right!" David snapped his fingers, smirking at Emma from through the screen.

Now half choking and laughing, Emma gave a hoarse, "Fuck you both."

David smiled sweetly, and replied, "See you at Christmas, sis."

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Mistake number one is completely Killian’s fault.

They have to get a tree, and not just any tree, a fifteen foot goddamn tree that goes in a specific place in the den, where it will lord over them like the undeserving peasants they are. Or, that's what Emma feels about the whole thing. Killian has precariously climbed up one of the big ladders with a long measuring tape to painstakingly make sure the dimensions of the tree are that of some sort of branch trunk ratio, muttering about 'gardener stuff' she wouldn't understand.

"We literally could just get a fake tree. I have one, I brought it, it's 5 feet and prelit -"

"Your brother is coming here, and you have never done Christmas in a real home. I want your first Christmas here to be…" Killian made a gesture and finally scratched behind his ear, and blushed. "I want you to feel at home."

"Oh." Emma blinked. "Okay…? But the thing is, Killian, I don't need a giant ass needle machine to make this place feel at home, my Christmas activities are usually Chinese food and whatever booze is on discount at the local drug store."

"Why are there stores for just drugs in America? You bloody people -"

"Do not change the subject, using my patriotism is not going to work on me this time."

"Fine. Fine! I'll get the tree up and all you need to get are the decorations."

"Fine. I ordered them with all the gifts, they'll arrive in three days. Please get the tree by then, and no shame if it's not that big, seriously. David and Two Ems will be here the day before."

Climbing down the ladder, he shut the measuring tape with a nod. "Then that's the day it will be here. That way we can all decorate it. I'll pull out my gifts when you lot put yours out."

Emma widened her eyes. "Oh, you didn't have to - I didn't know if you wanted to do that with us -"

Killian looked slightly defeated, and then embarrassed. "Oh. If I'm imposing… If no one got me -"

"I mean I did, but -"

His smile relit, his eyes crinkled at the corners. "That's all that matters. I'll get the tree, Swan."

David and Mary Margaret arrived, and the first hour was spent with Two Ems giggling and clapping her hands at the literal fairy tale property she's on, as David's jaw stays open.

"So, once I knew that you were coming up, I designed your suite. It's called the songbird suite, and I modeled it after both of you." Emma smiled shyly. Mary Margaret tackled her with a hug, and Emma laughed delightedly.

David approached the room and it's stained glass door and carved wood door, it's facade made to look like a tree dripping leaves that went from green to yellow and then red and brown. Turning the French handle that was made to look like a copper branch, they stepped inside. The room was wall to wall a mural of a verdant forest, the plaster inlay textured to give the illusion of dimension. A hearth of rustic wood burned merrily near the bathroom archway where a river stone bath and shower peeked out. Through the bathroom and past a rock cut double vanity lay a door out into a small garden courtyard, while past the tub a closet sprawled out with a booth for make up.

"Why is it the songbird room?" Mary Margaret asked.

Emma simply pointed up.

On the ceiling Killian has painted all the song birds that lived in their gardens, each one in detail and vivid coloring. He had draped plants in old bird cages they had found in the attic, growing the long vines to hang from the ceiling with flickering tea lights.

David walked to Emma, and smiled happily. "Can I hug you, Emma?" He asked quietly. She gave a simple nod, and he delicately embraced her, whispering in her ear so that Mary Margaret couldn't hear.

"You totally got me laid tonight, so thanks for that."

Emma burst out laughing, pushing him away while yelling how gross that was, and he started laughing too. Mary Margaret looked confused but hugged Emma again as she tried to breathe.

"I'm glad you like it Two Ems."

"It's perfect Em singular."

Just after that moment, Killian called from the hall.

"Can I draw your attention to the Den, Family Swan." Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow, but Emma shrugged pushing past to the hallway and into the den. Killian stood next to a massive tree, its branches held by thick red twine. He held a pair of scissors in his hands. Emma simply held her mouth open in shock along with Mary Margaret, the enormity of the massive pine overwhelming. She didn't notice David's pointed glare at Killian. "Madame Swan, M'lady Mary Margaret, and… Er. Dave."

David cracked his knuckles as his hand balled into a fist, with a grunt. Emma was too busy trying to figure out the scale of the tree to acknowledge him.

"I give you, our Christmas tree." Killian gave a bow, and with a quick flourish, cut the twine. The tree sprung open, boughs decorated in soft lights, glitter, some manner of tinsel, and long strings of ribbons, popcorn and cranberries. "All that's left is the star, and ornaments."

"Killian, wow, I -" Emma covered her mouth, trying not to let tears prick her eyes. She walked half dazed, not taking her eyes off the tree as she came to his side. "It's more than I -"

"So you like it?" He asked quietly.

"I love it, you've - I don't even know -"

He looked concerned, and gently swiped at her eyes. "Love don't cry, it's alright," Hugging her, she laughed.

"It's just so pretty, I never imagined having anything like this. Never in my life, I just… Thank you. Thank you so much, thank you."

Killian laughed, giving her a spin as she let out a joyful shriek.

Emma didn't notice David's tension, or the excited tug Mary Margaret gave on his sleeve that went unnoticed as he glared.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The second mistake comes in the form of Dinner the next day. David had excused himself after decorating the tree, citing exhaustion. Mary Margaret had gone with him and they retired early. Their gifts had been delivered the next day, beautifully propped against the decorated tree, while a team of couriers helped unload the ridiculous amount of food Mary Margaret had ordered.

"So, I am making the pies and cookies, the casserole, and the mashed potatoes. I figure that you," Mary Margaret pointed a bright red spatula at Killian who grinned in delight, "Can do the bird, vegetables, and that rice dish Emma raves about over Skype -"

"I do not rave about it over Skype -" Emma moaned, covering her face. Her stomach gurgled loudly, Mary Margaret and Killian laughing while David glowered.

"And David will do the ham, the lamb, and the holy roast." Mary Margaret laughed, Killian joining in. Emma gave David a bright smile that he did not return, not noticing, animatedly talking to Killian while he cut vegetables, popping cherry tomatoes in her mouth as he pretended to be annoyed. David grunted, pulling out the large roast pans.

Mary Margaret elbowed David, jerking her head at Emma, and David cleared his throat.

"Emma, would you like to help Mary Margaret?" David asked in a strained voice. "I'm sure she will let you add more cinnamon than normal people like in their shortbread."

Rolling her eyes, Emma stuck out her tongue at David, throwing a cranberry at him. "You're lucky I never miss the chance to merge from Em singular into," In unison robot voices, Mary Margaret and her intoned, "Triple M, Femme from Hell."

The broke into giggles before beginning to work. Opening a bottle of champagne and dumping it into a pitcher with cranberry juice, cinnamon sticks and orange slices, Emma poured herself and Mary Margaret a mug.

"My contribution, dear Sister in law." Emma smiled. Mary Margaret clinker her mug against Emma's, glancing over to where the men were working. They were back to back in silence, each stabbing at different ingredients. Mary Margaret gave a quiet sigh. Emma looked between the men and Mary Margaret with a confused look. "What?"

"My husband - your brother - is being a butthead." Mary Margaret whispered. Emma laughed, before realizing that she was serious.

"Wait, what? Who even says butthead anymore, are you eight? What are you even -"

"He's jealous. He's jealous that," She pointed at Killian with a measuring cup as she filled it with flour. "He couldn't do this for you. I mean, I know that he has to know this is because of Nil who he absolutely despised, but now there's another person who you've let in your life that is here because of Neal, and who is showing him up, that you've let in -"

"Fuck, I didn't even, I didn't think -" Emma hissed, and threw back her drink. Hissing in a quiet whisper, she gripped the counter. "Shit shit shit shit. But - but Killian is different, he's not like Neal at all and is just a friend. He's - there's nothing.".

Mary Margaret raised an eyebrow, smirking, before her face fell.

"Wait. Emma, you're serious? You and him aren't -" Emma shook her head, and Mary Margaret's eyes went wide. "But, but, he's - Oh, Emma."

Emma looked at her stupidly, blinking as Mary Margaret grabbed her hand and patted, looking over at Killian. He had moved around to the oven, jockeying for space and showing David how to work the various modes as her brother's hands balled further into fists.

When he caught their gazes, Killian gave a wave her way, smiling at her.

Emma turned back, and Mary Margaret was gulping down her own glass of the champagne mixture, putting up a finger to stop Emma from speaking as she poured another and downed it just as quickly.

"Wha?" Emma managed, but Mary Margaret just shook her head, muttering.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The dinner was fantastic, even if Mary Margaret got exceedingly drunk and laughed entirely too hard at the dirty jokes in her Christmas cracker, but David loosened up as the night went on and they all wore their silly hats, food being passed and eaten. They were all well drunk as the lamb and roast's smell wafted from the kitchen for the next day, and cookies were happily munched on by the fire.

They played a silly almost game of spades at a low coffee table in the den, trading white elephant gifts of ridiculous pajamas and blanket sets Mary Margaret had picked out, Emma receiving a mustache print blanket and flaming hot cheetos mixed with mistletoe pajamas. Mary Margaret fared much better, a Scooby-Doo onesie with Santa hat, rainbow blanket with poop emojis, and matching poop Emoji pillow. David received a silky mumu in a pepto pink with glittery loafers and a blanket with the repeated words 'Diva' and 'Princess' in cursive on it, but Killian fared worst of all.

"You've bested me, Mary Margaret. I shan't forgive you for this." He raised a fist in fake anger, plinking in his ears as he pulled out the offending garment. They all cackled, Mary Margaret actually falling over in peals of laughter as he glared at her in good humor and sang out mockingly, "Revenge, revenge, revenge will be mine."

A silky black robe with lace trim and black velour booty shorts were held in his hands, the red and white candy cane lettering across the back reading, 'Naughty List'. The blanket print was a black and red velour with Santa wearing devil horns.

David could not stop laughing as they all took a photo together, Killian bright red in embarrassment and drink, the both of them staying late up into the night talking. They all changed or got comfortable, Triple M falling asleep cuddled together in a drunk doze.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Christmas morning marked the third and final mistake, a group of hung over almost thirty somethings waking up to a cold hearth and backs that protested not sleeping on a mattress. Killian was up first as usual, fetching wood and dropping it with a yawn in the grate, stoking the embers. Mary Margaret and David woke up later as Emma dozed in and out, listening to their conversation.

"If you give him any trouble -"

"- How can she not know, I mean -"

"I mean it David, I will give you a new year's resolution of a dry spell if you -"

"That is emotional manipulation, Snow, and I'm only worried for my sister -"

"Don't 'Snow' me, this is the happiest I've seen her in so long, and you could be happy with her, last night you told me he was a good guy -"

"Last night I was drunk! Come on, Snow I -"

"David, if you don't act charming I'll… After we open gifts, go help him in the garden. Please."

Her brother gave a dramatic sigh, grunting out an okay. Falling back asleep until she smelled coffee, Emma led them in devouring ham with toast. They sat around the tree opening gifts, as they felt life returning in the form of caffeine.

They all received socks, some books, and various other gifts tailored to them. Mary Margaret got several kits for her class, a voucher for archery lessons, and several bird feeders that would be delivered to their home. David got free dog training courses for their puppy, wireless headphones, and a new pair of boots he had been eyeing. Emma was surprised to receive a wallpaper book based on period design, several dresses, a wine club subscription, and a beautiful shadowbox frame full of photos of hee adoptive mother. David had squeezed her hand at that, both of them sharing a look.

Emma was beyond grateful that Killian was given gifts by Mary Margaret, who'd given him a National Geographic subscription, Play store card, and to his delight, purchased an actual star for him.

"It's registered, you just go online and name it. They will give you the coordinates, which you can track on the phone app, or a telescope." Mary Margaret explained.

"Which brings me to my gifts to you." Emma smiled. She handed him a small envelope, and he opened it cautiously.

Inside was a voucher for a flower of the month and seed of the month club respectively, but what caught his eye was a scrawled message inside.

'In the Solarium.'

"Swan, I thought about what to get you, and -"

"Aren't you going to look in the Solarium?"

"Well, yes, but -"

"No, you've got to go look! I want to see your face. You probably won't shut up for weeks about it." Emma grinned, standing.

Killian sighed, and they all moved towards the bright sunshine of the glass enclosure. He rounded the bend, and Emma thought his gasp of excitement was worth its weight in gold. The telescope there was gold, designed like an old sextant but completely up to date with the newest technology. Emma watched him trace a finger before looking back at her and trying to find words.

"I know, I know. Your gift won't compare." She groused, and he looked overcome.

"Emma, this is too much -"

"No. It's not." She stated firmly. He shook his head, laughing in disbelief.

Pulling out a velvet box, he opened it and the sun caught green gems. "I guess I don't have to feel bad about this then. I had them restored after that awful man attacked you. They were in the safe, they're emeralds, a set of combs, earbobs, and necklace set in silver."

He handed the box to her, and Emma could not find words, even} rest assured I'd never let harm befall her." Clapping a hand against David's back, he gave a grim look of resolve. "Never."

David sputtered briefly, before breaking into a grin, and clapping Killian on the back as well, Mary Margaret smiling as she watched Emma swipe away tears from her eyes. Emma closed the box, coming back to the moment, no one noticing her quick sleight of hand as she threw the box under a shelf.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Mary Margaret and David left with Killian feeling like an old friend, their bags heavy and concerned heavily with how they would ever get through customs with the amount of food they had.

Killian had given them a historic tour of the property, fascinating Mary Margaret, who even forgave his refusal to take her through the woods.

"They're just lovely, and so weird too. They should not have leaves, and yes there are some fir and pine in there, but it's just so dense. It doesn't make sense, the branches practically knit together."

Killian just smiled blandly, and shrugged. "That land is strange."

David and Killian were acting as if they were best friends, and Emma was delighted, even beyond her distress over Killian’s gift. When she was sure they were all occupied, Emma had dug earth out of one of the many pots in the solarium garden. Pouring the jewels into the hole, she paused, feeling a pang of regret. Bracing herself, she covered the hole in dirt, knowing that she could not survive with the memory of Neal so close.

Returning to them, they played more games, and Emma showed them plans for the next rooms, they watched a few movies, and overall enjoyed each other's company.

Seeing them off, Emma hugged her brother tightly without him having to ask if it was alrght, his surprise turning into a tight embrace of joy.

Killian and her waved goodbye from the hall, watching the taxi pull away from Carterhaugh, Emma leaning into him when they were out of sight.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

After the house quieted from the holidays, Emma began having night terrors regularly. As this continued into the beginning of Spring, Killian found her several times drooling onto a pile of receipts or restoration samples, wallpaper swatches wet and blurred on the edges. Emma had guiltily proposed that she sleep in the garden while he worked, but he had been horrified by that suggestion.

To combat this and his lack of movie knowledge, Emma came up with what she considered an ingenious solution - using leftover furniture, pillows, and an assortment of old linens, she set up fort pillow-haugh with absolute precision. Falling asleep to Indiana Jones ('Are you sure there's no relation between you two?' she had asked to receive a cheeky grin back) while sated on popcorn and feeling comforted by Killian’s nearby presence was the easiest way to rest. So what if her back protested or in the middle of a thunderstorm she tucked into him so tightly she was afraid he might have bruised - they're friends.

They're friends alone in the middle of nowhere, and he holds her like he can't imagine anyone who wouldn't worship the ground she walked on.

They're friends and he spoons against the back of her softly, without any degree of disrespect or disregard, everything up to her.

They're friends as she is deeply asleep, but without dreams hears his voice like a bell over still water, feeling his nose bury into the hair at the nape of her neck and his lips on her shoulder.

"I love you, Emma. One day, I'll tell you how much with no trickery, and I will win your heart."

Even if it's only pretty words in dreams as he held her, Emma smiled and relaxed further into his touch. It's a dream she wants nothing more than to keep having as her second anniversary of living in Carterhaugh rolls around.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The fight is really her fault, but Emma gives stubborn a run for its money on her best days.

The upstairs bath in the all blue guest room had been leaking and making the hall reek of mildew. Fearing that she might have to replace tile that was quite literally irreplaceable, Emma went about getting a plumber, securing an appointment with one but not for two weeks.

So she had taken a wrench to the exposed faucets, carefully moving tiles from the mosaic floor of some red haired mermaid, following YouTube videos on how to turn the water off in the old pipes with a shut off valve. When her wrench slipped on the rusty piping and she cut herself, her chorus of curse words echoed down the halls, but she hadn't expected Killian’s breathless arrival or worried eyes.

"Emma, what did you - Are you alright?" He stared at the red dripping from her hand and her disheveled state.

Emma nodded, trying to push past, but he held fast. "I just - it's just a cut. I'm alright." The worry in his gaze made her feel under spotlight. It had been almost a year of work, but no one in that time span had ever cared about her, except Mary Margaret. Not that she counted; the woman loved everyone.

Killian only shook his head. Pulling a black handkerchief from his pocket, he wrapped it delicately around the cut, bending low to make sure the knot he made was tight. "I thought you said you were calling a plumber?" he asked quietly, the worry now lacing his voice.

"I did, I just need to turn off this valve and it's stuck -" Emma gestured, and Killian picked up the wrench, bending to look. Before she could protest, he turned the wrench - in the wrong direction. There was a hiss, then a pop, and suddenly there was water shooting at both of them, ice cold, coming from different directions as she wiped at her face and Killian stared up at her in shocked surprise. She stumbled and he caught her, stumbling as well and trying to gain purchase back on the valve, while Emma screamed at him to shut it off, just shut it off -

They slipped together, and his body was on top of hers, chest heavy and dripping but blocking the jets of water as he turned the valve to stop the torrent at last. When he looked down at her prone and underneath him, he was soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead and neck, beads getting stuck in his raised eyebrows.

Emma began to laugh uncontrollably, the urge bubbling up without warning as Killian’s eyes widened and his pupils grew larger. He began to laugh too, his weight on her slight as he tried to hold himself above her while his chest was so close she could feel his heart thundering. His stare leveled at her lips, but when she pushed upwards, he pushed off of her to stand pink all the way across his ears and cheeks. Scratching his ear he mumbled an excuse to leave, but she was soaked and cold, the want heavy from the way everything clung to him like leather.

Pulling on the fabric of his shirt in two rough fistfuls, she kissed him. He reacted in a muffled grunt that slowly turned into a groan matching her own keen, his tongue and hers together moving in languid synchronization. It was only when they parted breathless, and he broke the moment with the roughest voice she had heard from him, that thought returned.

"That was…"

Emma practically threw herself away from him, her body aching for more of whatever that was -

"A one time thing." She heard herself say, too busy trying to flee, to get away from the man she had just desired and obviously desired her, that lived with her, that was her friend, that was her employee - and Oh God Emma what a royal mother of all screw ups.

Hiding away from him as she could hear her phone buzz, hear his footsteps, his quiet pleading from the other side of her door as she hid on the balcony. She could see him pacing in his room, calling out to her where she hid. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this or in any way.

He was relentless, and hurt, which she guessed was to be expected. When his knocking and pleading stopped it was a relief and an absolutely terrifying moment in its own right - the halls of Carterhaugh were silent but for the sound of her door opening. An empty bottle of wine laid a slight ways down the hall, the bottle's neck pointing towards Killian’s room.

He was gone. He had gone and she was alone again like she has been all her life - was before this. The royal fucking mother of screw ups and the granddaddy of absolute stupidity, pushing away the first good thing that has happened to her by kissing him. By letting him chip away at the ice around her soul, only to freeze him out because she - she, not him - kissed him.

She was a lunatic. She's an idiot lunatic. She's an idiot lunatic that just wants to go back to that moment and…

And kiss him again, and again, and feel his heart thump and hear that groan into her mouth, feel the way his hand found her hip and tongue slipped past her lips -

Fuck.

#Courtorderedcake #September 12th 2019 #2019 #CSSNS #CSSNS 2019 #Roses #Tam Lin #captain swan fanfiction #captain swan #cs au #CS FF #captain swan fic #Captain swan fan fiction

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qm-vox · 5 years ago

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So You Want To Play An Elemental

(Re-used portrait of Colors Eriksdotter, the Warlock Knight, provided by Domochevsky. Catch her in New Avalon, where she’s the protagonist of Cinderella Sanction Quest.)

Previous articles: So You Want To Play A Beast & So You Want To Play A Wizened

Author’s Note: You’d think the hard part of writing this article would have been refuting basically every canon depiction of Elementals in Changeling: the Lost 1e, but instead it was the bit where I tried to write my lived experiences with autism. While not all Elementals need to be autistic or represent autism, they as a Seeming are pretty good at it, and I’ve written this article with that in mind. That said, the experiences I’m drawing from are my own and those of close friends, and are therefore not even close to being universal, to say nothing of me running my mouth about other kinds of troubles Elementals might metaphorically (or literally) represent. While I’ve made every effort to talk to folks who’ve lived these experiences and to write about them with respect, I recognize that I may well have fucked up. I invite you to let me know if that’s the case.

The stories all agree; you do not want the attention of the Lords and Ladies. Be polite, stay humble, mind your manners. It goes a lot further, of course: don’t stand out, don’t be special, don’t rock the boat. Some say that the purpose of these fairy tales is to reinforce societal mores, but those the Lost know as Elementals have been the victims of those tales firsthand. Taken for a purpose, transformed to fulfill it, they face the task of rebuilding lives in a world they only half belong to. Of all the Lost, even Beasts, it is Elementals who struggle most with human society.

This article draws primarily on Changeling: the Lost, as well as Winter Masques and Swords at Dawn. Other sources, when used, will be cited. It requires Content Warnings for depictions of torture, maiming, abuse, and transformation.

The Remade - Elemental Overview

Elemental is the third Seeming presented in Changeling: the Lost, and joins Beast in being almost as defined by Kith as it is by its Seeming. Elemental is unusual in that it is commonly represented in printed material (Elemental characters with stat blocks appear in Changeling: the Lost, Night Horrors: Grim Fears, and The Rose Bride’s Plight), but also commonly and egregiously misused and mischaracterized. As a result, more than the prior two articles, this one must directly address some of the way White Wolf chose to write Elementals and refute them as examples of the Seeming.

A stunning variety of people become Elementals, but generally speaking any given person was selected for their fate. Unlike the opportunistic kidnappings that mark Beasts and Wizened, Elementals are those whom the Fae sought for some specific purpose or trait, which either served as the catalyst for their later transformation or was enhanced by that same transformation. Infused with the thoughts and feelings of inanimate matter - rushing rivers, whispering winds, forge-hot silver, cold earth, crackling lightning, and more - Elementals gain a distance from humanity that they are never again to bridge. To be Elemental is to be alien even among the Lost, and for those without help it’s all too easy to become a stranger in their own homes.

Nature In Revolt - Homecoming As An Elemental

With few exceptions, most Elementals can eventually point to a singular moment in which they were transformed into what they are. Though all Lost experience shattered, faded, and absent memories of the Fairest of Lands when they first have their Homecoming, the moment of transformation is among the earliest memories Elementals recover. The vehicle of that transformation varies - sweet-smelling fruit that turn humans to trees, vats of molten glass into which their living bones were dipped, vast farms of lightning-trees to which humans are lashed until the levin-bolts enter their souls, and more - but the essence of the moment is the same. Some part of the human soul calves away like ice from a berg, and the Wyrd that rushes into its place is brimming with the will of the inanimate. It could be a singular moment, over almost as soon as it’s begun, or a gradual one (as is the case for the rare passive transformations one finds among Kiths such as Earthbones), but that was the moment at which an Elemental was born.

What happens after depends very much on why any given Elemental was taken and why they were transformed. For some Keepers it’s a matter of pure practicality; the Elemental’s new form is necessary to exist in their Domains (such as the Shining Network and the City of Brass, both in Winter Masques), and without those modifications they would be useless for the Fae’s purpose - or dead, which amounts to the same thing. Many passive transformations are similar to this as well; Snowskins who adopt the ice to survive their duties in the wild tundra, Earthbones who dig until digging runs through their living veins, and Waterborn who choose transformation instead of death share a lot of bones with those who were reshaped before beginning their dread tasks. In other cases, though, the transformation is the logical (well, “logical”) extension of what their Keeper wanted them for to begin with. A bored Page of the Stacks steals a bright-voiced human boy to serve her as a lantern in her dark domains and ignites him from the soul outward; the Screaming Demon ‘rewards’ the luckless gym teacher who beat him in a yelling contest by making her an Airtouched with bottomless lungs. These Elementals share uncomfortable commonalities with the Fairest, who sometimes flock to them once the gap in communications between the two Seemings can be bridged.

Some of the most unfortunate are transformed because they wish to be. The Fae are not above openly offering their ‘gifts’ to others, and for those bending and breaking under the weight of inhuman expectations, inhuman abilities can seem like a godsend. But whether it’s a college student pacting for an all-too-literal ‘enlightenment’, an athlete offered the chance to run ‘like the wind’, or a broken-hearted romantic who takes the hand of a Fae selling a cold heart, the consequences of these deals are never clear up front - and there are no take-backs in the Fairest of Lands. Elementals who suffered this fate often drift towards Summer or Autumn, and throw themselves into the mortal world besides, driven to ensure that no one else is forced to endure the torments that made them other than human.

In Arcadia proper, the transformations Elementals endure are often much more extreme than the ones they bear when they emerge from the Thorns. This forms the first obstacle to a potential escape; an Elemental must recall human form, human emotions, human perspective. Where a Beast loses their reason and intelligence, Elementals lose some vital part of themselves, the part which knows how to speak to other human things and be heard by them, to understand what they do and why they do it, and it is this they must grasp once more in the wounded halls of their soul before they can once again yearn for the mortal world. Those who yearn without remembering end up as hobgoblins when they finally breach into the Hedge, or else dissolve entirely once they have well and truly broken the oaths that hold their new forms together. On the other side of human perspective is the memory of human flesh, and part of almost every Elemental’s escape is the incomplete transformation back into a form of flesh once more.

The escapes themselves are often spectacularly violent. Elementals wield great power over their elements and are, by their nature, surrounded by it during their Durance. An Elemental’s fragmented memories of escapes might be marked by revolts fought alongside their fellow slaves while tame flames consume the soldiers of their master, obedient earthquakes opening ways into the underground of the Hedge, duels of water and ice whose backblasts can cleave steel, and more. For those who cannot escape their memories of this godlike power, the Autumn Court beckons, but for most of the others the fear those recollections evoke is enough reason to quietly pack them away and think about them as little as possible. Still, even the meekest Elemental is the person who performed those acts of sorcerous violence, and their fellows among the Lost quickly learn to respect that capability in those who make it home at last.

The memories that draw an Elemental home can be different from what they or others expect, at least in part due to the nature of their transformation. The infusion of the inanimate shifts the emphasis in recollections of the mortal world, calling to mind thoughts of Earth’s manifestations of the elements. A Fireheart may well want to return home to her loving family, but the memories she has of that family which stand out will often feature fire in some way; candlelit dinners, camping trips with her brothers around a crackling fire, shivering with her wife in front of a space heater in their apartment after the gas bill came up bust. An Airtouched thinks of long walks through whispering woods, sitting on the porch with his mother while a tornado rips its way across a distant street, the cool breeze through a classroom window on the day he crushed his SATs. The mortals these Elementals once were remember those events in a different light, but who they’ve become has an undeniable connection to their element and the call of Earth - for better or worse - is also about the relationship humans have with that element. They may not have asked to have the breeze put in their soul, but the winds of Earth still taste like home in a way those of Arcadia can’t.

By Your Powers Combined, I Am - Elemental Kiths

It’s telling that the common bonds that unite Elementals are almost all about the downsides of their experience. Their Seeming blessing enables them to temporarily display inhuman endurance, but without access to more or less immediate healing any situation that requires its use has already killed the Elemental and they just don’t know it yet. Still, the grim prospect of exactly how dead you have to kill one of them before they die does inform how other Seemings - especially the more violent ones such as Darklings and Ogres - treat Elementals. It pays to remain polite when the other guy can afford to die more dead than you can.

On the negative side, Elementals consistently have problems with, not to put too fine a point on it, being human people. All Lost have urges that are inhuman and suffered inhuman abuse, but for Elementals relating to other people - even other Lost - can be supremely difficult. Their Seeming curse hits all rolls based on Manipulation, as well as those based on Empathy, Persuasion, Socialize, and Subterfuge; that is to say, when it comes to social skills Elementals only display human-level competence in Intimidation, rearing animals, and, for some reason, criminal networking (Streetwise). While Elementals, much like Beasts, are not wholly incapable, their social skills will fall consistently behind a mortal with equal values - and, much like Beasts, this tends to get Elementals seen as idiots by people who refuse to understand their struggle (in some ways moreso; struggling with math is relatable to many people, but struggling with social cues can get the taste slapped out of your mouth right fuckin’ quick).

How this manifests varies widely from Elemental to Elemental, but the common touchstone is some disconnect from societal perception. Elementals quite often come off as autistic (and are prime for representing the struggles of an autistic person, as mentioned in So You Want To Play A Wizened); they miss social cues, misread or don’t understand body language, and struggle to describe their own perceptions and experiences in a way others can understand. Some of that is just not being able to quite connect what they feel with words in a human language; some of it is that Elementals genuinely are not perceiving the same things the people around them are. How do you tell your friends about the language of mirrors without sounding like you’ve absolutely lost it? The way a steady, eroding breeze feels against your rocky skin? The color of the lightning in your veins?

This comes out in the behavior of Elementals in a variety of ways, which does not always help those outside the Seeming understand the common thread, but it’s never quite...”right”, for lack of a better word. A Woodblood with flowers growing in his skin doesn’t always reply even when you speak to him directly, and when he does talk he over-shares; others don’t know of the secrets entrusted to him in a distant Arcadian wood, and the terrible consequences for speaking. A Waterborn nymph won’t shut up even when she ought to; as a babbling brook her musical voice soothed the rages of her Keeper. A heavyset Earthbones, thick with mud and rent with craggy scars, has trouble not touching people, as if he’s afraid they’ll slide away; his friend, a Fireheart, shrieks at the tiniest human contact and flashes knives to keep you away from her precious wick and its life-giving flame. A Snowskin’s volume goes up and down with the ambient light; an Airtouched can’t seem to stop just picking up objects to stare at them in fascination. In all of these cases, the root problem is the same - disconnection from societal expectations - even though the causes of those problems are different. The challenge that Elementals face in their recovery is not to pass as “normal” - no Lost can really do that for long anyway - but to find a medium between their rights and needs and the rights & needs of those around them.

Like Beasts, Elementals are essentially defined by their Kiths, in some senses even more than by their Seeming. Though a Fireheart and a Waterborn have things in common, the experiences that gave them those commonalities are likely to be so different as to be essentially alien to one another. An Airtouched is more likely to feel like she has things to talk about with, say, a Runnerswift Beast or a Windwing than she is to immediately realize she has touchstones with a local Snowskin witch. Mechanically, the Kiths themselves are a pretty even mix of ‘almost entirely related to the folklore’ and ‘almost entirely the physical property of being This Thing’. Some, like Beast’s, are begging for Dual Kith or other Merits to round out certain archetypes, but not all of them.

Some thoughts on the individual Elemental Kiths follow:

Airtouched - Do you like to go fast? Fleet of Foot not cutting the mustard for you any more? Runnerswift is too slow? Airtouched is here to help you. In a game where combat is often decided at the point when initiative is rolled, the potential to add 1-9 to your Initiative if you pick your chicken right means the chance to decide a lot more combats. The Speed boost isn’t anything to sneeze at either (and is applicable to a lot more situations than just murder). Thematically, Airtouched are meant to represent spirits of the air, but their sheer speed doesn’t do it for all such representations, especially in the realm of storms, gales, and other destructive manifestations of the firmament. If your Airtouched concept bends that direction, consider investing in Contracts of Stone, the Giant Size merit, Dual Kithing out (Earthbones, in-seeming, can provide great out-of-combat strength, while Hunterheart & Razorhand could work wonders for you as a more murderous spirit), the Lethal Mien merit, or any combination of the above.

Earthbones - Elemental does Ogre; Earthbones are great for puzzles and problems that can be solved with physical force but which are not in some way murder-related, and strike a solid image of various earthen beings with basically no add-ons. That said, Earthbones also makes a fantastic Dual Kith option for other Elemental Kiths that you might want to use to embody large & strong versions of themselves (such as a glacial Snowskin or a towering Waterborn with the soul of a tsunami).

Fireheart - This is the first Kith where it’s great for thematic reasons but kinda weird for physical ones. Firehearts can burn Glamour for Wits rolls, which makes them great at bursts of perception, quick thought, and cunning, but also sorta bad at being fire. Now, that could very well be a feature! A character used as a candle, a torch, a hearth-fire, a forge beast, might not embody the destructive potential of flame and you may have no need to do so; even if you do, Elements (Fire) is a lot of destructive potential. Should you want to draw that out a little more, consider Lethal Mien as an option, possibly alongside a Dual Kith into Draconic. If the fire you’re interested in is one of renewal or purification, look into the Goblin Contracts of Sacrifice and/or Contracts of Hearth, and if pyromancy is your game it’s hard to beat Contracts of Omen.

Manikin - I wanted to love Manikin, I really did, but I can’t. It’s trash. It’s absolute trash, not just because Artifice is essentially only half a contract (see So You Want To Be A Wizened) but because the other half of their Blessing is completely negated by having any ranks in Craft to begin with. I don’t even know where to start on suggesting a fix for this, but if you’re dead-set on it, maybe look to Shadowsoul for inspiration, as it’s the other Kith that does what Manikin tried to do.

Snowskin - Elemental does Fairest. Appropriately enough, Snowskin shares Fireheart’s potential problem of being very strong in the folklore (its icy social focus is shared by many of the mythic beings you might want to emulate) but very weak on the ‘embodying the element itself’ back end. Snowskins are great candidates for overtly sorcerous Elementals, not just because of those social bonuses but because they get less out of the classic Elemental contracts (Elements and Communion) and a lot more out of Contracts such as Wild, Eternal Autumn (or Winter), and Smoke which provide powers traditionally associated with the lords of frost and snow. A note: Snowskin does not have the same mechanical exemption that Chatelaine does, which means that its bonus of getting 9-again on Subterfuge meets the Elemental curse of not getting 10-again and evens out to having no bonus or penalty. Even then, though, the Intimidate end of things is pretty legit.

Waterborn - Remember Swimmerskin? This is Swimmerskin but as an Elemental. The three water-based Kiths are all fairly alike, so there’s not really a lot for me to say here.

Woodblood - Elemental Does Darkling, Badly. Don’t get me wrong, the actual bonuses are great, but getting access to them is incredibly situational and unlike Snowskin who can, with investment, eventually create the conditions for their more restricted abilities themselves, Woodbloods can’t just grow plants where no plants are no matter how hard they try - which is a shame, since Woodblood is absolutely amazing for many concepts! Talk to your Storyteller before you select this Kith and see where your Chronicle might be taking you. Semi-regular expeditions into the Hedge, a more rural Freehold, or even a traveling Chronicle are all great chances for Woodblood to shine.

Blightbent - You remember how Venombite is cool but kinda a late bloomer? Blightbent is more or less in the same camp; the bonus against man-made toxins is a solid additional bonus, but rolling against Armor, Defense, and Stamina is a losing game both just in general and in a world where shotguns exist. Blightbent’s a really cool concept but even beyond the Kith blessing problem is begs some questions about how you parse out your choices for Contracts of Elements and/or Communion. You’re probably better off flavoring another Kith as a polluted aspect of itself and leaving this one on the table.

Levinquick - Thematically, Levinquick is the physical fire/lightning to Fireheart’s metaphorical fire/lightning. Mechanically they’re solid enough; situationally better than Runnerswift, but at a cost. At low Wyrd, though, that duration on their Blessing is gonna kick your ass if you don’t pick your chicken right. For the cost and duration, you’re better off running an Airtouched with a stormy theme, which is a damn shame because Levinquick is just such a cool idea in theory.

Sandharrowed - When I find an RPG that has a functional grapple system, I will let y’all know. As it stands, Sandharrowed’s Blessing is both incredibly narrow (even if grappling DID work, which it absolutely does not) and kinda a head-scratcher as far as physical themes or metaphorical ones go. I really don’t know what to suggest here beyond ‘anything but this’. Airtouched, Dual Kithing into Earthbones maybe? Air/Fire? Something.

You’re the Queen? Well I Didn’t Vote For You - Lost’s Canon Elementals

So: Elementals are quite bad at all social situations, and especially in those required for leadership considering that their penalty to Empathy makes it harder for them to detect bullshit, be judges of character, recognize the needs of their subjects, and get into the minds of their enemies. That in mind, what are the canon Elementals in the run of Changeling: the Lost 1e - ‘canon’ in this context meaning with fully available statistics that make them ready to use?

- Jack Tallow, a Spring Court Fireheart, who is...primarily Social...spending his time openly inciting revolution against Grandfather Thunder and attempting to talk his way out of trouble. Okay. Like, he’s bad at it and this is the sample character, the example White Wolf gives of how you yourself should make characters (a bad example, at that), but surely the next will be - - Rose Thorn, the Queen of Spring in Miami and a Woodblood, who is known for her...inspiring leadership...and...empathy...hold up...

- Grandfather Thunder, the King of Endless Summer, another Fireheart Elemental. THIS guy is known for his cunning, tactical acumen, ruthless ambition, and raw, unbridled rage. He’s probably the only one of the lot that’s a plausible Elemental ruler. It helps that Thunder was a founding Freehold member, but Summer’s strict chain of command and tendency to favor Mental and Physical attributes over Social in leadership definitely does him favors here.

- Aeolian (The Rose Bride’s Plight), a Spring Airtouched, also a Queen, who for reasons never broken down in the adventure has a dice pool of fucking SIXTEEN to try and trap people into Pledges. She is an abusive and nakedly evil Queen who enslaves her subjects with the word-bond and is known for her fast-talking and being good at all the things Elementals are bad at but surely our last one will be an iconic and helpful example of an Elemental, ri-

- Green-Eyed Gerta, the Queen of Jealousy, ANOTHER Spring monarch and our second evil one: a seductive (???) and charming (??????) Mannikin with a severe abandonment complex, who pacted with a Fae to drive a former lover mad.

And that’s it. That’s all the printed Elementals. And with maybe one exception, who comes from fucking Miami, a setting that should not have been written at the time it was for reasons I might get into in its own article, they’re all garbage. That one exception, Grandfather Thunder, is still an unusual case in and of himself, and as a result should not have been the only fucking poster child of this Seeming.

But Vox, you say, surely this is one of the reasons you’re writing this article? Well, yeah, it is, but I bring it up specifically because for the other Seemings there’s at least a solid base to start with in terms of canon representation. You can look at other Fairest, or Darklings, or Beasts that have been published and get a bit of an idea of what they’re “usually” like. That doesn’t mean yours has to be or even should be like that, but it does form a helpful point for discussion and inspiration! But Elemental has no such point of reference, and for a Seeming as incredibly diverse as it can be, such a reference point is more, not less, valuable. Unfortunately, WW’s writing advice in nWoD 1e had this tendency to encourage players to create characters that were, well...bad. Uninvolved in the plot, incompetent at their supposed specialties, disconnected from the game world, or some godawful combination of the above, and it is with this in mind that I want to counsel you to just kinda studiously ignore the published Elementals. It’s my hope that the contents of this article will be enough to help guide you along in creating your own Elementals if you’re stuck or just kinda lost, but if they’re not, please, feel free to let me know.

Assigned Wizard At Homecoming - Elementals In The Courts

All Lost of all Seemings deal with greater or lesser amounts of prejudice when they join a Freehold, depending on the Freehold in question, and the stereotype that follows Elementals around is “WIZARDS! NO SENSE OF RIGHT AND WRONG!” It’s not entirely without reason; Elementals have native access to three of the most potent and versatile Contracts in all of Lost’s run, and depending on their selections and affinities the roles they can fill are staggering. Contracts of Elements alone can be used for information gathering, theft, sabotage, rescue, construction & demolition, straight combat, open warfare, disguise, home repair, gardening, and That Gay Witch Aesthetic, and that’s before we even touch Communion, Wild, any of the game’s other Contracts, or the fact that the majority of Elemental Kiths see huge returns for cranking their Wyrd like they’re trying to cold-start a Model T in Anchorage. Every Court could use the services of a powerful sorcerer in its baliwick, and almost all Elementals are theoretically capable of providing those services.

But just because the Courts would prefer that Elementals be big-shot wizards doesn’t mean they agree.

Elementals are more keenly aware than most Lost that there is no such thing as a non-magical Changeling, and the closest you get to the idea is a frightened victim trying to deny what’s happened to them, but for many Elementals the idea of following the Wyrd all the way down has a distinctly sour taste. They’re already distanced from mortals in ways that can be confusing, frustrating, and hurtful; why distance themselves further? Going further, institutions without a strong Elemental voice may not understand what they’re asking when they try to whistle up a wildfire or get someone’s bird bath to spy on them, and what those actions might mean to the Elementals they’re blithely attempting to order around. An Elemental might seek a primarily non-magical position in their Court as a way of grounding their humanity, or simply because they find the idea of such work more appealing than witchcraft.

None of which is to suggest that Elementals don’t also commonly fall into sorcerous roles. Even if their title doesn’t say ‘witch’ or ‘magi’, Elementals are likely to lean on magic to enhance their prowess because they, unlike their peers, cannot natively ‘flare’ their strengths. An Ogre knight can call upon her Seeming to intimidate people; an Elemental is more likely to invest in Contracts of Darkness to do the same, or else to get very good at meaningful looks while fingering weapons.

When it comes to selecting their Courts, Elementals often lean towards the ideological end of the scale. Though they, like Beasts, can be extremely sensitive to the seasonal nature of the Courts, Elementals tend to look to Courts for guidance on how to be a person again. After what could have been years of being an object instead, with their references to mortal behavior and mortal society severely damaged, Courts provide a much-needed sense of direction and purpose, a starting point for the all-important question of “who am I?”. Wise Courts help guide their youngblood Elementals, who are rather likely to adopt a performative identity (generally one rooted in their profession) in order to simplify social interactions in a way that makes it easier for everyone to understand each other; the important thing is not to stop this, but to ensure that it doesn’t get in the way of the Elemental’s recovery and journey towards the promise of their Court.

For obvious reasons you don’t see a lot of Elementals wearing the Crown or in general leadership positions, but you do see them in some. Autumn’s Witch of the Bitter Wind is often an Elemental, if not because of strict sorcerous prowess than because of going Full Sith Lord on the previous incumbent. Summer fields Elementals as Jaegers or leaders of knights, favoring tactical prowess and experience over their ability to inspire or politic. Elementals can make for ideal senior Squires in Winter, and can excel as Icebound Armigers with the right Thane to handle them - or enough raw stoicism to negate awkward social encounters before they can start. When looking for Elementals in positions of power and responsibility, try positions that favor intellect, experience, and diligence rather than those predicated on good social skills. Like Wizened, Elementals are common secondary combatants; even if they weren’t inclined to fight tooth and nail to never be literally turned into objects again, figures like the Arrayer of Distant Thunder are exactly as erect for the powerful sorceries of Elementals as everyone else is.

Spring - Elementals don’t often rise to prominence in Spring, for rather obvious reasons, but perversely are among those Seemings most likely to choose Spring as a first Court. Spring’s promise of renewal can be very attractive to Elementals, who then prove completely immune to the subtle attempts to snub them out of the Court by virtue of not noticing the slights to begin with. Many of Spring’s off-brand roles (such as “warrior”) are filled by Elementals just trying to earnestly live their truth, which is not to say that Elementals don’t sometimes make a splash in the Emerald Court as masters of high ritual or keepers of grand Hollows.

Summer - The Court of Wrath has many tactical and logistical needs, and God damn if Elementals can’t provide a ton of them in a single package. Summer puts a lot of effort into recruiting Elementals so that it can use their talents to secure places of power, shore up defensive positions, call tame wildfires down on hobgoblin invaders, create distractions for assaults, and anything else the Crimson Court can think of. The culture of brotherhood and military honor that Summer provides can be equally attractive to Elementals, who find in Summer an identity they can feel good about and which does not ask them to perform complex social niceties...until it does, anyway.

Autumn - Autumn is often of two or three minds about Elementals. On the one hand, they make for incredible sorcerers and Autumn has a strong interest in recruiting those who want to fulfill that potential. On the other hand, Fear is a powerfully intimate emotion, and while Elementals are capable of putting on a good game face they often struggle to achieve the intimacy necessary to understand the Fears of others. And on the third mutant hand growing right out of Autumn’s chest, the Leaden Mirror has powerful needs both social and intellectual at all times, and must balance such factions within itself to maintain its identity. An Autumn with a high Elemental population is likely a somewhat visibly calmer one, with strong similarities to an academic institution in how it comports itself; one with a lower Elemental population is still likely to have some rather explosive Elemental personalities placed highly within it, by virtue of their powerful lore and merciless wills.

Winter - While almost all Lost dally with Winter for a time after their Homecoming, Elementals are among those who dally for the shortest time unless they’re inclined to stay. So much of what they are is obvious and bombastic that it can be difficult for them to feel like they belong. For those who can shake those feelings, Winter puts just as much value in their services - and is much more up front about payment for those services - as its peers do. Winter’s strict culture of humility and silence can be attractive to those Elementals who feel insecure about their difficulties with mortal and Lost society; in time, the Coldest Court may even be able to coax them from their shells.

Fuck, I Forgot How To Person - Elementals And Changeling’s Themes

All Lost need the help and support of their fellows to make a new home on Earth again, but Elementals need it more than most in some ways. Though I’ve brought up their potential to represent the autistic experience (and I’m going to keep bringing it up because this Seeming is among the strongest candidates for it), Elemental is good for any experience of abuse and trauma which changes how a person is capable of relating to society. The person who grew up bent beneath inhuman expectations and the guilt they felt for not meeting them is an Elemental. The person who learns to dissociate in order to function in stressful situations they cannot escape is an Elemental, as is someone so used to being ignored and neglected for their chronic pain that the concept of genuine compassion from the medical establishment is alien to them. Where Wizened embody those whose lives are destroyed by oppressive economic systems, Elementals are those crushed beneath the weight of oppressive social systems that value the appearance of normalcy over genuine health and happiness.

While Elementals can feel disconnected even from their peers (not just because their experiences are different, but because they have difficulty mentally and emotionally envisioning those different experiences), their greatest struggle is with mortal society - which, in this metaphor, is the wider body of neurotypical people. Their fellow Lost at least have a jumping-off point when it comes to understanding and communicating with Elementals, but ‘normal’ people do not, and it is all too easy for them to callously mistake an Elemental’s struggles for deliberate rudeness or malice. In response to this constant rejection and exclusion, many Elementals develop maladaptive coping mechanisms which they then struggle to shake once they find the acceptance they were seeking, ranging from deliberate isolation to dissociation or even, in extreme cases, retreating into power fantasies (”people only hate me because I’m better than them”). While Fairest get all the press in the books for being prone to going back to Arcadia (and that’s its own bag of absolute bullshit that we’ll be addressing in their article), it’s Elementals that can find the idea of complete separation from mortal society to be the most attractive. For too many, trying to relate to the rest of humanity is traumatic in itself.

Autism isn’t the only set of troubles Elementals are primed to embody; almost any kind of neurodivergence which leads to trauma fits very easily into the Seeming’s mechanics and themes, in large part because society is absolute garbage about this topic no matter what your troubles are. Schizophrenia (which causes disconnects in what perception and symbolism mean to a person vs. what they mean to wider society) & ADHD (which is often ‘treated’ in ways ultimately harmful to the person who has it, with long-lasting side effects), among others, are also prime for depiction as Elementals. More physical problems such as chronic pain, fibromyalgia, Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, or multiple sclerosis, might also be represented by this Seeming, again because - and I cannot stress this enough - society is garbage; victims of these conditions are often disbelieved, pushed to harm themselves to meet societal expectations, and neglected or abused by those skeptical of their condition or its severity (including family members), and the resulting trauma & its attendant effects stalk them for the rest of their lives. If you’re looking to draw out those themes of medical problems and their life effects, consider using your Blessing more often than you otherwise might (representing the push to try and “function” and its attendant consequences).

Keep in mind that all Elementals are more than their magic, whether that’s their Kith or their Contracts. I’m not here to tell you that you’re playing the game wrong as long as your group is having fun and not hurting anyone, but overt focus on the power of Elemental magic definitely leaves a lot of their potential just sitting on the table. I highly encourage you to ask yourself questions about how your Elemental characters think, feel, and believe. What is their relationship to their element and how does that shape their use of Contracts? What confuses them the most about other people? Do they resent that thing, want it for themselves, maybe just yearn to understand it? What kind of identity has your Elemental chosen to adopt and why have they decided to try to be that person? Do they miss their mortal life, and whether or not they do, how do they feel about that? There’s a lot to explore here, and the best part is that exploring it doesn’t mean you can’t still cast fireball.

Sir, That Is My Emotional Support Belle Dame Sans Merci - Coping As An Elemental

Relating to society - wider mortal society, Freehold society, and most often both - is the great challenge that Elementals face. Most remember at least some helpful things - what pants are for, why you don’t just kick in the door to strangers’ houses, stealing is wrong, that kind of thing - but when it comes to the day-to-day social cues and actions needed to navigate a job, one’s school, a party, or even just kinda sitting at a bar, Elementals’ problems with mis-reading signals or even failing to detect them entirely rise to the fore. Accordingly, Elementals seeking to cope with their return to Earth seek out social solutions to these problems.

There are suggestions in the books that Fairest tend to exoticize or fetishize Elementals; I’m gonna need you to throw that concept in the garbage next to the Magister of Nightmares (So You Want To Run An Autumn Court) and the canon description of the Sage Escort (So You Want To Run A Spring Court). That said, there is something there in the idea that the relationship between Darklings and Elementals, as well as Fairest and Elementals, is different from how those two relate to other Seemings. For Darklings and Fairest, Elementals can often represent someone around whom they can let down their guard; someone who is honest (even if that honesty is just because they’re real bad at lying) and, often, straightforward. For Seemings so consumed with performative social and emotional expression, whose anxieties and fears center around those expressions, a friendship with someone for whom they do not have to perform can be one of the most precious things in their life - something to kill for, if need be. Elementals, in turn, can rely on such friends (including friends of other Seemings, of course, though not usually Wizened because of that Seeming’s own problems navigating society) for help translating the confusing world that is Other People; to trust them to be honest in turn and to help the Elemental back the fuck out of situations in which they have managed to deepthroat their own foot. It doesn’t always work out so neatly (everyone involved has their own troubles and trauma, their own emotions and needs, and like all human and post-human relationships such things cause Drama), but it works out enough.

This focus on friendships and social identity follows Elementals elsewhere. Adopting a performative identity, especially a collective one, gives them guidance on how to interact with other people and helps them establish a routine for their day-to-day. An Elemental that becomes a Knight of Summer knows what’s expected of them and can then perform those expectations, and count on their fellow Knights for assistance and advice; likewise, joining Entitlements, or seeking prestigious offices like the Witch of the Bitter Wind can similarly set expectations. It doesn’t alleviate all of an Elemental’s social problems, of course, but it at least gives a place to start. Shuffling which hat they’re wearing at what time can be exhausting, as it can be for anyone, but the value of those hats cannot be overstated.

When it comes to their physical environment, Elementals are often less concerned with it than Beasts or Wizened. They do tend to lean towards locations that are strong in their element or in which they can be close to it (as an easy example, all other things being equal, most Firehearts will choose an apartment with a working fireplace over one without a fireplace) and to decorate and appoint their homes in ways reminiscent of that element. An Airtouched is likely to have gauzy curtains, open windows, windchimes, glass decorations, relatively light furniture, and the like, whereas a Snowskin’s home may seem like a winter cottage no matter what time of year it is. For those Elementals that are skilled in Communion and/or Wild, their ability to establish a place of power rivals that of Beasts; those who invade such a sorcerer’s home quickly find that the doorknobs are trying to kill them, and the kitchen knives move on their own. Attempts by Elementals to deny these tendencies in themselves traditionally end poorly. Whether they like it or not - and their feelings on the matter are often complicated at best - the Elemental has an affinity with their element, a relationship which inherently brings a feeling of comfort and kinship. Trying to reject that relationship only makes them unhappy on purpose.

With a place to live in and friends made, Elementals then have to actually figure out what to do with the arc of their lives. This can be...challenging. For those with unfinished business from their mortal lives, finishing such business and making decisions about it can be a great initial goal, but eventually all Elementals come back around to the idea of making something of themselves in the context of their Freehold. That isn’t to say that Elementals lack ambition or desires, but rather that articulating such desires, even to themselves, can often be difficult. Many Elementals don’t know what they want or why they want it, and without outside guidance end up spinning their wheels in the lower ranks of their Courts without comprehending either why they have done this or why it has made them unhappy. Here, as well, an Elemental’s Motley, friends, mentors, and/or romantic partners provide invaluable insight and direction. No Seeming proves the truism that isolation leads to shredded Clarity more clearly than Elementals.

Example Elemental - Ripley “Rip” Tide, Summer Waterborn

Jaeger Rip Tide is a coastal-dwelling Summer Courtier who, unusually for their Court, travels quite a bit. They keep a home in one Freehold to which they ostensibly belong, but are rarely there; they take bounties on Hedge beasts, exiled True Fae, and water monsters of all kinds from five separate Freeholds, all of whom have either appointed Rip their Jaeger or else just not made an argument about it when they’ve introduced themselves as such. Rip keeps two Hedge Beasts (”professional associates”), twin eels who introduce themselves as Port & Starboard, which run messages to and from the busy hunter and help Rip with particularly difficult quarries. The sight of their gem-like teeth, or Rip themself (coming in at a clean six-foot-six and never found without their thorn-and-steel fishing spear) is a sight for sore eyes to the Freeholds that the Jaeger services.

Lately, though, Rip’s been under pressure that they don’t really understand. Their ‘native’ Freehold wants them home more often or to at least take time from hunting to train an apprentice, both things Rip does not want to do. People need their help, right? Rip can reach those people easily, right? So what’s the problem? As far as Rip is concerned, their job is to Protect The Weak, not just a particular subset of The Weak. If someone doesn’t manage to defuse the situation, the Jaeger is going to end up exiled or worse over the sheer unwitting indignity of it all.

As with all of my articles, I welcome questions, comments, discussion, feedback, and criticisms. Please, feel free to reblog if you’re feelin’ it!

Next up: Ogres

#Changeling: the Lost #Seemings #RPG #Elemental #abuse #trauma #torture #transformation #autism

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