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blorbologist · 1 year

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if you're still doing them: how about some antipathy/sympathy for kynan and cassandra?

36. Antipathy/Sympathy

"This spell attracts or repels creatures of your choice. You target something within range, either a Huge or smaller object or creature or an area that is no larger than a 200-foot cube. Then specify a kind of intelligent creature, such as red dragons, goblins, or vampires. You invest the target with an aura that either attracts or repels the specified creatures for the duration. Choose antipathy or sympathy as the aura's effect."

[This is a really fuckin hard spell to work with yet, so apologies that my muse took me in a bit of a different direction!]

[Set in my Cat’s Cradle AU - and a few months in the future of where the story currently is. So has a couple spoilers for what I have planned there!]

His last stop looks rich as all hells. It’s a relief, a big one, because Kynan can hide from the rain under the eaves without soaking his back and ring the doorbell. And wait. The downpour smothers any sound of approaching footsteps, but he does see the shadow of movement through the fancy frosted glass.

“Hey - er, hi! Special delivery,” says Kynan as soon as the door opens. He forgot to get the pen handy, so he fumbles around for one to offer along with the clipboard. “Sign here.”

Holy shit, she’s cute. And looks exhausted as hell, which makes sense immediately because it’s the end of the term. But also not, because what student would order this much stupidly specific metal. Or maybe she’s an engineer? Engineering majors are always weird.

His arms are getting tired - again, big box full of panels and parts - as she squints at the pen, at him, at the clipboard, at him, at the box.

“I have got to get Percival to double check his address when he orders his gadgets online,” she sighs. “I’m sorry - this was my brother’s work. Could I still -”

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

Probably not, but it’s all pros from where Kynan’s standing. A few more seconds out of the rain, for one. Not needing to carry this box back to the truck. And maybe, just maybe, he can get his head together to say something smart.

“I, uh-”

Kynan jumps, almost drops probably ten pounds of robot guts on his foot, and yelps when something black and - jingling? - definitely jingling zips by, each bound down the steps punctuated by a cheery little bell.

“Rapier!”

Kynan’s halfway down the stairs already. “Rapper? You - sorry, you named your cat Rapper?!”

“Rapier,” she corrects. “Like a fencing sword.”

Okay, sure, that works. His eyes widen as the girl brushes past him and onto the stone pathway leading to her house. “What are you doing?! It’s pouring rain - get a coat on, the kitty can’t get far in this weather.”

She narrows her eyes - only barely, because they’re blown wide with distress. “Only if you saw where she went.”

“Under my - the work truck.”

Kynan steels himself and, while she’s ducking back inside, kneels on the wet driveway concrete to peer between the wheels. And get on his hands, too, because she’s all the way back there, huh?

“Here kitty kitty,” he chitters. Wide yellow eyes stare back at him, quite startled by the situation. Well, yeah, you got us into this mess. “Come on - uh - Rapier? Rapier, come on!”

She does not come on. Though she does chirp, which he thinks is a reassuring sign. Stretching his arm out to try and scratch her chin or scruff her ends up being a bad idea, though - she skitters farther back. Fuck. He can feel the rainwater bleeding through his pants. It’s freezing.

He makes his second embarrassing trill of the day when a heavy weight drops on his back. Turns his head to see the young woman, now securely wrapped in a raincoat. And something thrown over him, too.

“You’re soaked. It’s one of my brother’s that he’s forgotten here one too many times - at least it will keep you dry.”

“Oh.” Kynan realizes he’s still on his hands and knees, with a very fancy if worn coat hanging awkwardly off his back, in front of a very cute girl. In the middle of a storm. “Thank you?”

There’s a painfully awkward pause. “Cassandra. Cass. Pleasure to meet you.” She looks about to hold out her hand for a shake before she grins a bit sheepishly and stuffs it in her pocket.

“I - thank you,” she says. “For helping.”

“Well - I’m Kynan. Leore. Kynan Leore,” he stammers. “And - it’s nothing”

It’s not, actually, nothing.

The fugitive isn’t under the work truck long. She actually leads them on quite the chase until she actually runs into something that gets her to turn around.

Kynan has just a second to cow in triumph, cat bundled in his soaked coat (he stripped it to put on the dry one when Rapier got under the hedge) before he immediately regrets opening his big stupid mouth.

“Fuck! You - fucking gross! Sorry,” he adds a bit sheepishly, even though Cassandra just looks amused by the sudden outburst. “She reeks - I think from the garbage bins? Fuck.”

Cassandra is cruel enough to laugh. He immediately wants more of it, and if the cat wasn’t so busy struggling to escape he’s pretty sure he’d get a look from the feline.

“Let’s get you both inside,” she says, disturbing an array of mirrors as she skips through puddles. Gone is the exhaustion, just pure relief to have her cat safe, and - wow. With blue that pale, her pupils are obvious, honing in on the teeny fuzzy head.

Rapier makes a really pathetic yowl, though, so. There was no look for him, there. Chill, Leore.

Cassandra opens the door for them both. “Never thought I’d be making this sort of delivery today,” Kynan says as he releases Rapier in the entrance. She takes the time to daintily shake her paws, about as miserably as Kynan feels. “I hope you’ve got towels for her - and you, too. You’ll catch a cold ”

“That’s an old wive’s tale.” Cassandra rolls her eyes. Rapier, sensing trouble, makes a jingling retreat further into the house, leaving a trail of damp pawprints in her wake. “It’s moreso the close proximity from staying inside to avoid the weather. It makes sharing colds easier.”

“Oh. That’s cool.” Kynan makes a face as he shucks that wonderfully warm coat. He’ll remember it fondly. And this whole evening, really, even if he’s sure he’s getting a cold out of it, no matter what Cassandra says. “Well. I’m glad I could help! And, uh, I hope your brother gets the package safe, and that -”

Something in Cassandra’s look stops him.

“How long of a drive do you have? Until you’ll be home and have a change of clothes?”

Kynan frowns. “I mean? Between getting back to work, clocking out, and the traffic this time of day? … Probably an hour.”

She hums, glancing away. Her hair is only faintly damp, on account of the hood she’d had up. Dark brown, with streaks of - blond? Or white? It’s really pretty.

“... Percy hasn’t been by in months,” she says, almost to herself. “I told him I’d get rid of his things if he didn’t -” There’s a very decided nod that makes Kynan stand a little straighter. “Right. You - Kynan? Mind staying there? I’ll get you a change of clothes. I think you’re roughly of height. And then I’m treating you to tea. For catching my little lady.”

He blanches. The coat alone, even a bit tattered, is probably a few day’s pay. Just loaning it to hunt for a cat in the rain felt decadent. “I - no, really, it’s fine -”

“It’s really not.”

“How about - what - dry up the kitty first?” he tries. “And I’ll throw my coat over a heater and leave when it’s dry. Fair?”

Cassandra sniffs through her nose. From anyone else - from someone else in particular - he’d call it disdainful, but it’s… actually really cute? And it feels affectionate.

“Fair,” she agrees, swiping a towel from a nearby bathroom. He helpfully points out where Rapier’s pawprints lead as he works to unlace his running shoes (fuck he feels super poor, extra poor, wearing old no-name sneakers on this fancy tile).

And then his phone rings.

“Oh - sorry. My boss. Gotta -” Kynan clears his throat. Cassandra actually smiles - really smiles! - and waves a go-ahead, padding off in pursuit of her cat.

“Hi! Sorry, sorry - something came up. A cat got out, and given it’s the end of my shift I figured -” he shuts up. Listens. Nods, dutifully, even if she can’t see it. Hears the scuffling of towel. “Yes. I understand, it’s very - very unprofessional. I know, but - yes, Ripley ma’am. It won’t happen again. Promptly - yeah. Goodbye.”

“Sorry,” he’s been repeating that a lot, lately, but it feels a lot better saying it to Cassandra. “She’s a real - er - hardass? About efficiency, and all -”

“Get out.”

Until it doesn’t.

“Sorry?” squeaks Kynan.

She’s looking at him like - not like he’s beneath her, the way rich folk do. It’s worse, it’s the look his old man has when he’s fucked up, and pissed him off, and offended him. Even worse - it can always get worse - he sees the face in the mirror, bruised and scared that this’ll be it.

“Get off my property,” Cassandra snarls, clutching the cat to her chest. It looks just as confused as he feels. “Leave, now, before I call the cops.”

… That last bit shook too much to be a real threat, but he’d not want to turn it into one. Kynan bites his tongue and gets out of there as soon as he can, hears the lock and deadbolt behind him. The rain hasn’t let up. He can’t stop and think, either, because she’s scared and angry and he doubts Ripley would back him up if he loitered. So it’s on autopilot that he gets the keys into the ignition and drives away, Google Maps reminding him cheerfully of the most efficient route back to work.

What did he do?

#the antipathy is 'get off my property ffs' and the cat avoiding them? I guess? idk this idea just HIT ME out of the blue while struggling -#w this prompt. so!! letsgo!#Whenever I write Cass assume I'm writing her ace and maybe on the aro spectrum.#critical role #campaign 1 #cr fanfic #critical role fanfiction #kyssandra #cassandra de rolo #kynan leore #did Percy order parts from a company Ripley operates? Did she send him stuff as a threat? do EITHER of them know about this? who knows!#this was supposed be a short thing and its the LONGEST of these yet AND is somehow expanding my Cat's Cradle AU to have More drama! FUCK #critical role au #my writing #cat's cradle au #spell ask game

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sohotthateveryonedied · 2 years

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this isn't on the list but what are your biggest fanfiction pet peeves (that other authors do)

oh man we're about to get CONTROVERSIAL in here fghjkghj

generally bad writing

no capitalization and/or punctuation

no paragraph breaks

people who abandon fics yet mark them as completed simply because they're done writing them THAT'S NOT A COMPLETE FIC!!! WHY ARE YOU MARKING IT AS COMPLETE IF YOU JUST GAVE UP AND STOPPED WRITING!!!! DON'T TRICK ME INTO READING BECAUSE I ASSUME IT'S COMPLETED ONLY TO END UP WITH A BIG BOWL OF NOTHING!!!

people who make multi-chapter fics where every chapter is 400 words or less. literally unbearable

i once read a fic where this person put a big image of a stop sign at the beginning and end of every chapter and wrote this whole long paragraph about how you need to comment or else they wouldn't feel motivated enough to write a next chapter, and at the beginning of every chapter they were like "thanks to everyone who commented, though i did notice that it didn't match the amount of hits so i'm feeling disheartened now....woe is me...." and never in my life have i wanted to reach through a screen and attack a person more

typos in the title. if you can't even catch a typo in your title then i'm flat-out not reading the fic

fics where the author obviously wants to make a political message so they're very doing it through fictional characters and not even trying to make it sound natural or in-character

people who mash a million different fandoms together into one fic so it's 76564678 words long with 28380 chapters but only one or two of them is for the fandom you used the filters specifically to find

on that note, really any time people put a bunch of different oneshots and prompts into a single fic so every chapter is a completely different story but they just put them all together because it's part of the same event even though the series option is right there?? just make them separate fics please i'm begging you

reader-insert fics. they just weird me out

people who "start" a fic but the first chapter is just an author's note talking about how they're GOING to write this fic and haven't yet, but they're working on it, they swear. WHAT IS THE POINT OF THAT. WHO ARE YOU HELPING. JUST POST THE FIC WHEN YOU'VE ACTUALLY WRITTEN IT WHY ARE YOU POSTING IT WITH ALL THESE TAGS IF YOU HAVEN'T EVEN STARTED THE FIC YET

"fictional character we all know and love/oc" as before, it just weirds me the hell out

miraculous ladybug, danny phantom, and white collar. 'nuff said there

if you censor words in the middle of your fic ("r*pe" "unalive" "f*ck") you immediately sound eleven years old in my head and i will exit the fic faster than the speed of light

people who spell damian wayne as damien or damion or any other variation. this is a COMIC BOOK fandom. BOOK. with WORDS. you literally have to READ the name to even know the character exists or to experience the medium at all, how can you fuck something up that badly

"everything is the same except this character is actually the same person as this other character from a completely different fandom" (ex. everything is the same except dick grayson is also harry potter, hannah montana-style) one of the strangest genres i've ever encountered

fics with a length of like. 90 words. and yet the thing has a hundred tags. what is even the point of that. who wants that

#there's a million more but this is off the top of my head lmao #lay it on me papa bob #soho speaks

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goldenboikuvasauce · 4 months

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Backstory/personality of your oc/s, mylord?

This is the Most Question of all time. So I will be putting it under the cut LMAO. A lot of my Tenno were developed when Duviri was announced, but there were no details. I assumed it meant Tenno aged normally. Now that we have an explanation for Drifters these backstories are most likely going to be retconned. Most of my Tenno are adults now so they're more relatable to me (and I don't have to stomach child soldiers as much - it just makes me sad)

there's also a lot of canon divergence stuff just cos I like silly aus. I just like giving my actual warframe ocs reason behind sentience... I rather be a space meat robot than a kiddo.

and if anyone has been ao3 in 2021... some of these names and faces might be familiar... and you know of their many sins... please forgive everything being over the place. it's how my brain is wired and one can say wf ocs are my own personal brand of cocaine duviri

Group 1)

Antaeus, a confuzzled Tenno who woke up a lil too late with a serious case of amnesia. He appears to be in his mid 20s. He loves kavats, languages, and history. He's fluent in Corpus and Ostron and can read Grineer script easily. He's also very optimistic, playful and friendly - assuming that the biomechanical beings on the ship he woke up on are his roommates, not machines he's supposed to control.

K - My main Nidus 💕 He's broody and shy, but really he's touch starved. He loves sculpting and hates kavats and by extension, the resident Valkyr. Ironically, as he gets over the hatred, he ends up mutating a kavat like helmet (Nightstalker helmet my beloved). K is capable of speech, but his overly infested vocal chords make his voice sound raspy and rumbly. He speaks in short sentences or simply grunts for brevity. K usually speaks outloud just to insult Valk, but not much else. He is incapable of communicating with text and doesn't care for the group chat anyway.

Pneuma - My starter Mag. she's a lil cold and stern but is super caring underneath all that. She lost her left arm to a Bombard while trying to save a kubrow pup. She's extremely protective of everyone on the ship and is considered the resident mom friend because of that. Pneuma has a vocaliser, but with no Tenno transferenced in she does not speak. She instead communicates with blank stares that say 1000 words. She uses text otherwise, and is as articulated as one can be with one hand, or a parazon. She doesn't capitalise the start of sentences though.

Valkyr - She's a big herbo who loves Pneuma to bits. She also loves fishing, kavats, and treating Antaeus like a kavat kit even tho he's a grown man. She hates magnetic Eidolon water and K. She is capable of speech, though her vocal chords are hoarse and it's difficult to speak in longer sentences. She mainly uses her voice to hiss at K. Her talons stop her from typing quickly, but she's fond of kavat emojis. With a parazon her communication style is expressive. While her personality seems as primal as a motherly kavat who loves her wife so much, she has been able to express her level of intelligence and self reflection through personal logs that are recorded by the ship Cephalon.

Zippo - Nezha - He has the emotional maturity of a 12-14 yo, and he loves trying to cook and the Index. Valk found him wandering around by himself at a relay and just took him back to the ship. Zippo communicates in sign language, and a lot of emojis in text form - he has bad grammar and over uses punctuation for emphasis. His nickname was given to him by Nando as a bit of an insult (see group 3) when they were in an Index match together. Zippo, or Z, having a tiny infested brain, didn't catch it was supposed to be a jab at him, ended up liking it. Z's celebrity crush is John Prodman.

Xuron - Ship Cephalon - Initially assigned to monitoring Pneuma by Simaris, due to her sentience, Cephalon Xuron abandoned his precepts of investigation when Simaris wanted to synthesise Antaeus. Xuron moderates of the crew's group chat, which serves as a way for everyone to communicate with each other, at least until Tae learns to actually utilise transference. Xuron has had "software failures" that are more serious than Ordis' blurts - due to remembering traumatic experiences prior to being Glassed.

K's Helminth (not pictured cos they're an infested room) - After a traumatic event that had awakened K's sentience, Helminth had spawned their physical form from a self inflicted neck wound K had made in madness. Helminth has possessive nature over K, seeing him as an extension of themselves, and actively tries to sabotage any progress Antaeus makes towards transference. They see the tenno as a force that removes a warframe's free will. If it were up to Helminth, Antaeus would be dead and it would be Helminth and K, forever and ever...

...

Group 2)

Lissa - Lone Tenno. Lissa has lost control of most of her warframes with the exception of her Nekros Prime and she doesn't know why - but she knows it makes her violently ill at times. Because of this her cephalon had abandoned her. Despite all this she tries to be kind to those less fortunate than her, specifically the Solaris. She mainly resides in the Fortuna alleyways. She appears to be in her early 20s. She has a strong bond with Charon, and since he is the only frame she has left, she'd put her life on the line for him.

Charon - Lissa's Nekros Prime. Like any Nekros he enjoys grave robbing and dismembering enemies - he's honed his craft and can dismember very quickly and precisely. He's a hoarder who keeps his and Lissa's things in his Hey Kavat backpack, as well as his guts. He likes shiny things, pain, keeping his Mortus binds in a bow and painting his and Lissa's nails. He's in a situationship with K. Charon always had a low level of sentience, stemming from being protective over Lissa. The intense stew of raw emotion and happy brain chemicals being with K gives him had fully awakened Charon's hidden personality however. That and the cheeky lil cyst made of K's Helminth.

Blaze, a Red Veil operative and Railjack hire. He's also Lissa's ex boyfriend. The relationship was taboo under the Red Veil's rules, he ended the relationship when it got to his conscience. He is a devout Veil cultist and feels great guilt over "leading the Tenno astray" by courting Lissa when they were just love sick teens. He still deeply cares about Lissa, and wish she'd put herself first every now and then. He does not believe Charon is sentient, and is worried Lissa is projecting or experiencing delusions.

...

Group 3)

Nando, an obnoxious Tenno with a penchant for overspending and recreational substance use. He has a serious fear of the Infestation and refuses to do any missions that involve them. For this reason he sticks with more mechanical frames like Gauss, Zephyr Harrier, and Octavia. Nando appears to be in his early 20s and shares his orbiter with his lil "cousin" Max, who he's protective over despite being barely able to look after himself.

Mac - Nando's Gauss. After being infected by a Helminth cyst that was contracted from Charon (who contracted it from K), Mac developed enough sentience to hide the cyst from Nando. However, all the running into walls keeps Mac's probable IQ in the double digits. Nando eventually finds out and tries to scrub the cyst, but the damage had already been done. Mac has a singular braincell!!

Max, a young Tenno, who was only a toddler on the Zariman during the Void incident. Biologically, they are not related to Nando, but because they came from the same long dead tribe Nando calls Max his lil cousin as per custom. Max is still young, about 12-14 years old. They enjoy conservation and collecting floofs, and playing in the Index with Nando. The two share an Ash Shroud frame together, but Max mains Xaku (Nando was not going to step foot on Deimos to seek the parts out) and Equinox. Max is best friends with Zippo (but doesn't know that Zippo is actually a sentient warframe)

...

Group 4 - my more evil ocs lmao)

Sar - New Loka Tenno. She enjoys fashion (of frames and humans) and flowers. Her bubbly personality is a rouse however. She's well on her way to being the best assassin in the syndicate, happily purging those that are tainted and ruined - including other Tenno. She is in her 20s, and through meditation and guidance from Amaryn she makes sure to keep the Void from completely robbing her of her sanity.

Jase - Perrin Tenno. Jase was 17 during the Zariman incident. His huge stature let him assign himself as a leader among the children, and he lead the assault on those corrupted by the Void. Because of his role and readiness for combat, he was one of the first Tenno Lotus woke up. While the Somatic dream and transference freezes the body of a Tenno, Jase preferred hand to hand combat. This aged him over time, and as his biological clocks continues to tick he's at high risk of Void Corruption. He was recruited by the Perrin Sequence as brutish muscle to occasionally intimidate brokers into diplomacy.

Kaiju (Jase's Chroma - not pictured cos idk how to draw Chroma) Kaiju is a Chroma Jase forced Transference with. But as Jase slowly falls into Corruption, Kaiju regains his sentience and fights back for control. This results in catastrophic events, especially when Kaiju decides to murder and consume a Volt, Frost, Saryn and Ember Prime - in order to himself a Prime.

Sar's Trinity Prime , who's fashionframe was rightfully titled "the Harmacist" by a wf friend of mine (speaking of which he'd be traumatised if he saw the state of my blog rn). She has an all white colour palette, with the prime body and Strega helmet, and the eros wing ephemera. She enjoys luring unsuspecting victims to Kaiju for him to eat. Sar utilised her Trin in the meta ways often, and also has a killer DPS Tank build for Trin.

...

Group... Infested and Feral >¦3

Fester (Rhino) - Dumped in Deimos after his Tenno had reached mastery with him. The Grey Strain took over him, and gave him sentience. He is bonded with an infested Volt named Nux (my boyfriend @tethermaw's oc). Fester has crazy abandonment issues.

Xantho (Ash) - Initially a feral Ash maggot looking for a humanoid corpse to claim as a host, Xantho found a dead explorer in the isolation vaults. Unfortunately, a Saryn and Banshee maggot had the same idea, so Xantho had to fight them off for the cadaver. This resulted in the subsumation of Saryn's Molt and Banshee's Silence. As a full fledged feral frame, Xantho spent most of their days waiting for Tenno to open up vaults, just so they can sneak in and steal the goods. But now Xantho lives with one of my boyfriend's Nidus ocs, Plague 😊 Xantho is spoiled so much

Maprico (Feral Nidus) - mistaken for a tame cryptillex, Maprico was adopted as a maggot. Maprico had intended to kill and take over this person's body but found something much better. They got their namesake when they refused to eat kibble, and instead gorge on human food made with the bright orange fruit. However, when a thief broke into the home one night, Maprico tried to scare off the intruder with cute lil squeaks. The Intruder laughed then screamed, as Maprico had already pounced at the jugular. The next morning, Maprico is engorged with human flesh, preparing their host for metamorphosis.. Much to their person's dismay. Maprico eventually grew to the great height of 8ft as a full fledged Nidus, and was a much better guard. They went on to have many of their own maggots, who now inhabit the happy and safe settlement like their own nest.

Cage (Nidus - Maprico's spawn). Cage was a fiesty maggot, who bit one of the settlement's children in the arm when the child kept pestering them. The child had to have the arm amputated, and the little maggot was put in a timeout cage by Maprico. Cage gnawed at the bars and escaped.. to go nuzzle and apologise to the child. Years later, Cage grew alongside the child, who was now a teen. Cage was ready to search for a host, and when they were fully fledged they enhanced their friend's prosthetic with the Infestation. The two now work with Steel Meridian, the syndicate that helps protect the settlement.

Venous, an unranked Nidus that was built for one purpose: to be consumed by the Mouth Wall. Venous was next in line to be subsumed, after a Titania frame. Venous broke out the arsenal and into the infirmary to destroy the Chair. After escaping with the other frame, the two formed a close bond and are now inseparable. Venous is very feral and likes rotting grineer as their energy source

Caelus, an unranked Titania that was built only to be subsumed. Venous broke Caelus free from the Chair and together they escaped. Caelus, despite being a Titania, quickly presented more masculine to distance himself from the prime fae frame that took his place. With Venous, Caelus attempts to learn his abilities through clumsy trial and error.

...

more or less civilised ocs

Axenic - A Nidus that works as a Perrin Sequence mercenary. Axenic was an unnamed and unknown Nidus captured by the Corpus. They were tortured, lobotomised, and vivisected so the scientists could experiment with the Helminth strain of the infestation, as well as an attempt to copy its chrysalis system and Tenno warframe maintenance procedures. They were dubbed Axenic, as they were brutally scrubbed and sterilised. The experiments resulted in Axenic losing the passive healing, Larva and Ravenous abilities, which where replaced with Ensnare and Eclipse. Axenic was eventually bought/emancipated by the Perrin Sequence, and the upkeep of Axenic's functions are supported by the syndicate. This involves supplying Axenic with a shield capacitor, aggressive painkillers and high octane stimulants. In terms of personality, The Axenic Nidus has none. At least that's what they portray. Internally, Axenic mourns they can not cultivate their own Infestation and parthenogenise their own maggots, that choice was taken from them.

Axenic's mercenary work leads them to becoming a bodyguard for Latrox Une in the Cambion Drift, as he films nature documentaries and enjoys studying the Infestation with funding from the Entrati. This leads to Axenic protecting Une from an attack from Fester and Nux, and as Axenic links to Fester, they contract a part of the Grey Strain that mutates Axenic enough to have a form of reproduction again. With some enthusiastic experimentation and vigorous testing with Une the two discover the reproduction is allogamous. It is still ineffective and Axenic has only been able to produce one living spawn and has no interest in utilising this in combat. Axenic now takes in maggots often abandoned by their progenitors, and teaches them how to assimilate with Tenno without raising suspicions about being unmanned.

Jnr. - A hybridized Nidus, and Axenic's only spawn. Jnr. was a very weak maggot and lived most of this life stage in intensive care in Une's lab/home. Junior is more learned and academic than your average feral maggot, but of course he lacks the basic survival instincts or "street smarts". In that way it is a blessing that after his metamorphosis he maintained a more humanoid appearance (at least in silhouette) as he can fit in normal humanoid attire and attend Perrin board meetings on an operative suit. However, Junior didn't feel like he was making much of a change at a desk, and snuck off to join Steel Meridian despite his progenitor's values. He feels more at ease among defectors and freedom fighters with prosthetics and other chronic disabilities. He meets Cage, who easily detects him as another Nidus despite his (adorable) defector disguise. Cage keeps his secret, and the two occasionally hold hands, because Junior's Link ability sprouts from his palms. Axenic eventually finds out about Junior joining an enemy syndicate, and upon seeing the bond Junior had made with Cage Axenic makes no comment on the topic. The equivalent of acceptance. And when Axenic has the equivalent of wallet photos of Junior's and Cage's own maggots, that can only be seen as familial pride and approval.

Group "they're from the red veil so they're unhinged but that's their normal"

Phryke (Nidus) + Dyanta were created my boyfriend @tethermaw but I develop them too.

When kids act up, parents warn them that a particular Nidus Phryke will eat them for being bratty and ungrateful. And it's true, Phryke did eat a bratty kid - his own Tenno Operator. He only ended up regretting it when the transference bolt he was built with was becoming a literal pain in the neck, so loitered around in RJ groups hoping he could steal some Tenno for himself, maybe there were older operators who weren't annoying pieces of shit... Then he met Dyanta.

Dyanta wasn't always part of the Red Veil. He had been harvesting and selling organs since he was a child, roped into the scheme to pay off his shelved father's debts. He was able to pay it off, and as an occupational perk he was allowed to stay in mostly one piece, and when he made it to adulthood he got free gender affirmation surgeries on the house. But when the operation was busted Dyanta's employers left him on the operating table to escape and Dyanra was literally arrested with his pants down. During his incarceration he shared a cell with a cannibalistic cultist named Grun, who he found enigmatic and so magnetic.. He was initiated into the Red Veil by him and when they broke out together and went their seperate ways, Dyanta formally joined the cult. Due to the secrecy of the Veil, Dyanta wasn't able to get back in contact with Grun, but he couldn't stop thinking about him. He kept himself busy by becoming a Railjack defender for hire. During one mission, Dyanta was struck by a void storm bolt just as Phryke was about to jump and protect him from the blast. When Phryke got up, Dyanta had disappeared... accidentally transferenced into Phryke. Being more than compatible, Phryke decided that Dyanta was going to be his Operator. There were bonuses for Dyanta too. He went from being mostly illiterate (he could only read and write HEART, LUNG, KIDNEY, LIVER, in Corpus) to being able to read Orokin text within milliseconds. He also has Phryke to blurt out his thoughts (without his permission), which can be helpful in some situations, like when he reunited with Grun.

Grun was the only son in the middle of 7 sisters, born and raised on Mars in a Red Veil resistance that fought off the Grineer. Grun was trained in the ways of espionage, and the art of cleansing evil from the system - by consuming the flesh of enemies. After Grun failed to properly conceal an assassination attempt he was arrested and charged for multiple counts of terrorism. Someone in the higher ups, a Red Veil spy, had more plans for Grun and turned Grun's solitary confinement into an executioner's room, where a starved Grun would be made to kill and eat some of the prisoners to keep numbers low. Dyanta was thrown in this cell, and when finding Grun was chained up, emaciated and covered in years old blood, Dyanta snuck in food and water for Grun. The two ended up falling for one another without realising, Grun scarified a Red Veil insignia into Dyanta's wrist, and they planned an escape. Grun found the Red Veil plant that trapped him in that cell with no real food or water. He killed them in a "cleansing fire", as subjecting him and others to such conditions was indication of corrupted power. He took the ashes back to his splinter. He was praised for the cleansing, but for killing one of his own he was to take a vow of anonymity. Grun could never speak outloud, contact his family, or show his face to anyone ever again. It didn't stop him from working or basic socialisation, as he could still use sign language and encrypted text to communicate. But when he found Dyanta again, he broke the vow of anonymity, just for him (and Phryke).

I didn't mean to write so much about these three but grunyata has been rotting my and my bf's brain for 2 whole years.

Phryke and Grun have done some Real Red Veil """studies""" together, and the results gave them two groups of maggos.

the first clutch was an accident, Phryke dispelled them hoping they'd attack and blow up some Corpus as Ravenous maggots would. That didn't quite happen. Instead only three maggots ran amuck, and did attack but refused to blow up, even when Phryke tried to squish em with a Virulence (dad of the year!) They ran away from the ability and played a game of hide and seek with Phryke (Dyanta was cracking up in his head)

Rakta was the first maggot to find a body, to inhabit among the ruckus. When Phryke tried to pull Rakta away from the body Rakta protested and bit him. Phryke tried to squish Rakta for this but these maggots seem to be made of ooblek lmao. So Phryke decided to just try to extract without em, like a parent starting to leave a toy store cos their child won't listen. Rakta threw a tantrum about this and demanded to be carried back to the orbiter. WITH the body.

the line "I dont think that corpus is my son" is so funny to me. (excuse the discord grammar)

Rakta is named as such as they have an obsession with playing in Phryke's arsenal. They also don't really care about anything else, just guns and cookie dough.

here's another discord screenshot that makes me laugh still

Phryke is truly dad of the year.

The poor lil maggot in question is named Blight. They were half way through their metamorphosis when the Corpus attempted to extract them. This resulted in them having very thin transparent membrane skin, a loss of fangs.. baby Blight wasn't doing too good. Grun did his best to help Blight, by wrapping them up with his kevlar scarf, cutting small lil giblets for them, but he could only do so much. Grun took Blight back to Phryke, and Phryke let Blight crawl under his stacks to heal. After this Blight was good as new, but a lot more wary about being left alone. (just a baby... a little baby...)

unfortunately I have run out image slots...

Taurus + 9 living spawn

While initially retrieving Blight, Grun came across the final maggot to escape Phryke's parenting. This maggot was the biggest, well on their way into melding with their host, and shared Phryke's huge horns. Grun hid them in a hard to reach vent, hoping they won't have the same fate Blight experienced.

Years later, Blight and Rakta have gotten antsy about being babied, ready to go out on their own.. Phryke didn't expect to be hit with empty nest syndrome, since he always disliked children. He didn't realised he enjoyed this weird parenthood of licking cookie dough off Blight, wrestling an Ignis out of Rakta's inquisitive hands. Mostly keeping them out of trouble.. It made him wonder what it would have been like, coming into the world the way his spawn did. And it made him wonder.. where was his third spawn...? Did they survive...?

...

I would continue but not being able to share more drawings makes me so sad 😭 So I've reached the end of my rope with writing this all out, my boyfriend said I might even end up finding the word limit on a tumblr post!

There are a few more OC's.. most lack names (I tend to name my OC's after the cosmetics they don, because most of them have such nice names) There is also a current warframe concept I'm working on but development is mostly kept private for now.

#warframe ocs #asks #wfoc: k #wfoc: pneuma #wfoc: z #wfoc: charon #wfoc: venous #wfoc: caelus #i don't even have all my ocs tagged there are just too many....#I could have just listed their names #described em in one word.... but I DIDN'T I tortured myself 😩#implied warframe sexy time cos u know someone has at least tried it #wf ocs #wfoc: grun #wfoc: dyanta

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officialleehadan · 1 year

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I don't remember if you've posted about this before, but can you please briefly talk about the editing and publishing possesses as a beginner author?

Hello darling! I haven't really talked about this here, but if people are interested, I certainly can.

So, the first thing I'm going to say is that there's no One True Way for editing. I can't tell you what will work best for you. I can only tell you what works best for me.

The way I do editing is pretty straightforward. Once a project is done (finished, but not edited or even spellchecked in any way) I put it down. Generally, I try to give a finished project at least six months to cool off, and a year is better. I don’t even spell-check it until the entire project is finished.

After six months, I’ve sort of forgotten the project. That makes it much easier to come back to it with fresh eyes, and read over it. Errors, bad wording, all of that, will be much easier to spot. Bad plot moments are easier to fix because I’m less connected to the project. It’s less emotional. It makes for a much more comfortable process.

Once you’re done with the project (it’s all written, start to finish. DO NOT EDIT BEFORE THIS POINT!!) and it’s cooled for a few months, it’s time for what I call the Three Draft method.

Draft 1 – Big changes. Rewording, plot holes, introducing or removing characters. Adding or removing content.

Draft 2 – Little changes. Spellcheck, typos, misused words (form/from, etc.) small rewordings. Add all your spelling errors to your autocorrect at this point. The more you can teach your autocorrect to fix things, the easier future projects will be. Also build out a spreadsheet of ‘frequently-used words’ that you use too much, words that get swapped with each other (though/through, there/here) so you can use the ‘find word’ search to check them quickly on later projects. This spreadsheet will be a living document, and you can add to it with every project as you catch more words (and punctuation errors like “” or ..) quickly.

Draft 3 – Typos. Final polish. Little things you missed. This one will take the longest, because you very much have to go over the whole manuscript with a magnifying glass. It helps to change it into a different font at this point, because it will change how you look the characters.

And that’s it. After three drafts, it’s done. Stop tinkering with it. Don’t change anything else. It’s not going to get any better than it currently is, and you’ll make yourself crazy chasing perfection. It will never be perfect. Finish it and move on.

+++

Now, publishing is a longer conversation, so I’m not going into details in this post. If you want more, let me know and I can expand on it. Ultimately though, there are two options. Both require you to have a finished manuscript, so do that first.

Option 1 – Traditional publishing.

This is where you send query letters to literary agents until one offers to represent your work. (QueryTracker.net is a great tool for this, but you can also look for #MSWL on Twitter and post your pitch on those.) and you sign a contract with them. At that point, they will send your manuscript around to publishers until one of them offers to publish it.

Traditional publishing is much easier on the author than self-publishing, which I’ll talk about in a moment. Your job as the author is basically to write a good book, edit it as well as you can, and then send out about a hundred queries (and get 99 rejections, so be ready for that) until you get representation. After that, you basically do what your agent and editor (supplied by the publisher) tell you, and cheer a lot when your book comes out.

Option 2 – Self-Publishing

Self-pub gets a bad rap and I understand why. There’s a lot of very predatory companies that will offer to put your book into print for a ‘small’ fee (usually hundreds or thousands of dollars) and let you keep all the royalties. This is a scam. If someone asks for money to make your book happen, and you did not explicitly hire them for a specific job, they’re a scam. If you’re looking for professionals (like typesetters or editors) try Fiverr or Upwork. Both have a lot of great people who will do what you need. Do not go to Reedsy. Their professionals are wildly overpriced for the same (or lower) quality of work.

That said, there’s a lot of benefits to self-pub. You have full control, you don’t have to query, and you get more of the money from the sales than you would if you went traditional. Unfortunately, the trade-off is that the upfront work and money are a lot harder, because you’re the one doing all of it. That means editing, cover art, typesetting (VITAL for print, less important for ebooks) the ISBN number (Amazon and Ingram Spark will provide a free one, but there are strings attached) and everything else your book needs. Plus, you’ll be doing all your own marketing, which is a whole lot of work.

+++

I’ve done both over the years. My first two books were traditional through a small press, and everything since has been self-pub. I very much prefer self-pub personally, but I’m capable of doing every part of book production myself. I have a degree in graphic design, I know how to typeset, I’ve been doing my own marketing for years, and I know the ins and outs of KDP (Amazon’s publishing service) well enough to be comfortable with it.

That said, it’s a lot of work. Publishing has been an unpaid full-time job for me for the last ten years, and for most of that time, I also had a paying non-writing full-time day job. In the last three years, I was able to transition from my day job to writing exclusively, but it took seven years of hard work to get to the point where my writing pays more than nothing.

I am not wealthy. I do not make a lot of money on my writing. I make more than none, but it’s about what I would make on a minimum-wage retail job. I could absolutely make more if I went back to my career as a jewelry professional, and I could make a lot more if I took a few classes and got an additional certification or three. I don’t do that because I love writing. I also take contract writing jobs for video game studios, and commissions.

+++

Ultimately, which path you take is entirely up to you and they’re both really great options. No matter what you do, you’ll be very involved in your own marketing, so be ready for that, but it’s not terrible. If you don’t have a wide social media base (all under the same username, which is associated with your desired publishing name) you’re going to need them. It’s much easier to get published if you have lots of people who are eager for your next book.

This kind of got away with me, but I hope it helps! Best of luck, and happy writing!

#writing #writing advice #long post

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quagarl · 11 months

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I would like this to be a formal introduction to me, as proof i don't just repost femboy memes all day. My name is Quincy, and I'm 21, Enby, I love baking, and I call myself a writer. I'm not a published writer, and that is a fact that I am incredibly proud of. That's not to say that being a publish author isn't something to flaunt at the Thanksgiving dinner when your parents are wondering what you did with your life and where they went wrong, and uncle Marco is wondering out loud why you're not a conservative like him (and let's be real if your smart you're not going to answer him because that's its own entire can of clams).

I am proud of not having authored a book because *oh my dear* I have wanted to write a book since I was in fourth grade. I can guarantee that I was *awful* in fourth grade.

I was one of those kids who *got* english. I read at a 12th grade reading level at like 10. I understood most of Washingtons inaugural speech by 7th grade.

What I didn't know was what theme was, or what subtext meant, and how important it was to make your dialogue an argument or how to write a metaphor. Setting and pacing and (unfortunately) punctuation were all a little bit out of my scope, and I am still learning the full range of use that they can have.

Does this mean I don't want to be an author because I'm afraid I might know how to write a story better later in life? *A little I guess yeah* but also no! That doesn't stop me from writing like it's going to publish, but the reason I know I can write a publishable book is one very simple lesson I learned in 10th grade thanks to my English teacher. Yaddaw I know you're fruity as hell and you're probably here, if by some miracle you see this, thank you for the five minute free writes. (A fantastic writing exercise that teaches flexibility and creativity btw)

Dont write a book, write a story. Don't publish anything, but write a novel.

It's simple. If you write *solely* to publish the next GoT or acotar or whatever, you're going to write something super forgettable, and you're going to regret it later in life when you finally do publish your art. If you write solely to tell a story, you're going to miss out on super important aspects of the concept of a full story. You need to have balance.

###this is where my advice comes in###

Write three full complete stories when you write one.

Write the surface stuff. Bad guy rides dragon, rides into our heroes village, she finds a dragon and fights the bad guy at the end, and she wins.

Write something genuine -- that really hits home in the uncomfortable parts. I'll go first(hint: this is the most important part): I hate a lot of myself. I hate my torso, I hate my hair, and I view my procrastination as my greatess weakness. I cannot think when I write solely about my work. It drives me to become upset and ultimately abandon my drive to write a story I love.

Then, combine the two. I like the initial idea of a dragon and a village, but let's play with that villain. A hero rides into town one day, ready to save it from a dragon attack. Don't ask why he knows ones coming, because I don't have an answer yet. On his way into town he sees the common signs for a Dragons hunting grounds: dead sheep in their pastures, ruined trees, the outcasts of town have an unusual fear of fire and speak of monolithic beasts plaguing their dreams. Great gouges, twenty years old and scarred in the earth, clue our hero into the idea that these lands have long been the hunting grounds for his wyrm. There is no dragon to save the village from, however, as he comes to realize days after staying in town. The villagers tell him the dragon is real, the evidence supports its existence, yet it is not here and will not present itself to him. Angry that he cannot fulfill his purpose, he leaves and abandons his quest, and commits the village to it's fate. Later that week, the dragon comes, burns the village to the ground. The hero hears of this and returns to the village. The hero returns and, upon finding the ashen remains, swears to himself that he will hunt this beast, and that it must cost him his life. He takes from the village a piece of timber that survived, and the bucket from the well. Our first few chapters are done, and the stage is set for the rest of the story.

There's a bunch here for us to play with, and a bunch of subtext we can include. For me, this could represent procrastination, how our hero leaves and condemns the village to doom despite it's evidence, only seeing the immediate before them. It could represent something more sinister, where the hero wants to have his story as one to be remembered -- the man who avenged the tragedy of [village]. The bucket can represent a number of things, like a metaphor for him dousing the flames with the water of the village. It could be the idea of nourishment, or a vessel for the souls of those lost in the calamity. I've combined our heroine and our villain to make a neutral character, who both is directly responsible for the death of the village and it's revenge, but that raises questions too, like are they responsible at all, and will the death of the dragon absolve them of their crime? This my dears, is nuance, which forms the spine of any story more mature than defining good and evil, and our storys subtext, for me, is the question not only of blame, of responsibility and justice, but also of personal flaws like procrastination, and of the fear of the end of ones story.

Anyways, eat your vegetables, don't feel bad about not being published at 20 or 30 or 40 or 50, and make sure to write your Great Metaphor. Otherwise, it's like to be something you have not shown justice to.

#writing advice #novel writing #writing #fuck you marco polo im still mad about your cool ass name #196

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library-of-crow · 1 year

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The most terrible thing about it wasn’t just what happened, but rather that it happened on a regular day.

A day so normal, so unassuming, that Valdoria would have otherwise forgotten about it. A day that would have been lost to memory, a day that should have been uneventful, a day that she desperately wishes to go back to and make into an average day.

Alas, it was not.

It was the latter half of the day when it happened, Valdoria was between tasks and enjoying a moment of peace in the garden with her brother, Valdun, and her advisor, Sam. In moments like these, they agreed to not discuss any of the day’s work and avoid worrying about any documents that need signing or speeches that need editing. Once Liddy arrived, they had planned to play a card game, loser traveled to the Midlands for a meeting with one of the more eccentric lords.

“I’m just saying, I think the city would look better if we had, like, one really, really big tree. We could name it, make a landmark, say there’s some fancy story associated with it.” Valdoria pitched to the other two while sitting on a bench and mindlessly sketching her surroundings with a quill. Valdun sparred lazily with the air while Sam sat by Dory’s side, occasionally approving the images she turned to show her but otherwise bided her time gazing at the clouds above.

“Why fabricate a story? We can just plant a tree.” Valdun replied, sticking his sword in an imaginary enemy. “I’d say everyone likes a good tree. We can name it in honor of the revolutionaries.. Or something.” He punctuated with a shrug before returning to striking at the air.

“That could actually be quite nice. Honor them and the new age and whatnot.” Sam added, her eyes not leaving the sky. “Should we have made a plaque or something for that by now?”

“I’m sure it's fine,” Valdun quickly replied, “this is also beginning to sound work-y. As your King, I request a topic change.” Though his attention remained on the dramatic striking of the air in front of him, he laughed with the other two who booed his use of titles.

“Alright fine, big guy, what do you suppose we talk about?” Valdoria finally said, putting her quill and parchment down beside her and folding her hands in her lap expectantly.

“Let’s talk about how Dance Master Lyon made me look like a fool yesterday.” Valdun’s response earned an uproar of laughter from both girls, causing him to stop his sparring to turn in their direction. He drove his sword into the ground in front of him and rested a hand atop it. “Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

Neither Dory nor Sam’s laughter showed signs of slowing. The two of them leaned into each other for support as tears threatened to spill from Dory’s eyes. They were both there when the Dance Master attempted to teach Valdun a new dance, and they both witnessed the sharp crack of his wooden stick as Lyon corrected Valdun’s posture multiple times over.

“It was pretty bad.” Sam managed, desperately trying to catch her breath between fits of laughter. Valdun frowned at the pair, entirely unimpressed. “Why, in Fetari’s name, would you bring that up?” Dory gestured to Sam in agreement with her question but Valdun just rolled his eyes in response and returned to his sparring.

Wiping at her eyes, Dory finally sat back up and sighed to catch her breath. She opened her mouth to quip about Valdun’s lack of grace but suddenly froze. Something was very, very wrong. The smile immediately faded from her face as a lump formed in her throat and she found herself feeling crushed by the weight of an unknown force. Her hand fell to the edge of the bench to stabilize herself as the sound of Sam and Valdun continuing their conversation became nothing but white noise behind the amplified sound of her heartbeat. It felt like she was choking or being ripped apart from the inside. The scar where Sam had stabbed her all those years ago began to burn like it was being reopened. There was nothing but pain and fear and- was that despair?

“Hey, Dory, you alright?” Sam asked, noticing the princess had stopped responding to the conversation. Her hand lightly touched her shoulder when she received no reply and Dory’s head didn’t rise from staring down at her lap. A shuddering breath from lips prompted Sam to speak to her again before gently moving some hair out of her face. At this point, Valdun had stopped swinging his sword around and sheathed it to cautiously approach the bench.

There was no response from Valdoria. She couldn’t even hear the question, much less formulate some sentence that expressed in any way how she was feeling. It was getting harder and harder to breathe as panic began to set in. Something was terribly wrong but she couldn’t figure out what. She finally lifted her head, eyes red and tear-streaked as she met Sam’s gaze. A look of horror was plastered across her face as she attempted to swallow past the lump that hadn’t stopped growing in her throat. At this, Valdun rushed to his sister’s side, kneeling on the ground beside her and desperately searching her face and body for any sign of what may have happened.

Another wave of pain and Dory twisted her eyes shut as a sob wracked her body. She couldn’t hear him but she knew Valdun was begging Sam to help in whatever way she could while Sam continued to try and get her attention. Their efforts were entirely in vain as the pain moved to her head and both of Dory’s hands shot up to claw at her scalp as if she could dig it out. Sobs turned to wails as Dory forced herself off the bench and to her knees in the dirt. The feeling was beyond indescribable. Was it her heart being forced from her chest? The burning feeling of someone digging through her insides and twisting them into painful shapes?

No, she realized, it was her soul being broken. A piece was being dragged away, discarded and left to rot.

A piece of her soul was alone and afraid.

The wails became screams as tears and snot coated her bright red face. Her body folded, hands finding the dirt and grass that always brought her comfort in the past but now found nothing. No matter what Sam tried, Dory was inconsolable. She didn’t calm until exhaustion took her and Valdun was forced to carry her to her room, his own face streaked with tears and turned emotionless from the horror he’d just witnessed.

When she awoke the next day, Valdun was sleeping at her side. He was hunched over, resting on his arms at the foot of her bed while sitting on a foot stool. Sam was similarly slumped over at the desk in the corner but a small stir from Dory woke her right up and she quickly jumped over to fuss over Dory. The movement woke Valdun, who joined in the fussing.

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Dory muttered, as Sam tried to look her over for any signs of injury or corruption. Sam looked altogether unconvinced but allowed Dory to push herself out of bed and make her way to her desk. Her throat felt raw. “Something’s happened. I don't know what and that’s horrifying, but something’s happened.” She produced a piece of parchment from her drawer and began assembling the items required to write a letter. Valdun stopped her, removing the quill from between her fingers.

“Whatever it is you’re about to do, it can wait. You need to rest and talk to us.” He said, while Dory looked up at him with shock. He noted her swollen eyes and the sunken look of her dark circles. His baby sister was suffering beyond her years and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“I need to figure out-”

“You need to rest.” His tone was firm. Valdun was unyielding.

“Fine.” She spat, rising from her chair. “At least have someone look into things. There could be something awful spreading as we speak.” She almost whispered, unable to make eye contact with Valdun, before walking back towards her bed.

Valdun shared a knowing look with Sam, who nodded in agreement, before he moved to exit her room. He put his best guards to work, searching the continent for signs of corruption or the like. They found nothing. Dory was furious. She hardly slept, spending night after night in her study trying to find some answers. The month and a half following was brutal, on her and those around her.

She almost didn’t notice that the letters from Ibex had stopped.

She almost didn’t know why Trick had shown up at the castle unannounced, clutching Sable tightly to their chest.

#valdoria truefire #princess hunt #dnd ocs

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notgraceful4 · 3 years

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Kusuo Saiki, Rikki Nendou, Aren Kuboyasu, Shun Kaidou, Saiko Metori, Akechi Touma, Hairo Kineshi, Reita Toritsuka and Kusuke Saiki x reader who gets catcalled in front of them:

KUSUO SAIKI:

* Already knows when there about to say something inappropriate

* So he’s already prepared for it

* When you guys are walking down the streets next to each other

* He starts to slow down a little, so he’s one step behind you

* So when the people are about to open there mouths

* “Woah, look at that-

* “Ow, what was that”

* Saiki flicks some pebbles he finds on the ground using his powers to hit them in the face

* Before they can even finish there sentence

* Then he returns back to his place next to you

* If you ask him about what just happened he will deny it

* And carry on walking.

RIKKI NENDOU:

* You and Nendou are on your way to get ramen

* When some people wolf whistle at you

* It makes you feel uncomfortable and anyway could tell by your face

* Well not Nendou he looks down at you and asks:

* “Are you ok buddy”

* “You look like you need to poop”

* Yeah he doesn’t understand why you look uncomfortable

* Until you tell him that those people over there just made me uncomfortable is all

* Then he’s straight over there like:

* “HEY, what did you jerks say to my s/o”

* There about to mouth off until they look up at his face

* They end up running for the hills

* And Nendou turns around and looks at you confused and says

* “Huh, where did they go.”

AREN KUBOYASU:

* You guys are on your way to meet up with the others at cafe mami

* Your all happy and excited

* Until some jerks make an inappropriate comment

* “ Look at that fine piece of ass”

* He’s never turned around, so fast

* “Want to say that again punk”

* He’s storming up to them picking up a stop sign

* If you look up there’s punctuation surrounding his head

* The jerks are wetting themselves

* Aren’s a scary dude

* The jerks just shout an “Were sorry”

* And run away screaming

* While Aren comes back up to you making sure your ok

* What he just did may have been very delinquent like

* But if it means protecting you he can afford going back to his delinquent ways for one day.

SHUN KAIDOU:

* He’s talking to you about how you should be careful of dark reunion

* Then some people shout

* “How about you ditch that loser and come hang with us, we can show you a good time”

* Kaidou can tell you look really uncomfortable

* “Hey, leave her alone”

* Cue JUDGEMENT KNIGHTS OF THUNDER

* “What are you gonna do about it dweeb?”

* Ends up punching them, it’s not very affective though

* “That tickles”

* He ends up screaming and grabs your arm running away with you

* He’s slightly embarrassed and tells you that his power was sealed, so he couldn’t do a more affective punch

* You still appreciate his efforts though.

SAIKO METORI:

* Usually you and Saiko take his limo when going places

* But today you wanted to walk, so after a lot of convincing here you both are

* When some random plebs make some off handed comment he’s quick to take action

* All he does is make some hand sign

* And his bodyguards are quick to reprimand them

* They will also get violent if asked or necessary

* He then asks you if you would like to stop walking

* I’d you say yes he calls is limo and tells them they better be here in no less than 4 minutes or there fired

* If you do decide to carry on walking he’s staying close to your side and requests a few more bodyguards

* He doesn’t want some plebs thinking they can say things like that to you

* Especially if it makes you uncomfortable.

AKECHI TOUMA:

* He’s rambling on about something that happened to him today

* When this person shouts at you saying

* “How about some fun tonight”

* Akechi is straight into this persons face giving them a whole talk

* “I mean it depends what kind of fun”

* “On the one hand you could be taking them too the movies that’s pretty fun”

* “Although it depends on the type of movie”

* “If the movies bad it could ruin the whole experience”

* “And also what if you get popcorn and you choke on a piece that could be really bad and ruin the whole night”

* “But if it goes smoothly it could-

* “Ok, I get it” the person ends up running off from him talking too much

* He smirks proud that his plan worked

* “I knew that would scare them off.”

HAIRO KINESHI:

* You guys are in the park doing some stretches when you bend over to touch your toes

* Someone says “How about you come over here and show me if your flexible in other ways”

* Hairo goes up to them and shouts

* “Come on, that was unnecessary”

* “You should put that enthusiasm into something else”

* “Come on, I believe in you, I want you to put some passion into a better hobby than this”

* “Show me your drive”

* “Let’s do some squats together”

* “I’m sorry man, I don’t need-“

* “NO EXCUSES, I WANT TO FEEL YOUR PASSION GET INTO THIS”

* Person ends up doing some squats with Hairo

* While Hairo is giving them a lecture on how they shouldn’t say things like that in the future.

REITA TORITSUKA:

* When someone says a offhanded comment to you

* Toritsuka is stuck he doesn’t know what to do

* Since he doesn’t want anything bad to happen because he’s not the strongest

* And if it comes to a confrontation he will struggle to protect you

* Tries to ask Saiki for help through his mind

* If Saiki doesn’t respond

* Will ask a ghost who has fighting experience to control his body

* And give the person a punch to the face

* No one messes with his s/o

* It’s also a bonus when you give him some praise after for sticking up for you.

KUSUKE SAIKI:

* Kusuke is another one that can tell when someone is about to say something

* So when your walking past the person before he can say anything Kusuke’s like:

* “Let me stop you there (insert insensitive comment here)”

* Ends up getting into this persons head making them run away crying

* When you ask him why did he do that

* Makes up some lie about how he and that person are friends

* And that it was just playful teasing with each other

* Then he wraps an arm around you

* “Right, shall we start heading back then”

* “It’s getting late.”

#nendou x reader #aren x reader #kaidou x reader #saiko x reader #akechi x reader #hairo x reader #toritsuka x reader #kusuke x reader #kusuo x reader #kusuo saiki #rikki nendou #aren kuboyasu #shun kaidou #saiko metori #akechi touma #hairo kineshi #reita toritsuka #kusuke saiki

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chestertophat · 2 years

Text

FNAF night guards react to reader going back to there old workplace and never come back (because they are dead)

So, this idea is just a random idea I had and the reader when they go back is 29. Also, they worked for playtime Co.

Mike Schmidt

He remembers what you said about the place and how they didn't treat the workers right. It's obvious that he doesn't like playtime. Co, in fact he hates it with a burning passion.

He'd be suspicious about the letter and do all he could to get you to stay, using the sudden letter as proof to try to get you to stay. Like how they didn't even do the punctuation right or the fact that it's been 10 years.

When you still leave, he waits for you to come back as patiently as he could, to be exact he waited the whole night. Because of this he's very worried and scared but won't say why to anyone who bothers to ask, and because of all of these emotions he comes to a decision.

He decides that he's going to pay a visit to playtime. Co to see if he can find any sign that you're alive or at least find your remains but is instead met with the conclusion that something happened to you that he'll never be able to prove. He found out that you were killed and eaten by Huggy Wuggy.

When he barely made it back home, he just flopped down on the bed he once shared with you and silently cried himself to sleep. He tries to keep being his old self but it's so hard for him to do. Everyone’s worried but are not sure how to ask. Jermey is the only one he will even come close to telling what he found.

Fritz Smith

He hated the idea of you going back there but he wouldn't try to stop you, instead he would try telling you the same things that Mike would. He might even offer to go with you, but you don't let him.

He waits for you to come back but obviously, that never happens. He gets horrible anxiety while waiting and does his best to stay calm but that doesn't do much for him. He ends up stress eating.

He doesn't really want to go to the police about it, so he just goes on his own to visit the old factory by himself to at least find some trace that you're alive, but we all know he found out that the worst possible outcome happened to you.

After he finds out what most likely happened to you and finds a way out of the factory without getting eaten and in one piece, right when he walks back into your all's shared room without you with him, he cries.

He blames himself for not trying hard enough to get you to stay, he wants to blame you for going but doesn't have the heart to, and he hates whoever sent that letter to you. He had a bad feeling about you going back there but barely even tried to get you to stay because he thought you wouldn't get hurt and blames himself for it and he doesn't know how he could ever explain to anyone that you're never coming back.

All these mixed emotions are excruciating for him, he has no idea what to do about them or how to handle them. He just all together needs help with them but he's too afraid of being called crazy if he even begins to tell anyone.

Scott (phone guy)

He'd be terrified about you going back there and tell you his fears, hoping that telling you would get you to not go back. He tells you that some faulty equipment could fall on you and KILL you, or how it's literally been 10 years and that there's no way anyone would be there for that long and still be alive, and that it's most likely someone trying to lure you there and hurt or kill you!

When you leave to go save whoever may still be alive, he thinks no one is there, he doesn't wait all that long before leaving to go find you. He might be able to find your warm corps. If he does, he will never get the image out of his head, it'll haunt him in his nightmares till his last days. Even if he doesn't find you, he still has to deal with having a vague idea of the pain you must have gone through, either way he's going to be haunted by this.

That place will terrify him, he'd be worried about every turn that something will jump out at him because of 1, he works at Freddy’s he has to deal with things he has to deal with animatronics trying to kill him 5 days a week, and 2, he's already seen you in that shape and he doesn’t want that to happen to him too, but if he's being honest with himself, he's not looking forward to the life he’ll have to live after he finds a way out of that hell hole.

When he does find his way out, he doesn't tell anyone what happened, he doesn't even hint that an important person in his life is dead. All anyone knows is that he's all of a sudden mean and insulting, and he never gets any calls from his honeybun anymore. They just assume you two broke up or maybe you had done something to him. Mike even asked what happened, and Scott completely ignored him.

Scott is angry at himself and you, he's angry at everything and wonders, ‘why me? I've done nothing wrong and now I've lost my favorite person.’

Jeremy Fitzgerald

He really doesn't want you to go, and he also doesn't think anything good will come out of you going back. He just wants you to forget the letter and stay with him, not go back to that place that treated you so badly.

Once you go, he would not try to stop you, it's not that he doesn't want to stop you, he's willing to do anything to, it's just that he doesn't know what to do. He has this horrible nagging feeling that this might be the last time he sees you and it keeps him up at night.

Once it's the next day he's worried sick, you were supposed to be gone for a few hours not the whole night. He went to sleep thinking that maybe you would be there when he wakes up only to find out you're still gone. He’d call Mike to tell him everything that happened only for Mike to go to the same place you went to before you disappeared. He begged Mike to let him go with him, but Mike said that it was too dangerous and forced him to stay. He felt so useless the entire time he was gone.

Luckily Mike came back but it was without you, the look on Mike's face told him everything he needed to know. Mike speared him the details of what he saw, aka Huggy being alive, but he did say that you're not coming back.

Jeremy didn't wait for anything else and went to his room he used to share with you and stayed there for the rest of the day. He felt so useless, he feels like he could have tried to make you stay a bit harder, he feels like it's all his fault that it happened to you.

Vincent (purple guy)

He doesn't want you to go, he has a horrible feeling about it the same way Jeremy would. He tries his best to convince you to stay but when that fails, he starts trying to force you to stay. You'll most likely have to sneak out to get to playtime. CO.

When you leave for the factory, he was probably asleep, you'd have to sneak out in order to get there. When he wakes up the next day, he thinks that you're just running errands or something, not that you snuck out and got killed and/or eaten by a monstrous mascot.

When it was taking too long for errands, he starts trying to call your phone, trying to find out where you are. He also starts asking around to find out where you are. Searching in the old factory is the last thing he wants to do but when no one knows where you are after 2 days, it's the only thing he knows to do.

He barely made it out, the mascot, Huggy Wuggy, terrifies him almost as much if not more than the children’s spirits do. He nearly died without finding out what had happened to you and knowing this kills his heart so much knowing what most likely happened to you.

He lost his sunshine; he lost the only joy that he had left in his life. When he gets home, he doesn't see the point in really trying to hide what he does anymore, but we all know he never gets caught. Any sane person can tell something happened; the already uncanny man turns into a living nightmare to be around.

why did this take forever to make??? also I just decided to make this a 100-follower special, so I hope it’s good enough for a special :3

anyway, happy Valentine’s Day everyone! I hope you spend it having fun!

2/7/2022

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neptune-midheaven · 3 years

Text

The Third House Placements and Their Handwriting Styles ~💖🌺🐚

Welcome back babes 😁🙏✨ I’m back posting someee bit but anything nonetheless ! This was a post I wanted to do for a while, this really intrigued me💫

I’m going to be talking about third house placements and their unique to the placement writing styles. Third house rules hands, arms, fingers and writing, correct !😄🎶 There is a correlation between handwriting and third house in astrology as it literlaly rules over it, so components in your third house astrology will dictate how this will look. Use all of the possible combinations you have in your chart ! 🙂☝️

For generational planet ruled signs, use whatever works better.

🔆Sun/leo ~

May have a gift in being very dramatic and showy whenever they express their ideas or in their communication they can be very bright and charming. They’re very talented at absorbing knowledge and facts, they usually are the types of people to dish out random facts about anything whoever you’re talking to them, they have so much random knowledge kept in their minds it’s almost funny. They’re silly and a bit childlike people,

Handwriting style 🦁

Regal, nice looking. They have a confidence to their writing, if the whole class wrote on one piece of paper, theirs would stand out more, maybe a “I can trust what they write is the best there is here” is what people reading over theirs would think.

🌙Moon/cancer ~

Loves sentimental things, talking about the past and family makes them feel good and safe, attachments to the mother, most likely missed her or their family whenever they had to go to school, homesickness at school

Handwriting style 🌝

Soft, homely words. Shyer? They write with a grace and their words are poetically beautiful. It looks like something out of a movie. Nostalgic, their ink is softer and lighter, their curves are soft, their lines and o’s are soft and so sensitive. SO gentle and calm. It’s sleepy?

💫Mercury/gemini/virgo ~

The wittiest, most social people ever. They’re all definitely extroverts, I am one with my gemini in 3rd house ova here 😘, they love talking, and never stop talking and love chatting about anything and never stop chatting about anything, they love walking up to random people and never stop walking up to random people and staring a convo with them out of nowhere 😀. My friends bully me all the time for this. I understand. The one kid in school with like all the answers, they just knew the answer to things and easily got good grades. People asked them for answers all of the time since they are so smart and intelligent, they absorb what they’re being taught so quickly they don’t ever let the teacher finish talking. They’re fast and versatile.

Handwriting style 🤸‍♀️

Fast writing, so many words. They write super fast and probably have so many typos in their essays and papers. Handwriting can look like crap 🤨😐. Like there’s no rush, you’re gonna get your paper done on time! You can’t read what they write al of the time because they rush through writing everything. Their letters and words look fancy somehow, like they were written by the scholar of all scholars, they’re just unintelligible words and sentences. Teachers may need to ask what the student with this placement writes because they can’t read it. Scribbles, jumbled and mixing up things all over the page. You can tell they write fast with the jagged lines and crooked n’s and t’s ajakksks.

💕Venus/taurus/libra ~

Very sweet and charming way of talking to others, they have strong persuasive powers with their honeyed words, they can almost charm you into doing anything, they seem so innocent and sweet. These people are very kind though of course! They love giving others compliments, strangers, their friends, their family, they’re such sweet people to have in your life. They attract partners and relationships by doing their daily tasks, lovers can show up suddenly when they’re running errands or they can attract a lot of interest at their school.

Handwriting style 🍓

The most pleasant, aesthetic handwriting i have ever seen, even if their handwriting is bad it still becomes an art style somehow, i don’t really know how else to describe that. It’s like no matter how bad it could possibly look or how incoherent it is, their script still manages to look NICE.

💥Mars/aries ~

Very loud voices, a bit like sun, but it’s more like their power and strength is used whenever they talk. They could be meaner or aggressive classmates, angry talkers, I know so many people with this placement who talk so mad, so much cursing, ranting and screaming. We love it all.

Handwriting style 🥵

Very rough and fast handwriting, similar to mercury; however, it has more fervor, the messiest and most impulsive handwriting out of all of the other placements.

🐚Jupiter/sagittarius ~

Loud and expressive communicators, similar to the sun here, but they’re louder and bigger. You can hear their voices from across the room and they’re usually the know-it-all’s in the classroom. Very friendly and fun to talk to, they talk about so many exotic and interesting things. They love to crack a joke or two. Also, it’s something about these peoples voices are just FUNNY. Like how they talk is like hilarious and jolly in a good way. It make you wanna crack up and feel good. They make you feel good and BLESSED when they talk to you.

Handwriting style 🍀

Larger letters, I’ve noticed they have bigger “holes” and like to expand their letters over the pages, their words go over the lines and it could be messy usually, sort of like mars fashion but it’s just wider words on the paper.

🪐Saturn/capricorn ~

Very punctual people with perfect punctuation. They hate it whenever their thoughts are messy or unorganized, it makes it hard for them to think thoroughly like they are expected to. They’re the smarter most mature minds in the room. Very deep, daddy voices. IDK HOW TO DESCRIBE IT. THEY SOUND LIKE THEIR DADS. ITS CRAZY. They talk with so authority and sureness, their diction is so perfect it makes everyone mad.

Handwriting style ✏️

Perfect handwriting, they hate it when their sentences look off or unstructured on a page. The most rounded o’s, the straightest lines and perfect length for every letter they write. Correct punctuation once again, their words look like they were printed by a typewriter.

🌪Uranus/aquarius ~

Very different minds, they could feel strange or odd in school, like they were just the oddball learners, had weird interests, or was a huge nerd over so many subjects. Crazy coffee drinkers, the ones with monster drinks and twenty textbooks that are about to fall out of their open backpacks because they rushed to get to school on time. The craziest people actually, their minds are like on drugs, they can be hard to keep up with.

Handwriting style ⚡️

Weird ways they write certain styles of their letters and their words can “come out” of the page. They write SO fast this is usually why they take harder classes in school with more work just solely on the fact they can write much faster than anyone else. Maybe comic-book looking writing? They’re dynamic and crazy like harsh lines and crazy o’s, there’s something unique about the way they write.

🌊Neptune/pisces ~

Such idealistic thinkers. They want to see the good in their surroundings, they do need to be careful with this because surroundings and things can be deceiving. They can absorb such much of their surroundings, they can be quieter communicators because of this. It can be taken advantage of since they’re overwhelmed by conversations or they can be easily fooled by the wrong people. Like they believe things that aren’t even true? Or they like tell a lot of white lies when they’re talking that make people go like uhh is that even true?😀😀 But they play it off when they’re caught lying, it’s very deceptive. The quietest kids in school that either did drugs or tried to escape class by doing some illegal stuff, or they just left. Some were never seen at school.

Handwriting style 🌀

The sleepiest handwriting I’ve ever seen. It’s provably hard to read what they write. Faded words maybe? Faded words on faded paper. So poetic though, it’s pretty but not in a venus way, it like captivates you. It’s hypnotizing they way they draw out their e’s and their a’s have a dreamy tail that connects to their next letter.

🥀Pluto/scorpio ~

Obsessive minds, they want to know everything possible, they want to reach the deepest depths on information and knowledge. They are motived and driven to know as much as they can, and they always seem to succeed. They’re very smart. The kids in school who would keep to themselves or would obsess over what the teacher taught them, the way they communicate is like they’ve read the same page over and over again for days. Obsessive.

Handwriting style 🖤

Darker, hard to see words, they can have obsessive writing. It’s perfect but fast writing, maybe a bit scary that they have the ability to write so much with so much power? People can be freaked out with just how much they know already. So their words can be very persuasive, so the letters would be magnetic, you love their writing once you read one of their essays. You’re obsessed, just like they are.

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bubblyhoney · 3 years

Note

sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)

okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm

i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3

new horizons

warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence

words: 1473

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3

requests/inbox status: open

“This game is trash.”

Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.

“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.

There’s a story for that later.

Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.

“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.

“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)

“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. “Touched a nerve there, bud.”

You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.

“Don't ‘bud’ me.”

The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.

“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.

“What?”

“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”

“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.

“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.

“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.

The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.

“That’s where I went.”

Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.

“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”

His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”

“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.

“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.

“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”

“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.

The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.

The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.

“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.

“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”

“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.

“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”

“I bought Animal Crossing.”

Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.

“Tell me you love it.”

“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”

“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”

He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.

“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”

“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”

“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.

“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.

“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?

“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”

He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”

“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.

“Um, alright. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”

“I’m down.”

You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.

He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.

You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.

You like him. He likes you.

It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.

A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]

#sapnap #mcyt #sapnap x gn!reader #sapnap x reader #sapnap x you #sapnap fluff #sapnap drabble #sapnap oneshot #bubblyhoneyfics #honey answers #mcyt x reader #🥚except small

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castielcommunism · 3 years

Note

My friend and I were just talking about the loss of the horror movie lighting vis a vis the goofy episodes!!!!! We agreed w your sentiment also I think it makes the goofy ones more fun if the ones around them are at least TRYING to conform to the horror genre makes em pop

sorry this is going to be slightly off topic, but a good comparison is the witcher (specifically the third game, though the books work just as well), which imo does monster hunting a lot better. there’s a lot of goofy or absurd side quests in that game, and while some are played as pure silliness, those plot lines are almost always contrasted with some element that is deeply disturbing or macabre, even if it’s something as simple as the environment. the war-torn countryside, a deeply unequal and bigoted city, etc. and that plays to a broader theme in the game, which is that monster hunting is generally very shitty and dangerous work that involves a lot of indignity and general absurdity. sometimes the most absurd element of a quest is having to deal with bureaucracy or customer service or the labyrinthine system of royal courts. Geralt, a world famous witcher and a dude who looks like Death Walking, has to sit in a waiting room for six hours to get papers signed, or grit his teeth and kiss the ass of some pompous baron until he gives up the information you need to complete a hunt. and sometimes the absurdity is in the quest itself, like having to calmly talk a troll out of beating a guy to death. it forces you to engage and empathise with Otherness, with the banal cruelty of large institutions, with the reality that selling your labour often comes at the price of your own humanity.

and i think this could easily be resolved in spn! even as something as simple as the brothers dealing with confusing and punishing bureaucratic systems in order to access case files, or having to sit around for very long periods of time while they’re waiting for a monster to show up and they’re bored out of their skulls. contrast the goofy elements of like, hunting a possessed clown doll or whatever with genuine moments of misery and banal tedium that saps you of your humanity. I think a key element missing in some of the later seasons is that it doesn’t feel grounded, there’s no human purchase to the story. they usually show us the brothers doing research to remind the audience that hunting is boring sometimes, but I feel like there are a million different and better ways to express how much of hunting IS boring, tedious, ignoble work that is punctuated by moments of intense violence and trauma. or even just like, the realities of living on the road. stopping between hunts to go to a laundromat, having to take public transit because the car broke down, stuff like that. I’m not saying they never do this, but it’s not a consistent tension in the story.

however, making that an ongoing background element also requires the brothers to be sometimes stripped of their dignity, or be at the mercy of some larger force they can’t escape, which doesn’t usually happen because they always end up saving the day and beating the bad guy. so despite spn being set in america during a time of historical economic strife, of massive upward transfers of wealth and power, that never really impacts the brothers in a negative way. they are so often above the indignity of an unequal human society (or human society period), and as a result the show feels very formulaic and ungrounded in reality. so the goofy or absurd episodes don’t land as well as they should, because it’s just two big heroes dealing with the murder of an imaginary friend, or whatever, instead of like. having to deal with something absurd that is difficult to wrap your head around while also standing in line at the DMV. you know what I mean?

#spn.txt #asks #no idea if this makes any sense sorry <3

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white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen · 3 years

Text

Pulse Point

A/N: Requested by anonymous. Warning for canon-typical violence; minor character death, nightmares, and post-traumatic stress. Also: borrowed Dr. Sweets from the show Bones.

Summary: A near-death experience leaves you with recurrent nightmares. Neal offers some comfort.

Word Count: 5,154

The steady beeping of hospital equipment was driving you insane. It had been hours now of nothing except the monotonous noise of your own heartbeat. If it didn’t shut up soon, you would claw your ears off. With a stiff body and an ache that penetrated down to your bones, you forced your body upright and pinched open the pulse monitor on your right hand.

You let out a relieved sigh as the equipment went silent and dropped yourself back onto the well-padded pillows behind you. The pulse monitor clattered to the floor on its long white cord and you settled down for a nap. The ache in your bones made you feel heavy, like lead. There was nothing quite like a well-deserved nap.

In mere seconds after you had closed your eyes, the equipment started acting up again, this time blaring one long, constant shriek. The surprise made your heart skip a beat, but your eyelids were too heavy to look and see what had happened. Then your heart kept skipping, and your throat tightened. You couldn’t breathe. Your chest burned. It wasn’t a heartbeat; it was a flatline.

You were dying.

The leaden feeling in your body doubled. Your muscles didn’t respond to trying to move and you couldn’t force your lungs to take in a breath. Footsteps pounded around you, incoherent shouts going in one ear and out the other. You were desperate for your paralyzed eyes to open. Was this what you’d have for the rest of your life? Nothing but darkness and unintelligible, mind-numbing noise, punctuated by electrical humming and the pain of a vice clamping itself again to your finger?

The flatline paused for a second. Your ears rang and you thought, for a moment, that you were safe, your heart was beating again. Instead, your stomach twisted and you realized you were losing feeling in your toes. No blood. No life. When the screech of your flatline came back again, it was louder, more piercing. The shrillness reminded you of screaming.

As soon as you remembered it, it was there – the same screaming as before, somewhere in your room, echoing from every corner. In the next pause of the flatline, it turned into a hoarse shriek and a plea. “No! Please!”

You couldn’t hear anything underneath it, no more overlapping voices, and your panic increased. Where were the doctors? Did they think you were gone? Help me!

Your eyes opened with a sudden snap, the droning of your alarm clock replacing the flatlining of the monitor.

As you stared at your ceiling, you panted for breath. Rationally, you knew, you had probably never stopped breathing, but in the panic of your nightmare, it felt like you’d been smothered. Terror powered your desperate gasps and convinced you that your feet and hands were numb, even as you could feel that one foot was poking out from the end of your blanket. After a long moment, you dared to move your arm, ready to scream if you weren’t dreaming after all and still couldn’t move. You turned your alarm off easily.

Soft rain pattered against the glass windows, creating shiny-looking streaks as droplets collected and streamed down the side of the building. It was much more soothing than the silence that usually reigned in Dr. Sweets’ office when he was waiting for you to talk. Maybe he should invest in one of those noise machines with rain as an option. You thought about making the suggestion, but knowing him, he would probably call you out on the procrastination, or deflection, or whatever else he wanted to call it.

You broke the silence. “I’m certain I can wait you out for the next…” You checked the clock. “Twenty-seven minutes.”

Dr. Sweets raised his eyebrows, still leaning his head on a closed fist, propped on the arm of his chair. “I’m equally certain I can recommend you remain on desk duty for the next…” He pretended to check his watch. “Twenty-seven weeks.”

You scowled.

Psychological clearance was a bureau mandate after something traumatic occurred during the course of the job. You’d been lucky enough not to need it up to this point, but after… that, you hadn’t been given a choice. Dr. Sweets was a highly qualified psychotherapist, and you were sure that he did amazing things to help a lot of people, but so far you felt neither amazed nor helped.

“Agent L/N, you went through something incredibly harrowing that you were very close to not walking away from.” The psychologist finally took his head off his fist and put his arm down in his lap. At least he’d taken the bait and you weren’t the one starting the discussion. “You were a half-inch or couple minutes from bleeding out.” He pinched his fingers to demonstrate as if you didn’t have a scar on your body that distance from your femoral artery. You’d never be able to forget what half an inch looked like.

“But I did walk away, and the person who did that to me is in prison for the rest of his life.” You crossed your legs, trying to look more comfortable than you felt. You weren’t sure how effective you were going to be at convincing a therapist that you didn’t need therapy, but it was worth the try.

He looked utterly unconvinced. Actually, the jerk looked like he knew exactly what you were trying for and thought it was cute that you thought you could trick him. “Justice, or even retribution, which it feels like you’re leaning towards, doesn’t erase a wrongdoing or its associated harm.”

“I didn’t erase it, I healed from it. I took medical leave, now I’m back.”

“Physically, you healed. It takes a lot longer to heal mentally from those kinds of wounds.”

“Does it?” You challenged.

“I think your nightmares speak for themselves,” Dr. Sweets said pointedly.

You glared at him, at a loss for a quick comeback. You knew you didn’t look like a million bucks, but you hadn’t thought it was that obvious you were losing sleep. If he knew, then the coworkers who spent a lot of time with you must know, too. Especially Neal – nothing got past him. Oh, that was embarrassing.

The nightmares had been recurring for weeks now. They had started once you had a return date to the office, but after actually resuming your work, they had increased in frequency and intensity. They weren’t identical, but they did all share some similarities: some fatal injury had you dying, alone, in the dark, like you almost had in real life. You never got to the point of actually dying in your dreams, you didn’t think, but you were just fine with that. They were bad enough as they were. Yes, they were a sign of trauma and anxiety. But if your mind didn’t heal itself from weeks safe at home, then you knew returning to normal as fast as possible was probably your best bet at getting over what had happened.

“I’m not your enemy here,” the therapist said to you more gently. You couldn’t say he was heartless, even if you didn’t enjoy the half-hour sessions where he tried to talk about your feelings whether you wanted to or not. “My goal is the same as yours. I want you back at work, safely, able to sleep through a night so you don’t jeopardize yourself or the people around you.”

You let out a deep sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me about the affect this has had on you.” Dr. Sweets encouraged, not for the first time. “You’ve accepted what happened. I can see that. But the next step is processing what it means for you, as an agent, as a person… maybe both.”

You felt helpless. What was that supposed to mean? You couldn’t very well tell him you were terrified your job was going to actually get you killed or cost more lives on your watch. When your employer paid your therapist’s bills, you couldn’t fully trust doctor-patient confidentiality. Maybe it was just paranoia, but you couldn’t bring yourself to risk it.

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted. Your tone sounded mournful. In a way, you were mourning for a time when you could sleep through the night and enjoy your days at work. It wasn’t like white-collar crime was your passion, but you did like puzzles, and you did like being around the people you worked with, especially a certain blue-eyed felon. “I keep having nightmares that I’m… injured, and I’m alone.”

“Your wire was jammed and your team didn’t hear you signal for backup.” Dr. Sweets talked slowly, patient and pragmatic as he validated your nightly anxieties. “You expected help, but they didn’t know to come.”

“They did come,” you said with a shrug. “It just… almost wasn’t in time. I know it wasn’t their fault.”

Your words about time felt glued into your ears. Yours had come really close to running out. And for what? Insurance fraud? No amount of money justified murder, and you likewise couldn’t put a price tag on a life. So why were you so eager to leap back into the same job that almost cost you yours?

It was something you had been mulling over since it happened. Your job was dangerous. You had always known that. You’d been shot at, been near explosives… your partner had been abducted by a murderer not that long ago, and your best friend had had guns in his face so often that, honestly, you’d lost count a while ago. Somehow it just hadn’t clicked, you supposed, that you could legitimately die. You were protected by the bureau and your body armor, until that wasn’t enough. Other agents had learned that lesson in a much harder way; being confronted with that was hard to simply get over.

Apparently, your use of the word “fault” led Dr. Sweets to talk to you about guilt and anger around the incident. You didn’t blame your partner or feel angry, except at the man who shot you, but you let him continue around your noncommittal, half-assed answers. You knew he at least suspected you were putting him on again, but you also knew you hadn’t given him much to work with. Then again, he didn’t call you on your bullshit replies, either, so you weren’t quite sure what he thought.

While Dr. Sweets had yet to approve you for field duty, there was still plenty to do at your desk. You pretended not to notice the itch in your legs to go somewhere while you kept yourself busy, preparing documents, performing research, helping delegate and manage case files, and topping off your team’s coffee whenever they got low. You had become even more of a desk jockey than Neal; at least he got to go out with Peter when given the green light. You missed outings with your partner, or really with any other agent.

Comparing yourself to a caged tiger was likely on the dramatic side, so you put it out of your mind and refused to feel sorry for yourself. You understood the protocols and the routines and they were for your benefit as much as the bureau’s. Besides, your team wasn’t treating you like you were fragile or demoted. They leaned on you to help just as much as they ever did, the assignment of duties just went a little differently.

You doodled a cat on your notepad during a meeting. Everyone had great ideas and you tossed in some ways you could contribute when you’d been quiet for a while. Peter’s proposed field op was going to go smoothly. Odds were high that any hiccups could be taken care of by Diana’s swift running of interference. Neal was raring to go and Jones was a little too excited to play the part of an intimidating brute, in your opinion, and Peter was appropriately apprehensive (someone ought to be, after what had happened to you).

“Let’s sleep on it,” Peter decided after looking out the window and seeing how low the sun had sunk. “If we’re all still in agreement in the morning, we’ll set the ball in motion.”

Jones graciously commented, “Good idea. We can all think on it.” He was probably the most cautious of all of you.

“Y/N?” Neal asked. You immediately looked up from your (admittedly lopsided) cat drawing. The forger was still in his chair, even while the others were pulling on their coats and blazers. “You’ve been quiet. Do you have any concerns?”

You shook your head, but not too quickly that it raised suspicion. You could get away with doodling – Peter often turned a blind eye to it; after several years, he’d developed a soft spot for you – but only if you were still paying attention and participating, so you didn’t want to give him a reason to suspect you weren’t.

Peter, Diana, and Jones all said their goodbyes. The two younger agents left the room, but Peter lingered at the doorway.

“Neal, do you want a ride?” He offered.

Neal looked from you to Peter, and then shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll find my way. You don’t want to be late for roast,” he added when Peter looked unconvinced. After glancing at you, your partner decided that he really didn’t want to be late for roast and left without another look over his shoulder.

Now that you were alone, Neal softened his expression. “Seriously, Y/N, what’s going on?”

“I told you, I’m not worried. We’ve thought of just about everything we can predict.” You said with a straight face, pretending not to know that Neal wasn’t just talking about this specific case anymore.

He wasn’t having it. “Don’t lie to a conman, Y/N,” he chided you with a small, fond smile. “Come on. It’s not just today, you’ve been quiet ever since you came back. It’s not like you.” You raised an eyebrow and pursed your lips, uninterested in talking. Neal reached partway across the table for you but stopped there. It was an invitation but not a command. “I’m worried about you.”

The thing about your history with Neal was that it was a close one. You went from strangers when Peter got him out of Sing Sing to best friends within the span of two years. You trusted him more than you trusted just about anyone, and there hadn’t been a time when one of you needed the other and was turned away. He didn’t come to you when he was upset – seeking out reassurance and comfort was not Neal’s strength, because it involved professing vulnerability – but he never turned you away when you came to offer it, either. Now it seemed to be his turn to do the offering, as he had realized over the last few weeks that you weren’t going to ask.

You reached for his hand and silently sighed in relief at how solid and warm it was to the touch, so unlike the few dreams where you screamed and cried for someone to help and found yourself grasping at tricks that weren’t there. Neal turned his hand to hold yours and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s been so hard, Neal,” you told him reluctantly. “I have no idea how you do it. How you just walk away from all the close calls.”

Neal frowned a little. “I don’t just walk away,” he objected. “I have bad nights. I have bad days. Sometimes I have a whole bad week, or a few bad months.” You knew the latter was a reference to losing Kate, and you sympathetically gripped his hand tighter. “But, you know… there’s always something I can find to focus on instead, and after a while, the things go in the past. I let go.”

That advice was entirely unhelpful. “I’ve been trying to let go,” you said sourly. It wasn’t directed at him, exactly, but moreso at your brain, which was failing in its task of moving past what happened. “It’s not working. I can’t sleep. Sometimes I don’t think I can breathe.”

“It’s not easy,” Neal agreed, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. It was an intimately affectionate gesture that comforted and eased the nerves beginning to bubble in your stomach. “Company helps. The reminder that I have backup, even when it doesn’t come right away. I’ve got Peter, Moz. You.” He met your eyes with a small smile and raised your hand to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles.

“Company?” You echoed uncertainly. If you were unconscious, how was company going to make a difference to what you dreamed about? Then you remembered what you had said to Dr. Sweets about your nightmares always ending with being alone. If you knew, on some level, that you weren’t alone, maybe you would feel safer. “Like, overnight?”

His expression didn’t change to give away whether you were right or wrong. Instead, he just asked, evenly, “Is that what you need?” The way he looked at you then, without judgment in his eyes, but with determination in the set of his jaw, you just knew that whatever you said you needed, Neal would move a mountain to give it to you.

“I’m not sure, but… maybe?” You hesitantly guessed. If it worked, it would be worth the awkwardness. Even just one night of solid sleep would do wonders for how you felt, and it wasn’t like it would be the first time you had stayed with Neal overnight. Long marathons on slow weekends, and the less pleasant nights after Kate’s death, meant he kept an extra toothbrush and a set of your pajamas in his penthouse.

“Okay,” he said right away with nothing but quiet matter-of-factness. It was so comforting to be proven right that you could rely on him to help you with what you needed. His tone just said, you need this, so we’re doing it, full-stop. You just hoped you were right, both so you could finally go eight hours without fearing for your life and so you weren’t inconveniencing him for no reason. “Let’s get dinner on the way. We don’t have to talk about it,” he quickly said, seeing your face. “Whatever you need.”

Everyone should have a friend like Neal, but everyone should find their own, because this one was all yours. If it weren’t for the table in the way, you would’ve launched yourself at him in a tight hug. As it was, you settled for a squeeze of his hand and a grin as wide as you could muster. “Dinner sounds great.”

The stickiness of your pants along your thigh made your hands shake, unable to bring yourself to look at your palms. You knew what you would see all over them. The fire lancing up your thigh told you what you already knew. So did the weakness in your body and the fog in your mind. It was done. The hourglass on the desk was trickling through the last of its sand. Moretti was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t even die in the presence of a murderer.

There was screaming coming from another room. It was the desperate wail of another agent begging for their life. “No! Please!”

“No,” you mumbled, using all of your energy to turn your head to the doorway. He couldn’t… not now that you were down… you couldn’t even raise your voice to cry for help. You were completely helpless. You couldn’t save him.

Your chest burned with the effort of your heart, ironically helping you to bleed out faster. Your breaths came labored, and then they couldn’t come at all as your vision faded. The dark carpet blurred from a mass of pilled fibers into a solid navy sea. The pain in your leg was excruciating, it was all you could feel; the idea of feeling peace ever again slipping away.

Screaming. Banging. Footsteps. More screaming. Pounding. Shouting. It was all indistinguishable, a mess of men’s voices and loud gunshots. Then, you heard it. Just your name, barely audible above the rest, in a voice that made you strain to see past the blackness.

“Y/N!”

You’d give the rest of your precious seconds away just to see him one last time, just to know he was beside you and you weren’t alone.

“Y/N!”

Footsteps came closer and the pressure on your chest intensified. The blood loss made you dizzy and your body shook.

“Y/N!”

You jolted awake, eyes snapping open in time to see Neal leaning out of the way just in time to avoid your hand flying at his face. You processed slowly that his hands were on your shoulders – had he shaken you? – and it was still dark. You could barely see his face, but his figure was lit from behind by the lamp next to his bed. You could tell from his messy hair that he had been sleeping not long ago, and you felt awful for waking him up.

After cursing, you sat up and gripped the warm blanket on your lap tightly. “I’m sorry,” you said remorsefully, feeling like a fool. Not only hadn’t you been able to sleep through the night, but now you’d ruined his rest, too. You cussed again. “I really hoped being close… just not being at my apartment, alone…”

It had felt like a safe bet off to a good start. You had gotten dinner together near Gramercy Park, then watched a lighthearted movie before turning in for bed. Neal offered to let you take his mattress, but you didn’t want to put him out and you had slept over enough that he didn’t feel like a bad host for letting you insist on the sofa. You’d been out by ten, but now you could guess it had been less than four hours. Your heart was still racing, your leg still tense with an imagined pain.

“It’s okay,” Neal said, sounding unsettled. He kept his hands on your shoulders like he was keeping you grounded on the earth. “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

Neal’s eyes must have already adjusted to the low light, because his aim was spot-on when he lifted a hand from your shoulder to cup your neck instead. His profile ducked and you felt his lips land on your forehead, checking your temperature, signalling forgiveness, and administering reassurance all at once. He rubbed his thumb across your jaw as he stood up straight, releasing you, and walked away around the couch.

You put your legs down in front of you and rubbed your face, exhausted mentally and physically. Helplessness made you want to cry. Time wasn’t healing. Sleeping pills just made it harder to wake up, letting the nightmares ravage your psyche for longer. Not even the proximity of someone you trusted and adored was enough to let go of the past.

The light in the kitchen came on, bright enough to illuminate the studio but far enough away not to be blinding. Neal came back to the couch holding a bottle of water and offered it to you before sitting down. He looked so adorable, still sleepy and with a bit of pink in the side of his face from sleeping with his arm under his pillow. You scolded yourself for even thinking about how cute he was when you were the one who had woken him up.

You sipped at the water. It was so nice and smooth on your throat. You felt fine, now that you were awake, but the vividness of your nightmares always left you feeling parched and you always expected swallowing to hurt as if you had strep. Neal leaned into the back of the couch and put his arm up along the cushions. You capped the water, bent your knees to pull your feet back up onto the furniture, and let yourself lean into his side. Neal dropped his arm softly on your shoulders, holding you in a tender sideways hug.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized again after a couple of minutes. You felt much better, much faster than you usually did, thanks to him, and if you were being fully honest, you were not ready for him to get up and go back to bed, but it wasn’t fair to ask him to stay up cuddling you at god-knows-what-time just because you were a wreck.

“I told you, it’s okay,” Neal said, his voice firm. If you apologized again, you figured he would start scolding you for it, so you let it go.

“I just – I should’ve expected this,” you said with frustration, feeling like you were confessing to knowingly bothering him. “I haven’t been able to sleep well in ages. I keep having these nightmares, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Neal was quiet for a few seconds, making sure you had said all you were inclined to. Then, knowingly, he asked, “This is about the Moretti case, isn’t it?”

“I can’t let it go,” you said with a whimper. “It won’t leave me alone. Every night, it’s a little bit different, but at its core it’s always the same.”

Neal’s voice cutting through the fog of your nightmare had been a saving grace, giving you peace even in your unconscious, but now that you were awake, you realized with clarity that his voice saying your name wasn’t the only voice you could make out. In fact, you always heard the same thing, every night, no matter what else changed.

“What’s the same, Y/N?” Neal asked you, trying to help. He stroked your upper arm with his open hand. You were already shaking your head. Neal could comfort you all he liked, but he couldn’t bring back the dead. In grief and shame, you turned your head and bent your neck to bury your face in his shoulder. Neal tilted his head so his cheek was resting gently on your hair. “Tell me, darling,” he coaxed in a whisper.

You felt like someone’s hands were wrapped around your throat, strangling your reply. “Agent Flynn,” you answered dryly, barely more than mouthing his name. “In every nightmare, I hear… I hear his last words. Begging Moretti not to take the shot.”

Neal was quiet for a long time, but never pushed you away. He held you closer when you started to shake, crying against him as quietly as you could manage. The artist rubbed your arm and periodically kissed your head, but he knew that there was nothing he could say to erase the horror of what you had heard or take away the guilt that you had survived because Moretti was distracted by taking out the other agent.

Moretti was part of a family gang, often in conflict with the Barellis, who, interestingly, paid a little deference to the white-collar division ever since you and Peter had recovered a stolen Book of Hours. The Morettis had no such connection or gratitude, so their response to the FBI sticking their nose into an embezzling scam was violent and bloody. Moretti shot you in the leg and intended to finish you off, but one of his own men had reported you came with someone. He left you to bleed out, and only a few rooms over, you had heard Flynn’s pleas – and the subsequent gunshot. Your team, wising up to the dead signal, arrived for a takedown before Moretti could make his way back to you, but it was too late for your teammate.

Neal shifted after what felt like forever, only to pull you closer to his chest and wrap both arms around you. You trembled in his embrace, but that just made him hold you closer, like you were delicate and breakable. When he next talked, his low voice was quivering, just like your body.

“I thought we lost you,” he said, cupping the back of your head in a gentle hand. He massaged his fingers into your scalp, even as he kept you cuddled in his lap. “I thought I lost you, Y/N. Two gunshots. I thought…” He struggled to find his words and you hiccuped, trying to stop crying. “I was the one who found you, and I was so scared I was too late.”

You sniffled and uncrossed your arms to melt against his chest and hug him tightly around his waist instead. “I didn’t know you…”

“We found him first, but you weren’t there and I needed to find you.” Neal now sounded equal parts frightened and furious. “If he had taken you away, I would’ve…” He shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours, as desperate to be close to you as you felt to be close to him. “I would’ve shattered. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I just can’t lose you, too.”

“I’m so glad I didn’t die,” you blurted, almost in a sob. You felt so safe with him, but now you knew for a fact that your own safety wasn’t what had been tormenting you. It was a nearly debilitating case of survivor’s guilt. “I just wish I hadn’t been the only one who survived.”

“No one wants that,” Neal promised you, untangling his hand from your hair and stroking it down instead. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix this and take it away, but all I can do is be here and hold you and tell you it’s going to be alright. It wasn’t your fault.”

You sniffed. Neal’s words were more of a comfort than you had thought they would be. They changed nothing about the situation, but… you weren’t alone. You hadn’t been alone since you met him. You just agonized that Flynn had been. “Neal, I can’t lose you, either. I love you, you’re… you’re who I’m going to heal for.” You had to find a way.

Neal seized your lips with his in a searing kiss. It wasn’t as sexy or patient as you may have imagined, but you gripped his shirt and gave as good as you got, and wow, the man gave verygood. It was a desperate kiss, needing to bring you together and reaffirm your life. To you, it was the seal of a promise that you wouldn’t let the past crush your spirit. When you could sleep through the night and had a handle on your post-traumatic stress… if he would just be patient, you would be his the way you wanted him to be yours.

He released you to breathe, eyes opening wide as if he only just realized what he had done. Before he could pull away, you pressed your forehead to his again, urging him to stay close. Your breaths mingled between you and you were sure you could feel his heart beating through his chest.

“I love you, too,” he said once he had caught his breath.

112 notes · View notes

canyouhearthelight · 3 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 151

This chapter has been one that I have been dying to write for a while. I was worried that @baelpenrose would resist the idea, but he very much thought it was hilarious. As always, his input and riffing on this chapter has very much made it better and better.

However, it also made the chapter longer, lol. But there is just no way to trim it down without losing something that makes it all work, so this week is nearly double my normal length... break everyone’s heart, right? ;)

“I don’t like these numbers,” Parvati grumbled - as much as she was capable of grumbling - as she scrolled through the final counts of approval ratings on her and Hannah’s inaugural Food Festival.

The statistics had been dropped into our inboxes that morning, in the static of about a thousand other notifications now that Derek had finished the stress-test. Also included were the results of the last three invasion-prep drills, which I was in the process of scanning over.

“How bad are they?” I asked, half listening for a number. The drills were trending better, which was a good sign that the moves were effective.

Dismissing her display with a gesture of disgust, she sighed. “Seventy-four percent approval rating.”

I arched a brow and glanced over. “Did you adjust for those who did not attend?”

The glare she sent me wasn’t seen so much as felt. “Of course I did. First thing I ran…”

“Are you filtering by the day the comments came in?”

“I -” Bingo. She huffed. “No! These are intended to be ratings for the entirety of the event!”

I started scrolling through my own statistics. “Chart them out by the date the ratings came in, filtering out everyone who didn’t actually attend.”

A pause. “Oh… Oh! It’s showing ninety-three-point-four now!”

“Et voila,” I murmured. Louder, I clarified, “People like to weigh in early, and those who object in general tend to speak first.”

“I see that… how’s it going over there?” she asked, smoothing her braid over her shoulder as she turned to look at me directly.

“We are improving with every drill, marked upticks since the relocations. Arthur should be here in about - “ I glanced at a clock, “Seven minutes to go over next steps.”

Alistair breezed over to swap my empty bulb of cold coffee for a fresh one of water. “The appointment is in fifteen minutes.”

Parvati beat me to the punch. “He is also compulsively early, meaning…. Six minutes now.”

He rolled his eyes hard enough that I wanted to giggle. “He doesn’t even have the decency to be fashionably late. Appalling.”

Surely enough, Arthur paged at the entrance - out of some sort of manners I accidentally instilled in him - exactly five minutes prior to our scheduled appointment. As he breezed into my office, he managed a half-assed glare at Alistair for abruptly turning away and focusing on my schedule rather than his usual tendency to get a beverage for any newcomers. “Okay, updated data on drills isn’t what I want it to be.”

I laughed. “You’re joking, right? Your team and Michael’s haven’t gotten past deck four by more than three percent in the last seven exercises.”

“Any percent above zero is unacceptable,” he grumbled. I chalked it up to the indignity of being forced to get his own tea from the console.

Almost as though to spite Arthur, Alistair made a point to set a refreshed water bulb in front of everyone except the professor. “There are guards on the other levels for a reason,” he suggested drily.

“And I would rather those guards be idle, thank you,” Arthur threw back in a near-venomous tone.

“Us guards would rather be prepared for any eventuality, which you may do well to plan for in your petty drills.”

I didn’t even try to intervene. Clearly there was some blatantly disagreement between my admin and my friend, and I was exhausted from trying to make them cooperate.

“If I’m doing my job, you should be so grateful as to be idle,” Arthur drawled.

Alistair scoffed. “As if being left to rest and get fatter than a Christmas goose is a blessing…”

“You’ll live longer!”

“And get lax in my duties, which I will not stand for!”

“Get fat! Get lazy! LIVE! I don’t care! I’m not going to be lax in my duties to allow you the opportunity of getting practice at fighting.” Standing, Arthur buried both hands in his hair, but it looked less like he was running his fingers through it than pulling on it. “Are we really discussing this when we are training to fight in living body condoms?”

“I need to defend the Archives!”

“And Michael and I need to defend everyone! Us doing our job means you don’t need to do yours.”

My neck snapped back at the vehemence in his tone. This wasn’t their normal sparring… they may have never truly gotten along, but even in the beginning it was never so vicious.

To my further alarm, Alistair took a long stride forward and stared down his nose at Arthur. “We both know that she - “ his hand flung out to point at me “is either the luckiest or unluckiest person in existence. You can’t really believe that, in an actual assault on this ship, that she won’t be in danger. Which will place Tyche, the Archives, Derek Okafor, and Samuel Richardson in equal danger. You aren’t an idiot, you know this.” The hand pointing toward me turned, and time seemed to slow down as he stabbed Arthur in the sternum with it, punctuating each of his next words. “Stop lying to yourself.”

“Poke me again, and the finger comes off.”

“I would dearly love to see you try.”

Hannah and Parvati had jumped to their feet when Alistair approached Arthur, but were now slowly moving around to my position, safely behind my desk. Hannah hissed at me through clenched teeth, “You had to tell them to fight it out.”

“I thought they would use a gym, not the damned office,” I hissed back.

Before she could respond, Alistair spoke again. “You aren’t the only one on the Ark who wants to protect everyone. You need to trust us to do our bloody jobs.”

“The last time I trusted anyone else to protect people, I lost fourteen students,” came the ground out response. “I’m not backing down on this.”

“You will, or I will sedate you and strap you to a medical berth for the next four months.” Alistair stepped back and crossed his arms with finality.

A trickle of nerves ran down my spine as I watched Arthur clench his fists and release them. “You think the solution to everything is to tie it up, I swear.”

“Stop changing the topic. I am deadly serious, Farro.”

Arthur turned away from him, waving him off. “Try something else, you would never just sedate me for months on end.” Before we could stop anything, Alistair leapt forward and put Arthur in a headlock, only to be immediately flipped over the other man’s shoulder and onto the table. “Tch. Sloppy. I know you can do better.”

“I thought you wanted me to get fat and lazy,” Alistair grunted as he sucker-punched Arthur in the stomach and rolled for the other side. Once on his feet, he eyed Arthur carefully as he circled the table. “You stubborn ass, you know I am right. You are putting everyone in the lower levels at risk by not running preparedness drills with them, because you don’t want to factor in the fact that one of the offensive teams could fail.”

“We don’t have the luxury of failing, so no. If we do our jobs correctly, everyone who matters will be safe at the other end of the Ark.”

They didn’t seem to be at each other’s throats anymore, but the arguing wasn’t getting anywhere. “Guys - “ I tried.

Both men turned and practically screamed at me with their glares to stop talking. Oookay. I held up my hands in surrender and decided to let them sort it out their way.

Damned if the console wasn’t on the other side of them, though. I couldn’t even get popcorn and a drink.

Alistair blew a harsh breath through his nose. “If you won’t include the lower decks in your drills, I will start sparring with Jokul.”

“He would kill you,” Arthur barked in the most miserable laugh I’ve ever heard.

“God forbid,” Alistair mocked. “If I were gone, who would make your tea in the morning.”

“The same person who picks up the socks that magically appear all over my quarters every day, obviously. Worthington, I’m serious, he could really hurt you. He has really hurt me. And Charly.”

That last part was dismissed with a wave. “Madam Charles the First put the fear of herself into him.”

“And you haven’t. He could kill you by accident, and he’d never forgive himself.”

“Maybe that wouldn’t be the case if you would let me train more!”

Arthur groaned and ran a hand down his face. “You are an adult, we’ve talked about this. Train all you want, with whoever you want - Charly, Sophia, Tyche… hell, train with Evan or Michael, I don’t care. Just, not Jokul.”

When did they talk about this? I wondered. It had to be during a sparring session or something, because it definitely wasn’t in my office during one of our meetings. A glance at Hannah showed she was watching everything unfold like it was the most riveting show she had ever seen, and Parvati’s squint of consideration wasn’t much better.

“As you said, I’m an adult. Perhaps I should take your advice, and train with Charly - “

“See - “

“- and Jokul. She will make sure I don’t get hurt.”

Arthur flung his hands up in frustration. “You are so stubborn, I swear!” Growling, he paced in a circle. “Fine! Train with Charly and Jokul. IN the bivouac suit, though! And I don’t want to hear a word when you end up confined in a med bay yourself.”

Alistair’s smug grin showed just how much he seemed to care. “At least I would be spared of picking up the trail of dishes that seem to follow you around.”

“For the love of - they are my quarters! Mine! And I don’t want to hear about it when your bloody socks are constantly getting lost behind my sofa!”

Oh. Oh no. Nonononononono.

“My socks can go wherever they fucking want to, when I am constantly cleaning your disgusting whiskers out of the sink!”

“You know what would fix you having to clean whiskers out of the sink? I could just stop shaving altogether. How about...that…” Arthur trailed off and very slowly turned toward the three of us behind my desk with a look of dawning horror.

And I tried. I really, really tried not to laugh. I could feel my face reddening, my chest aching with the effort of holding it in.

Hannah’s snort was my undoing. As soon as that tiny noise escaped her, all three of us erupted into hysterical, stomach-cramping, tearful laughter. I felt stabbing in my arm as Parvati dug her nails in, trying desperately not to fall. Unfortunately for her, Hannah grabbed me at the same time and all three of us toppled to the floor. The sight of Arthur rolling his eyes and crossing his arms only made me escalate from laughing to shrieking in hysterics and relief.

I couldn’t speak for the other two ladies, but I thought the two men were going to end up killing each other… At no point did I think they took the other option when I told them to either fight it out or….

I gasped for breath, trying to get myself under control. Wobbling to my feet with the help of my trusty desk and a couple yanks to free my shirt from Parvati’s desperate clutching, I pointed between them. “This… how long? Can’t believe… didn’t figure it out.”

“Not everyone is as… public… as you, Conor, and Maverick are,” Arthur snarked at me. “You know, private lives should be private and all that?”

“Must be for you,” I confided in Alistair’s direction, where he had turned his back to our fit. “He’s never not told me when he was dating someone. Or thinking of dating someone. Or potentially interested in seeing if he was interested in dating someone… Best friend privileges and all that.” While I waited for Alistair to respond, my mind whirled through all the things I had brushed off before but were very obvious in retrospect.

Glancing at Arthur for a hint yielded nothing but a flat stare that all but declared in flashing lights You Aren’t Stupid.

I tilted my head at that, and kept thinking. There had been genuine animosity on Alistair’s side in the beginning, and not a small amount of needling on Arthur’s. So I knew it wasn’t something that had always been going on. My mind came to a screeching halt, however, when I remembered something - the day Alistair, Tyche, and I decided that, when I vacated my position on the Council, they would vacate roles as well to leave behind a ‘clean slate’. “Four years, holy shit,” I gasped. “Four years!?”

Finally, Alistair moved. His back was still to us, but his arms went limp by his sides, and his head dropped down toward the floor. “It would be unseemly to have the new Councilor of Education in a relationship with the attache to the Councilor for Resources and Engagement. Or formerly in a relationship, should things not end well.”

“And since he won’t be taking his position until we are on Von,” I put together, “You are okay to serve out the rest of my term, just not Hannah’s or Parvati’s.”

“Correct.”

“Huh. That makes sense,” I admitted before hopping up to sit on my desk, the chair being a lost cause on the other side of two women who were still sniffling and giggling on the floor. “I learned a lot today.”

“Uh huh,” Arthur confirmed drily. “And it had better stay in this office.”

“What?” I managed a pretty convincing confused face before pretending to realize what he meant. “Oh! The relationship thing. Yeah, cool, whatever. That’s not what I was talking about, but you’re good.”

“Dare I even ask what you meant?” Alistair ventured, finally turning around so that he could give me a warning look.

“Uh, isn’t it obvious?” I asked, shaking my head and spreading my hands, palms up. When they both just stared at me, I finally broke and grinned. “Dude. You two are freaking slobs.”

The squeaking noises coming from the vicinity of my feet told me that no further work would be getting done for the rest of the day.

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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ellewriteswrongs · 3 years

Text

picking favorites (a @tsbandau drabble)

if y’all aren’t emotionally invested in @underdog-arts ‘s band au, idk what y’all are even doing /j

anyway, here’s a wholesome family drabble insp. by the band au and my (not-so) subtle obsession with remus and janus. also subbing to their patreon is the best $5 i’ve probably ever spent, no joke

“Honey, you can still pick up Ry, right?” Janus called down the hallway, carrying a basket of laundry on each hip before depositing them in the hallway to put away later. Remus was seated in their shared office catching up on emails as Janus began packing up leftover pasta into containers to take to their show scheduled that night.

“I told you I got ‘em,” he agreed, banging the last clumps of his protein shake into his mouth with the heel of his hand. “I’m gonna’ jog to V’s and grab the van.”

Janus nodded to themself out of instinct before faltering, their brow furrowing.

“Wait—Re, that’s like three miles,” they challenged, dumping the dirtied dishes into the sink. “Just take the fucking car.”

Remus’ snort laugh was audible from down the hallway.

“They asked for the van!” Remus cackled. “And I, for one, do not disappoint. Apparently making my kid’s friends think they’re cool is worth a three-mile jog.”

Janus rolled their eyes, albeit fondly. This was, unfortunately, not news.

Riley was having an…interesting phase. It wouldn’t be abnormal for kids their age if it weren’t for the fact that their parents were ridiculously competitive, and all of their parents’ friends were eager to get in on it.

As soon as Remus attended career day in Riley’s first grade classroom, resulting in the entire class of six-year-olds marveling at the fact that their friend’s dad was a “rock star.”

Janus loved that conversation over dinner that night.

They weren’t jealous. No, in fact, it was probably overdue for Riley to have a bit of a “Daddy’s kid” phase, considering how joined at the hip they were with Janus for multiple years now. But they wanted to win.

Riley could make their own decisions about picking a favorite parent. As long as that decision was Janus.

“You’ve gone so-oft,” they sing-songed, smirking as Remus appeared in the kitchen behind them, wrapping one hand around their hip and pressing a kiss to their temple. “Ry’s got you wrapped around their finger.”

Remus have a flash of his crooked grin.

“Yeah, well…at least I know where they get that from.”

Janus rolled their eyes, trying to hide their reddening face.

“Sap,” they grumbled fondly. “Hurry up and get on with your run before you’re late to pickup. And tell V I said hey.”

Remus gave an exasperated chuckle and affirmation, but pocketed his keys and wallet nonetheless.

The jog to Virgil’s apartment wasn’t a particularly strenuous three miles, being downtown and all, and Remus was far from out of shape. Still, three miles was three miles—especially in the late afternoon sun. Needless to say, Virgil wasn’t thrilled to have a giant sweaty man on his doorstep, but he handed over the keys nonetheless.

The van was old, still clinging to its axels from when Remus himself purchased it from an old neighbor and declared it the band’s “tour bus.” It was nice enough at the time, especially for the price he paid, but it certainly wasn’t still around for anything more than sentimental value.

Mainly just Remus refusing to get rid of it.

That, and the fact that, for whatever reason, Riley thought it was the coolest thing ever.

The drive wasn’t long, only the sitting in traffic of other parents in minivans trying to get into the school parking lot. He…wasn’t a fan of that part of being a parent, that’s for sure. He could do without any other parents, thank you very much, but at least it was fun to see how obvious all of them were in their distaste of both him and Janus, compared to how much their kid absolutely adored them.

A fact that was only proven when Remus eventually made it to the parking lot and exited his van, only to be met with ear-splitting squeal of “daddy!” and an armful of six-year-old.

He can’t deny how, even after all these years, the title still makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Like…he is a dad. That’s his kid! How fucking rad is that!

He happens to spot a few other parents, along with some of Riley’s friends that he recognizes, and he offers a quick wave with the hand that isn’t mussing up his kid’s hair.

“You brought the van,” Riley points out with a toothy grin that Remus can’t help mirroring. He can’t help the knot in his throat when he spots the gap in their teeth from their first ever lost tooth—which only meant they were getting much too old and Remus would really appreciate it if they would slow the fuck down.

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” Riley nods, bouncing on Remus’ hip just a bit out of excitement. “I gotta’ warn you though, JJ’s getting pretty jealous.”

Riley laughs before sticking out their tongue and making a fart noise in Remus’s face.

Remus is, for the thousandth time, bewildered at how Riley couldn’t possibly be more like Janus if they tried. And mostly smitten. He has the coolest kid on Earth, after all.

“They can suck my butt!” Riley squeals and Jesus Christ, Remus is going to have a heart attack right there in the parking lot. He’s gonna’ have to grill Jan again to make sure those two aren’t secretly biologically related.

“Hey, your words not mine, squirt,” he smirks, opening the van door and strapping them into the car seat. “And your early bedtime if you let JJ hear any of that.”

He finishes with a pinch on their nose before closing the van door and getting back in the driver’s seat.

Riley, as soon as the radio turn on, starts protesting very aggressively to listen to “your songs, daddy! Play your songs!”

Thankfully, he has a CD burned with some of their…cleaner songs for that exact purpose.

Riley, for lack of a better word, was ‘singing’ along at a volume that Remus would’ve otherwise found hilarious and impressive if it wasn’t right in his ear. Still, there was a certain fondness that came with watching his kid’s excitement over his work—something that, as usual, was paired with thrashing within the confines of a car seat and headbanging their little heart out.

Along the drive Remus made every attempt to stop the barrage of the screamo singer in the making, but all were ultimately unsuccessful. At least…until he pointed out one particular building out of a strip mall assortment.

“Hey, you see that store right there? The one with the red sign?” He spoke up, catching Riley’s eager attention in an instant. They placed both hands on the van window to look out.

“What is it?” They asked, squinting to try and read what was on the sign.

“You know the snake on my leg?” Riley nodded, quieting down. “That’s where JJ took me to get it.”

They paused, seemingly putting some pieces together in their head.

“How come you only have one?” They asked, still kicking their legs against their seat. “JJ has lots, how come you don’t have lots too?”

Remus chuckled, continuing along the road as the light turned green.

“‘Cause I don’t need another one. They’re very expensive, you know.”

“Is it ‘cause you’re a wimp?”

Remus choked on his own spit.

“N-no,” he choked out, laughing. “No I’m not, I just think it looks better this way.”

He didn’t bother looking into the backseat to see what Riley thought of that answer, but if the return to karaoke that followed was any indication, they were not impressed. Still, he’d probably take the teasing over the screaming, but kids are kids.

Even as they pulled into their driveway, Remus had to strategically dodge Riley’s flailing limbs in order to un-fasten the seatbelts on their car seat and actually get them in the house. Apparently the music was not as vital to the ‘sing-along’ as he’d hoped it was when he turned the car off.

“Alright, alright, calm those legs down before you knock my teeth out, will ya’?” Remus teased, placing Riley on his shoulders where they instantly took fistfuls of his hair to hold on. Riley toned down the velocity, but otherwise did not stop. “Careful, squirt, if you wanna’ kick so bad, I’m signing you up to play soccer.”

Riley stopped almost instantaneously, gripping Remus’ hair even tighter as they headed back inside the house, Riley’s tiny backpack slung around Remus’ forearm.

“Nooo,” they wailed, half punctuated by laughter that echoed through the house.

“What are we complaining about?” Janus spoke, leaning against the doorway across the room with a fond smile.

“He said if I kick him in the teeth I have to play soccer,” Riley whined, attempting to climb down from Remus’ shoulders on their own. Janus snorted a laugh before swiftly crossing the room to collect their child and place them on their hip.

“Wow, your daddy’s so mean,” Janus agreed, raising a challenging eyebrow as they stood in front of their husband. Remus pouted before bending down to steal a kiss.

“Gross,” Riley giggled, pressing a hand on each of their parents’ faces to separate them.

“Gross?” Janus smirked. “Well in that case, maybe your dad was being a bit unfair.”

Riley turned to Remus to stick out their tongue at him.

“I mean, soccer? That’s just ridiculous,” Janus continued, a mischievous glint in their eyes. “We’ll obviously have to sign you up for football instead. A punt like that has got to be put to good use.”

Riley immediately went back to their dramatized complaining, this time reaching desperately for Remus to get him to take them back from Janus—to which Remus just held up his hands in mock innocence.

“No can do, kid,” he smirked. “The punishment has to fit the crime, after all.”

Riley continued their attempts to wiggle out of Janus’ unyielding grip.

“Never!” They declared, trying a different approach of reaching over Janus’ shoulder to escape from behind. “I won’t! I won’t do it, I promise!”

Remus and Janus both knew they wouldn’t actively try to hurt either of them, but sometimes it was just more fun to assert rules when it came with shrieking laughter and climbing their parents like a jungle gym.

“Well, now you know where we stand,” Remus spoke in false authority, reaching for one of Riley’s tiny shoes and holding it up to address it as if it were in control of their legs. “I better not see you around these parts again, ya’ hear?” He added in an over-the-top western accent, gesturing to his face.

Riley squealed with laughter as he held out his hand for a handshake and they shook it with their accused foot.

“Alright, alright, you two,” Janus intervened with fond exasperation. “Snacks are on the counter, take it or leave it.”

Riley whipped their head around to peer into the kitchen, cheering when they spotted two plates on the kitchen counter, each with a toaster waffle piled high with blueberries.

“Second…breakfast!” They cheered, drumroll-ing on their leg before whooping and slinking out of Janus’ grip and climbing up onto the kitchen barstools. Remus, giving a fond eye-roll at the enthusiasm, turned to drape his arms over Janus’ shoulders from behind, perching his chin on top of their head.

“They get it from you, you know,” he mumbled, smirking at the scoff it earned him.

“Shut up,” Janus grumbled, the smile evident in their voice. “That is all you.”

“Babe, sports are a threat in this house,” he teased. “You’re telling me that came from me?”

“Yeah, I’ll take that one,” they chided, turning around to face their husband. “As long as you’re aware that the energy, the volume—honey, that’s all you.”

Remus quirked his brow with a proud smirk.

“Or maybe it’s the fact that they sleep for fourteen hours and we haven’t even had eight in the last six years,” he challenged knowingly. “You know, I happen to remember that back in the day…that bed was hardly even for sleeping.”

Janus snorted, their face reddening slightly.

“Is it bad to think of those as the ‘good old days’ already?”

Remus swept a piece of their hair out of their face.

“Hell no, dude. We lived like kings back then,” he chuckled. “How ‘bout this—I’ll get Ro to take ‘em to the park or something this weekend and I’ll dick you down just like old times, ‘kay?”

Janus sputtered out a cackle, smacking Remus on the chest before covering his mouth with their hand.

“Fucking christ, they’re like two yards away,” they hissed, still laughing. “I am not going to be the one fielding questions about what getting dicked down means, oh my god.”

“You say that like they listen to anything when there’s food in front of them,” Remus countered, nodding in the direction of their kid as Janus rolled their eyes with a chuckle.

“Now that, is from you,” they grinned, jabbing him in the side with their elbow.

“Hey, it’s not my fault you’re serving up delicacies like toaster waffles,” Remus said, raising his hands in mock defense.

Janus gave him a look before crossing their arms.

“Yeah, well, you’re lucky I know you can’t go two hours without food. Go on, there’s one for you, even if it’s probably cold by now,” they teased as Remus excitedly kissed their forehead before practically running to the kitchen. He hopped up to sit on the counter, folding each toaster waffle like a blueberry-filled taco before funneling them into his mouth.

Janus followed close behind—at a normal pace, thank you very much—and took the actual seat next to their kid, sipping at the cup of tea they had left on the counter before the two had returned home as they listened to Riley regaling their day at school.

———

Realistically, Remus probably should’ve seen it coming. He was a couple days past his previous record of days as Riley’s “favorite” and he knew he likely didn’t have much longer before Janus dethroned him again, but he certainly hadn’t expected the scene he walked in on that night.

He had heard hushed laughter coming from one of their house’s bathrooms that evening, assuming at first that Janus was just handling Riley’s bath or something like that, but as he cleaned up the mess from their dinner and finished washing the rest of their dishes, he was surprised to find they were still in there. So obviously he had to investigate.

He knocked on the door, rolling his eyes fondly as shushing and giggles came from within.

“Everything good in there?” He teased, leaning against the door. “I gotta’ say, I’m a little hurt I didn’t get invited to whatever club this is that hangs out in the bathroom.”

More giggles followed by the oh-so familiar sound of Janus’ shushing.

“I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself what all the fuss is about,” he sing-songed, slowly creaking open the door before letting out a snort laugh at the scene before him.

Janus was seated on the edge of the bathtub, wash cloth in hand, as Riley sat on the sink counter, covered on all limbs with temporary tattoos. At least the pieces of tape that Janus had cut into circles and colored black to look like ear gauges were admittedly cute.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he smirked from against the doorframe.

“JJ said you’re a wimp,” Riley proudly announced. “I was right.”

Janus stuck their tongue out and made a spitting noise and…yeah, that was their kid alright. Not that Remus would have it any other way.

#anyway.......i would die for them #my writing #tsbandau #sanders sides #ts remus #ts janus

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hoedorokishoto · 3 years

Text

Trust - Part 2

Shoto Todoroki x Reader

warnings - explicit sex, swearing

previous | part | next

Todoroki had gotten taller since the last time I had been this close to him. His body also filling out and getting stronger from all the training. Changes that weren't noticeable until I was inches away from him, measuring his body for any new costume changes that might be required. From watching the training exercise I had concluded that putting a mesh suit under his current costume was the best course of action. One that was highly resistant to both hot and cold, to decrease the number of small burns and frostbite he seemed to get from using his quirk at high outputs. The same mesh being impenetrable and good if a villain ever decided to stab the future pro.

"Shinso said you are very good, and that I'm in good hands." Todoroki said, looking down at me as I continued to take his measurements.

"Were you worried beforehand?" I asked, quirking my eyebrow, and standing up. His dual-coloured eyes continued to burn holes in my back wherever I walked around the workshop.

"Is there a reason you keep staring at me?" I asked softly, not mad but uncomfortable with the constant attention.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable; I just like watching you work."

"I'm excited to see what you come up with."

Todoroki looked the part of being cool and confident but sometimes the way he spoke reminded me of what an awkward little bean he could truly be. Hitoshi stating that his social skills could still use a little work.

"Well, I'm glad you are excited. I think I could make a lot of cool improvements."

It wasn't a lie, I was excited. Any opportunity to further my career as Hero Support or be in the workshop creating new inventions was always a plus to me. It was the Hero in front of me that I had reservations about. Being with new people who I didn't really know wasn't my idea of fun. Neither was small talk. At least we had that in common, both of our silences falling over us like a heavy blanket, and it seemed that neither of us knew how to escape it.

"Are you-."

"You shou-."

You both said at the same time, looking at each other. A smile crept onto my face as Shoto's cheeks darkened with a small blush. Shoto looked down at his feet, his two-toned hair coming down to fall over his eyes.

"You were saying?" I asked, stepping closer to Todoroki, and looking up into his eyes, trying to keep him flustered, finding his awkwardness cute and endearing. He didn't step back, sizing me up.

We were so close I could feel the heat coming off his body, the proximity causing goosebumps to spread down my arms.

"I was saying you should have seen my first hero suit; it was really bad. Or as Ashido says tragic." Todoroki said, his voice low, his face still so close I could feel his breath. Todoroki was handsome, I would have to be blind to deny it. His features were sharp and prominent, his half and half colouring only adding to his air of mystery. I wanted to test the waters; see exactly how far I could push him.

"I have a feeling you could wear a sheet and still look good." I stated. Dropping back down in front of him and measuring his inseam.

"You think so?" Todoroki asked a smirk plastered across his face as he looked down at me.

"If I wanted to see you naked I think I know just how I could make that happen." I said.

Despite my brave statement I still blushed as he looked down at me still, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I bet you haven't seen anything like this." He answered quickly, leaving my mind racing. The position we were in doing nothing to help me try to get a handle on the situation.

"Are you trying to fluster me?" Todoroki asked, leaning down and putting his fingers under my chin, guiding me back up to stand with him.

"Is it working?" I asked, a similar smirk falling across my face. Leaning into his touch, his left hand warm on my skin.

"Maybe..." Is all he said, stepping off the platform and turning towards the door, picking up his bag and school uniform jacket as he went.

"Same time tomorrow?" He asked, turning around one more time to look at me, my eyes wide, trying to comprehend the situation. I didn't speak, just nodded my head in his direction and spun around. Heading to the workbench to write down all the measurements I took while it was fresh in my mind. I wanted my mind to be anywhere but thoughts of Todoroki and whatever had just happened.

The regular noise of the 3H dorm filled my ears as we all sat down for dinner, various pots of stew and bowls of rice steaming, spread out across the table. The day had ended like any other, covered in grease and staying in the workshop at least an hour later than you intended to only coming back to the dorm when one of the teachers turned off the lights and refused to put them back on.

"Todoroki huh, that's cool. He has a really cool quirk and you're a genius so it's like a match made in Heaven." Mei stated, her hair sticking up behind her goggles and her skin looking just as grease-stained as mine.

I just nodded, scooping rice into my mouth to avoid any real conversation, wanting to be showered and in bed as soon as possible. The exchange between Todoroki and I was still fresh in my mind even now. The intensity of his dual-coloured eyes burnt into my brain.

"Y/N lost for words? I never thought I'd see the day."

"I'm not lost for words; I just don't have anything to say..."

"So you are lost for words?" Mei laughed, swinging her arm around my shoulder, and hugging me close. I was grateful that I had found her, other than Hitoshi she was my first real friend, bonding over our love of machinery and design. She was quick to call me out on my bullshit when I needed it and quick to be a shoulder to cry on. On top of that she was a genius who always had insight into whatever project I was working on, helping, and lending advice whenever necessary. If you looked up mum friend in the dictionary she was it. If your mum stayed up all night, had big boobs, ran on coffee and had a steam punk obsession.

Ding

Sen – Hey, how was your day? You busy tonight?

Even the way he typed was perfect, down to the last comma. I wished that Sen could be anything other than someone I fucked around with but the feelings one should have just weren't there. I often wondered if I was keeping him from someone, someone who could return his feelings. Someone who deserved to receive nicely punctuated text messages over dinner wondering about how their day was.

Y/N – Your room or mine?

His grip on my waist was so hard I thought it might bruise, but that was an afterthought as I felt Sen thrust up into me, filling me up and hitting the spot inside me that caused a knot to grow in my stomach, a sign of my impending orgasm.

I looked down at him, his eyes closed as his head was thrown back, his face was cute in this situation. Different from the handsome angular face he usually wore. His brown hair was stuck to his temples, our bodies sweaty from the activities we were currently partaking in.

"You feel so good." Sen moaned out, his mouth starting to kiss up my neck, his handing snaking around and holding the back of my head and neck. Holding me somewhat steady as I continued to ride him.

We both picked up the pace, chasing our orgasms as the sound of skin on skin rang out throughout the room. He kissed me, hard. All teeth and tongues. Both of us coming together with a loud moan. I slumped into him, his arms circling around me pulling me closer as we both caught our breath. I wished I hated him, I wished I didn't care about his feelings. He was comforting, it was times like this that I really wished I could like him how he wanted me to. How he deserved.

I rolled off him, planting my feet on the ground, walking around the room looking for my clothes that had been thrown around the room. I heard Sen shuffle behind me, taking off the condom, tying it off, and throwing it in the trash can by the door.

He came up behind me, I could feel his presence looming over me like a ghost. He reached out and touched my side as I pulled my jeans back up and clipped my bra up.

"You don't have to go." Sen said quietly, almost a whisper. There it was, the words that had the power to cleave my heart in two. Not for my sake but for his, at every turn I was reminded how bad of a person I was, I reminded myself that no matter how nice people were to you or how good it felt when they were inside you, nothing ever really lasted, and the people who claimed to care the most were always the first ones to leave. Why couldn't Sen see that? Romantic relationships were a distraction which I didn't want to get myself involved in and neither should he.

I turned and took the shirt from him that he held out, slipping it over my head. Collecting the last of my things like my phone and shoes and stopped in front of him once again.

"I'll text you later." I said softly, stepping up onto my tiptoes and kissing his cheek. Not looking back as I left his dorm and made my way to the elevator. Praying that all his classmates and Mr. Vlad were asleep.

I made it out of the 3B dorms without any fuss, no hero students, or pro heroes in sight. Thank God. The night air was cool and made the walk back to my dorm quite pleasant, I wasn't in a rush, taking in everything around me. The students jogging around the grounds and the dorms that were lit up with life. The 1st years loudly yelling and laughing, no doubt getting used to dorm life.

I came to a stop outside the 3A dorm, contemplating visiting Hitoshi knowing that regardless of the time he would be up and if he weren't he would wake up for me. I wanted to talk to him, but I also didn't want another weird almost lecture like he gave me the other day. It was hard to talk to people who knew me better than I knew myself sometimes because there was never any hiding. There wasn't anything that I could hide from Hitoshi, even if I tried.

Just as I was about to move on the large doors of the dorm swung open, a very pissed Todoroki stepping out, being followed by an equally as pissed Momo Yaoyorozu. Without thinking I ducked behind the nearest bush and hid. Not meaning to spy on their conversation but also not wanting to look like a creep who snuck around other people's dorms at night.

"I honestly don't know why you are being like this Shoto. Just get over it and we can go back to how everything was." Yaoyorozu said in the distance.

"It was almost 2 years ago; I don't want to do anything with you. Even if I did want any form of relationship with you I definitely wouldn't want it to be like how it was back then." Todoroki replied.

Both of their voices distant, further enough away from the dorm so their classmates wouldn't hear but not close enough to me that I could hear all their conversation.

"That's a bit harsh. We should be together. Both of our fathers think it's a good idea."

"When have I ever given a fuck what my father thinks?"

"Shoto, don't be vulgar. You have been hanging out with Bakugo for too long. He has started to rub off on you."

"I don't want to have this conversation with you anymore Yaomomo, I've said what I had to say, it's you that keeps bringing it up. I won't be getting back together with you, I won't be sleeping with you anymore and I won't even consider it just because our stuck-up scum bag fathers think it's right!" Shoto yelled loudly, there was no doubt that everyone in the vicinity had heard.

Yaoyorozu stomped her foot and pouted, turning on her heels and walking away.

"Well, I still have your cashmere sweater! I'm keeping it!" She shouted over her shoulder.

"Yeah well I still have your virginity, so I guess you win some you lose some." Shoto said back, causing Momo to huff and walk back towards the large doors. I chuckled at his statement, this Shoto vastly different from 1st year Shoto, different again from the Shoto that was in your workshop earlier today.

Yaoyorozu didn't look back as she entered the dorm, leaving Shoto Todoroki standing in the moonlight, looking even more ethereal than usual. If it were even possible.

And me, standing in a bush looking like a creep.

#shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #mha x reader #sen kaibara #kaibara x reader #bnha #shoto smut #todoroki x reader #bnha fanfiction

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