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sephirthoughts · 2 hours

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Father: Verb

Summary:

11 year-old WMD Sephiroth is assigned a new handler/bodyguard, named Vincent Valentine.

I am sure this has been done 10000 times but I can't stop thinking about it, so here's my version.

Rating: teen and up

tags: vincent & sephiroth centric, canon typical violence, autistic sephiroth, canon fix-it

Chapter 1: Spaghetti

He never cried.

He never dared. Not after that day, when a fit of exhausted frustration, during a rigorous testing session, resulted in the violent destruction of half a research facility, which killed nine people, and left fifty-two injured. The Shinra first responders found him huddled amid the flaming rubble, in tears.

He was seven years old.

Sephiroth is dangerous. His emotions are destructive. When he fails to control himself, people die.

But he was a hero. A hero doesn’t let people die. A hero doesn’t lose control. His over-educated but emotionally immature mind surmised that a hero must have no emotions. So from then on, Sephiroth had no emotions. At least, not the dangerous kind, that made people have long meetings about him, behind closed doors, and whisper about him in the halls.

It was shortly thereafter that he began to have a recurring dream, about a pair of eyes, watching him, in the dark. He was used to being watched constantly, by people, but these eyes were different. They were cold and inhuman, and their gaze was filled with killing intent.

“Who is the man with the glowing red eyes?” he asked one of his handlers, who was delivering breakfast, one morning.

She looked confused. “I’m not sure. Was this someone you saw, in the house?”

“No. I’ve only dreamed of him,” the boy said, matter-of-factly, as he scooped up a spoonful of dense, grey, nutrient-rich paste. “He watches me, and never says anything. He wants to kill me, but…he doesn’t, for some reason.”

“If you’re having nightmares, I can request that they prescribe you a sedative, to help you sleep,” she frowned.

“They’re not nightmares. It’s only that he seems so sad.”

“What does he look like? Can you describe him?”

The boy shook his head. “I can’t see his face, only his eyes. But I think I’ll meet him, soon. I’ll tell you, when I do.”

Four years passed, however, before he met the man with the red eyes. Though, by then, that handler had long been moved to another division, so he never had a chance to tell her about it.

He was walking down the hall, headed for the training yard, as he did every morning, when he noticed something was different, today. The atmosphere was tense, and the energy of the place was all wrong. People were whispering in excited tones.

“…aware that no one here can handle him. If something goes wrong we’ll all die…”

“…sending in a Turk. You know, just in case….”

“…hear that guy’s not normal…”

“…supposed to be a real badass, though…”

“…say they woke him up, just for this assignment…”

They always thought Sephiroth couldn’t hear them, if they lowered their voices, as if he was a normal person, with normal hearing. He never bothered to disabuse them of the notion. They didn’t like being reminded that the eleven-year-old biological weapon they were working in close proximity to every day was, indeed, a literal superhuman.

He pretended to ignore their chatter and reported to the training yard, as usual. If the fuss was related to what he suspected, they would come to him, soon enough. He was calmly practicing his sword forms, when his chief handler appeared and asked him to take a break. Following him, was the man with the red eyes.

Sephiroth had never seen anyone like this person, and was instantly enthralled by him. He was very tall and thin, and he wore strange, black-leather body armor, from head to toe, with one brass gauntlet, brass boots, and a floor-length, crimson cloak.

His long, shaggy, black hair hung over most of his face, and the rest of it was hidden behind the high collar of the cloak, but the eyes were the same. They were blood red, and one had flecks of gold around the pupil. Keen and cold, and filled with killing intent. The exact eyes from his dreams.

“This is Special Security Agent Vincent Valentine,” the handler was saying. “He’ll be looking after you, from now on. He’s your direct superior, so you must address him as ‘Agent Valentine’ or ‘sir’ and treat him with all due—”

“Just Vincent,” the red-eyed man interrupted gruffly. “Don’t call me sir, either.”

“Pleased to meet you, Vincent,” Sephiroth said, bowing dutifully. “I’m Sephiroth. I don’t have a surname, so everyone calls me by my forename.”

“Unless you need anything else, I will leave you two to get acquainted,” the handler put in, with a bow. “Good day, gentlemen.”

“Turks are assassins and spies,” Sephiroth asserted, once he’d gone. “Why would they assign you to look after me?”

“Not a Turk, anymore,” the man named Vincent replied, without looking at him.

“Have you been in the labs upstairs? I’m not allowed to go up there.” Sephiroth got out his locket and held up the picture, for the man to see. “This is my mother. Have you ever seen her?”

The scarlet eyes flickered over the locket and away. “No.”

The boy wasn’t excessively surprised or disappointed by the answer. He’d asked every person he’d met if they’d seen her, and no one ever had. He tucked the locket away again. “Why do people say they woke you up for this assignment? Were you in stasis?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re not afraid of me,” Sephiroth said, stepping closer.

Vincent gave a derisive snort. “No.”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it. It’s not to protect me, it’s because they think you’re strong enough to kill me, if you need to.”

The scarlet eyes glanced down at him, but the man said nothing.

“Would you really kill me?” Sephiroth persisted. “Do you think you could?”

Vincent’s arms were crossed tightly on his chest, under his cloak, and he hadn’t moved, since they began talking. Now, suddenly, too quickly for even Sephiroth’s superhuman eyes to see, he seemed to vanish and reappear in front of him, his blood-red cloak billowing and whirling in the windless air, with a life of its own, and the massive triple-barrel of his heavy handgun pressed to the child’s forehead.

“You’re not the only freak in this sideshow,” Vincent growled, as the hammer clicked back.

Sephiroth switched instantly into combat mode, and his blade flashed out, like lightning. His first slash would’ve taken anyone else’s arm off, but Vincent was already behind him, somehow. Sephiroth dodged the grapple and flipped forward, throwing out a barrage of slashes, which missed the cloaked man as he vanished again, in a whirl of crimson.

The boy gave a cry, as his knee was kicked out from under him, then quick as a whip, he was hoisted up by the back of his jacket and thrown bodily across the training yard. He careened into a concrete barrier, through which his body smashed like a meteor, before he pushed off the ground with his feet, and went darting back through the air, toward Vincent, only to be swatted away like a fly, and wind up rolling to a stop, halfway across the training yard.

They went on like this for quite some time, without pausing, the red and black-clad man tossing the armed child around the training yard, neither of them showing any signs of fatigue or loss of focus. Sephiroth would’ve kept going all day, if he’d been allowed, but eventually Vincent called halt, and said he was expected to escort the boy to his quarters, for his noon meal. They’d been at it for almost three hours.

Thrilled and elated, to find someone who could actually fight with him, Sephiroth followed Vincent eagerly, big, green eyes fixed admiringly on the back of his head, as they walked down the halls, together.

He had never felt so energized, in all his time here—which was his entire life. This strange man with the red eyes, from his dreams, was the first opponent with whom he’d genuinely let loose and used all his strength.

And he’d been beaten so soundly, he felt it in his bones. It was an exhilarating feeling, to no longer be the strongest person around, and not to have to carefully restrain himself, when sparring with a partner.

“Vincent, will you stay and have lunch with me?” the boy asked hopefully, when they arrived back at his quarters.

Vincent hesitated at the door, then stepped reluctantly inside, looking about the suite of rooms like it was a wild animal exhibit, and the denizens might leap out from behind the furniture and attack, at any moment.

“It’s only me who lives here,” Sephiroth assured him. “I don’t know why they gave me all these rooms. I only use the bedroom and the main room. And the bathroom. Do you live in the manor, too? What are your rooms like?”

“I live…downstairs,” Vincent said vaguely, behind his high collar.

“There’s nothing below this floor but the basement storage levels. You don’t mean you live down there, do you?”

A handler arrived to deliver his meal, just then, so the conversation was forestalled, for the moment. Vincent stood against the wall, watching silently, as the man set a tray in front of the boy. It was divided into six sections, each filled with a different colored paste.

“I’m very sorry, sir,” the handler said to Vincent. “We weren’t told you’d be joining the asset for lunch. I will bring whatever you’d like from the kitchen, right away.”

Vincent was silent for so long, the man began to get visibly uneasy.

“Spaghetti,” he said suddenly, his deep voice giving the handler a start. “Spaghetti with meatballs. And…apple juice. And ice cream. Strawberry ice cream.”

The handler blinked, bewildered, then bowed and hurried away, saying he’d bring the things as soon as possible. When he’d gone, Vincent walked over to the table, took Sephiroth’s spoon from his hand and his tray from in front of him, and strode down the hall.

Sephiroth sat, speechless, for a moment, then jumped up and hurried after him. Vincent was in the bathroom, using the spoon to scrape the the contents of the tray into the toilet.

“Vincent, what are you doing?” he asked curiously.

“Putting this shit where it belongs,” Vincent replied flatly. “Don’t eat this anymore, understood?”

“Th—that’s the food they give me. What do you mean, don’t eat it anymore?”

“This is not food,” Vincent said, brandishing the tray and then tossing it into the bathtub. “Is this really what you’ve been living on?”

The boy looked perplexed. “What else is there?”

Vincent stood there, looking down at him, for a beat, then he dropped to one knee, in front of him, and pulled his collar down, exposing the rest of his face.

Sephiroth’s heart lurched and began to run raggedly in his little chest. Vincent was…beautiful. He was the most beautiful person the boy had ever seen, aside from the picture of his mother. He wanted to touch his perfect face, but he would never dare do something so outrageous.

To his immediate astonishment, however, the beautiful man touched him. Cautiously, as if Sephiroth were a baby bird that might be crushed in his hands, he reached out his black-gloved hand, and laid it almost weightlessly on the boy’s shoulder.

“Sephiroth, I…I’m sorry,” he said, inexplicably. “I’m so sorry.”

Sephiroth had no idea what was happening, except that the man was touching him, in a non-hostile way, that didn’t appear to have an immediate purpose, and it was making his head feel hot and fuzzy, the way it did when the old professor gave him medicine, sometimes.

Aside from the lingering trace of killing intent in his scarlet eyes, Vincent’s face wore an expression Sephiroth didn’t recognize. It wasn’t on any of the emotion flash-cards the Shinra PR people made him study, in order to ‘seem more human.’

Was he a lunatic? He didn’t dress like anyone else Sephiroth had ever seen, and he was acting rather bizarrely. When the handler asked what he’d like to eat, he said a lot of strange words, that Sephiroth had never heard, and then he’d dumped Sephiroth’s lunch into the toilet.

“It’s alright, it was just a little food. I can get more,” Sephiroth said gingerly. “Vincent, are you…unwell?”

“No—well, yes.” His black brow furrowed. “But I’m not insane, which is what you’re asking, correct? If I’m reacting strongly to some things, that’s because it is difficult, for me, to see you living this way, like an animal in captivity.”

“Why should you be distressed by the way I live? We only met today.”

The scarlet and gold eyes gazed intently into his, for another beat, then Vincent looked away, shaking his head. “Because you’re an innocent child. They have no right to treat you this way.”

“I’m an asset, not a child,” Sephiroth pointed out. “That’s what the old professor says. They don’t treat me that badly, so don’t worry about me. I like the food.”

“Do you?”

“Well…no, but I don’t hate it. It’s just…normal.”

“That’s because you’ve never eaten anything else. We’ll fix that, today.”

When the handler returned, Vincent took the tray from him and growled, “Get out,” before the man could say another word. He hastily retreated, more than happy to leave the two terrifying superhumans to whatever they were doing.

Meanwhile, the tangy-salty-herby aroma coming from the things on the tray struck Sephiroth’s enhanced senses like a slap. He wrinkled his nose, as he eyed them doubtfully.

There was a large plate of some pale, yarn-like substance, doused in a thick, red slurry, with dark brown lumps in it, a glass of what appeared to be urine, at first glance, and a bowl with a creamy, pale-pink paste in it. That seemed the most familiar, only there were red chunks in it, that Sephiroth was revolted by. They looked a bit like human flesh, when it had been torn up by explosives.

He watched warily, as Vincent used the fork to wind the yarny bits from the plate into a wad, then stuck the tines through a brown lump.

“Eat,” he said, holding it out to him.

Sephiroth balked. “Vincent, I don’t—mph!”

His protest was muffled by the forkful of food Vincent simply shoved into his mouth, when he opened it to argue.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Vincent warned, seeing the boy about to spit it out. “Chew. Swallow. Now.”

Suppressing a gag, Sephiroth did as he was told. Then his big, green eyes went wide. His slit pupils dilated. A tart, salty, sweet, oily, aromatic, nearly indescribable chaos of flavors was exploding on his tongue.

A little shudder passed through his body, and suddenly his eyes were stinging, like they’d had a bright light shone in them. He stared, stupefied, into the middle distance, and opened his mouth, for the next bite, which Vincent was already hovering with.

“What…what is this?” he asked, after he’d chewed and swallowed again.

“Spaghetti. You like it?”

“I never tasted anything like it in my life! I want to eat spaghetti every day! For all three meals! Only spaghetti!”

“You’ll get tired of it, if you do that. There are other things just as delicious. Let me show you how to wrap the noodles up on the fork, come here.”

Sephiroth took the fork in his hand, and guided by Vincent, went to work learning this new skill. The noodles kept slipping off, but at last, he managed to wind up a somewhat lopsided spaghetti wad, complete with meatball on the end.

He stuffed the large bite into his mouth, beaming triumphantly as he chewed.

Vincent gave an approving dip of his chin.

Within a very few minutes, Sephiroth had cleaned the plate spotless. Vincent picked up a napkin and dabbed the orange sauce stains from then corners of the boy’s mouth, as he gazed mournfully down at the empty dish.

“Don’t look so tragic,” he said, holding out the spoon. “Try this, now. It’s called strawberry ice cream.”

#ff7 #ff7 rebirth #sephiroth #vincent valentine #final fantasy 7 #miniroth #child sephiroth #shinra electric power company #canon fix-it #autistic sephiroth #father son dynamic #rating may change #tags may change #teen and up audiences

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elianas-cozycorner · 1 year

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𝓞𝓷 𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓝𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓵𝓮𝓼 | 𝓢𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓸𝓰𝓮 (2022)

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘖𝘯𝘦 | 𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘋𝘦𝘣𝘵𝘴

Dedicated to @the-house-of-auditore-frye

Summary: In a world where single mothers and working, low-class women are shunned, how can an unwed seamstress survive? With piling debts and the Christmas season underway, there's nothing worse than adding hopeless, one-sided love to your troubles. Pining after your lender and local miser, Ebenezer Scrooge, can only lead you to ruin. Right?

Author's Note: Hello, all!

This little project came to be because of Frye's post requesting a Scrooge fiction. Please be aware that, as much as I absolutely adore this man and the film, this is my first time writing for Ebenezer. Because I wanted this to be as enjoyable as possible, I spent about a week researching the Victorian Era (everything from coinage to etiquette). That being said, I will try my best to make this historically accurate while also being canon compliant. There is also a jump from past tense to present tense in this chapter, denoted by a cut.

Because the story's plot is mostly fleshed out, I will be trying my best to give you all weekly updates. I have kept or changed a manner of things I saw fit to, but largely kept to the user's storyline. I did give the reader a last name to save my sanity (I also do not use Y/N)! If anyone is interested in the parts of Victorian culture I reference, I'll start leaving notes at the end of chapters.

Word Count: 1558

Ao3 - Mature Rating

Warnings: Period Typical Attitudes/Sexism, Victorian Era

The smell of pine and freshly baked goods swirled in the otherwise polluted London air. A soft breeze tussled ladies’ bonnets and ruffled the cravats of refined gentlemen, the perfect reprise from the muggy smog. With the workhouses and factories tucked just beyond view, prevented from covering the shopping district in coal dust, the street was filled with last minute shoppers and happy couples. Christmas was naught but a short eve away and the holiday cheer was perfectly contagious. Women, accompanied by their mothers and sisters, walked along the newly cleaned sidewalks. Occasionally they would break out in conversation among themselves, whether over a charming gentleman across the way or a new shipment of ribbons advertised on a storefront. Poormen and servants wandered about the stalls in the street, collecting food from the grocers or mead from the brewers. The steady clopping of hooves and the calls of pauper boys selling their papers only added to the busy atmosphere of the shopping district.

The noise was close to overwhelming for some. One such gentleman walked alone, steel tipped cane clicking loudly against the cobblestone. Occasionally the man would pull his top hat further down his temple, adjust his upturned collar closer to his face, or grumble under his breath at the ineffectiveness of his overcoat. If one were to watch him long enough, they might see him pull a watch from his pocket and check its time against the clock tower’s. He avoided every sign of cheer, failed to acknowledge any gentlewoman he crossed paths with, and refused to return the Christmas wishes thrown his way.

So bothered by the joyous atmosphere was he that, at his next convenience, he ducked into an alley. There he took a moment to sigh deeply and adjust his evening wear. The permanent scowl across his face was not dissuaded by the huff of breath against his knee.

The man looked down, “Prudence.”

The large, wrinkly mastiff at his feet looked up at the mention of her name. She focused on him, waiting for the graying man to continue. But she did not receive further acknowledgement. Instead, her human took up a brisk pace and exited the alleyway. Set on reaching his destination, the man did not expect to run into a pair of caroling urchins. Nor his nephew shortly after.

“Uncle Ebenezer, is that you?”

“And to think,” The man growled under his breath, ducking behind a vendor’s stall. “That I should be granted any semblance of peace on such a wretched eve.”

There was a moment of silence and the grouch did not see his nephew’s figure again. “That was close–”

“Uncle! It is you, I knew it!” The cheerful gentleman appeared before him as if teleported by God himself.

Ebenezer Scrooge, cold hearted and lacking patience toward his relative as he was, couldn’t help the obvious annoyance that overtook his features. “Harry–”

“Merry Christmas!” Harry smiled broadly and extended his hat forward in greeting. It was a gesture that Scrooge did not return, favoring instead a scowl and exaggerated eye roll.

Unfazed by his uncle’s uncouth manner and blatant disrespect, Harry continued on to greet the giant hound at Scrooge’s hip. They engaged in a rather splendid moment, Prudence preening under the kind affections Harry offered. The men exchanged a few short words until the clocktower sounded out, catching their attention. Scrooge smiled gleefully then, a truly cruel and unashamed sort of glee.

“Out of time, Jenkins,” He turned to face his nephew. “As unpleasant as this encounter has been, Harry, I must bid my goodbyes. I have much to do before the clock strikes the sixth hour of the eve, many debts to collect. Be ye well, God bless you.” He extended his hat, bowing slightly at the waist.

“Oh, but Uncle–” Harry was cut off as the gray haired man turned down the way. He shared a puzzled look with their canine companion before following suit.

“Uncle, wait! Perhaps, if it will not inconvenience you, I may join you for your final collection.” The request is polite enough, if not a bit hesitant.

“I suppose you are about to tell me that it would be mutually beneficial to engage in such an excursion together,” Ebenezer Scrooge sighed deeply. “However noble the intention, my good boy, I am about on business –”

“As am I,” The response came from his left. “I have several gifts to acquire before the shops close for Christmas Eve, and I set out with the intent to meet you in the office. Your office.”

“Yes, you said as much.” The ebony cane tapped rhythmically against the cobbles underfoot. “If it is your will, I will not dissuade you. However, I will dismiss you immediately should you encroach upon my time.”

“Of course, as to be expected.”

“Expected?” A large, well maintained eyebrow shot up.

Harry floundered for a moment, unsure if he had crossed a line or poked a nerve. “I only meant that this excursion is as much about business for me as it is for you. ”

“Hmm. Christmas gifts. A pointless waste of coin and effort. Say,” Scrooge turned to face the other man then, halting in the middle of the walkway. “Should not your servant fetch these things?”

“They are preparing Christmas Eve Dinner! It is only right that they spend some time with their families come the morn, so the house will be hosting–”

-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷-̷

With his cane tucked under his arm, Ebenezer Scrooge adjusts his gloves in the doorway of Jenkin’s Toy Shoppe. His newly edited ledger sits heavily in his vest pocket: 50 pound – Jenkins, due Boxing Day. It gives him great pleasure to know that he will collect double the expected sum of Jenkin’s dues. So much so, the man does not register the fact that he is leaving Prudence in the care of his nephew as he exits the store. He is already tired of the social scenes and obligations placed upon him by society; what with enduring a continued human presence and being accosted by some unlicensed charity band.

‘The nerve,’ He thinks, once again checking his watch. ‘ Twenty past the hour already?"

He lets the cane drop back into his hand, using it for stability in the ice and snow. He has one last destination before he can retreat to his office: Louwermon’s Tailor and Dress Shoppe. A quaint little place on an industrial corner, hidden amongst the poorest rabble and unkempt developments. Originally owned by a stately old man, the clothing store often employed the lowest-class women and occasional middle-class seamstress. Now, after his passing and with shirts going for 7 pence a dozen, only one woman was left. The store and all of Louwermon’s earthly debts left unto her.

Scrooge cringes slightly at the thought, bringing his gloved hand to cover a breast pocket. Louwermon hadn’t even been her father. How a woman with so little prospects and devastatingly meager income had been allowed, by the courts no less , to keep the shop was beyond him. He knew she worked day and night, nearly twelve hours each day, to pay her late employer’s debts. That much he approved of, her timeliness and portly manner. But lately, come the winter season, such timeliness had given away to shortchanged dues and even missed payments. That, to the old miser, was the most unacceptable thing about her.

Lost in thought as he is, Scrooge is surprised when muscle memory encourages him to grip a familiar knob. The door handle, when he looks up to confirm, does indeed belong to the storefront of Louwermon’s Tailor and Dress Shoppe . With his right hand occupied with the door, he reaches for his ledger with the left. He wants nothing more than to make this trip quick.

When he finally steps across the threshold, a warm gust of air and the chime of a bell greet him. A fire roars in a hearth to the back of the front room, keeping it warm for customers. In the furthermost right corner there is an area sectioned off for fittings, more an alcove than a proper room. Several dresses sit on the till counter and a rack of men’s shirts line the most immediate wall. A couple mannequins to his left host unfinished coats and suits, while the store windows are arranged to display seasonal accessories. However, despite all the garments, he does not spot the store’s owner.

He stands alone for several long moments, watching the time tick by on his pocket watch. He strains his ears to hear the clicking of the hands, taps his cane a couple times, and tries to tame his impatience by looking around the room. He waits, and waits. Eventually, Scrooge’s patience runs out. Indignant at being left to loiter, he clears his throat as loudly as the dry air will allow.

“I’ll say, Ms. Blackwood, this is certainly no way to run an establishment!”

From some room in the very back, Scrooge hears a clattering sound and the rushing of footsteps. The creaking of the door is accompanied by a small murmur of pain. Well worn hands brace themselves against the doorframe and gentle eyes meet stern ones. In her eyes there is a hint of fear and he knows then that she will ask for another extension.

‘Will I give it?’ He wonders.

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beybuniki · 23 days

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kofi request of deku and bakugo reading comics togetherrrr, i made this part of the quirkless au where they befriend each other during their 1st year at UA

#i like this au i can't help ittttttttt #deku is so cute here if i may say that #bnha #midoriya izuku #deku #bakugo katsuki #kofi requests #au:#quirkless #<- need a better tag #quirkless au #<- need to change that

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tokkiheart-writes · 1 year

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In A Delicate Condition

Summary

What if that kiss between Oh Yeon Joo and Kang Chul in his bed had never been interrupted? What if it had led to something more?

More than either had bargained for.

______

Basically, the story is the largely the same as what happens in the show, except Yeon Joo is pregnant, which of course changes things.

#fanfic #kang chul/oh yeon joo #w two worlds #w two worlds apart #w: two worlds #fluff and angst #angst #angst with a happy ending #whump?#like light whump I think #unplanned pregnancy #alternate universe #family feels maybe?#I don’t know yet #tags may change #but there WILL be a happy ending #the plot bunnies hit me hard for this story #i don’t know why

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stiffyck · 2 months

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hermitcraft au where the hermits just all live in the same building. beef and iskall are neighbours and argue with each other through the walls over the stupidest shit.

grians appartment is constantly flooded. no one knows how he does it or why.

mumbo gets locked out of his appartment like every day of the week and has to climb through the window because hes embarassed constantly asking for help.

scar and stress smuggle animals into their appartments even tho theyre not supposed to. god knows how many cats stress got from the streets. no one knows how scar managed to get a horse into his appartment.

i have no more ideas right now but thats it.

#scar is also hotguy but i wanna think about the possibilities of that a bit more skjdhfskdf #stiff talk #hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #im not tagging them all sdkjfhs #appartment au #i dont know what else to call this i may change the name KJSHDF

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comradekatara · 3 months

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babygirl..... goth gf....... knife wife

#id in alt text #avatar the last airbender #atla #mai #art #mart #she would hate me for using so much orange lmao. which is why i did <3 #this was so fun to paint #not tagging this oldergaang even tho she is probably slightly older here just bc i didnt significantly change her design so it doesnt count #anyway she means so much to me...... one of the first characters that ever got me saying 'shes just like me fr'

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turtleblogatlast · 2 months

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AU starts here!

Previous |

Here we have just a taste of Path A - also known as “All Together Now.” If you’re confused - good! Things will make sense in time, trust me.

#prison!leo au #path a #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt au #rottmnt leo #I considered coloring everyone in and shading them but then I decided I liked it better like this tbh?#and also I’m LAZY #but yeah here’s a touch of path a! some things may be apparent now but it’s meant to be a littleeee confusing at this point #odds are I’m gonna see stuff I wanna change when I look back on this so if you see little changes here and there No You Didn’t #I MAY go back and put in values but again I kinda like it just black and white for once #BUT YEAH this path is TECHNICALLY the happiest one #it starts the exact same way as the other two #but ~something~ happens right at the start #turtle art tag #there’s a bunch of little things strewn throughout this if people are feeling detective-y today

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watchingwisteria · 4 months

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aziraphale, the one who gave the first human exiles his flaming sword as both a source of protection and warmth, who did not look on them as sinners deserving of destruction but people entitled to the best chances possible, has never once looked at crowley, a heavenly exile, with anything other than compassion and a desire to protect. from their first meeting, he never wanted anything bad to happen to him. when crowley slithers up to him in eden, he treats him like an equal rather than an adversary. when crowley appears, his eyes fill with love and excitement, his gaze turns soft and hesitant, his whole body seizes with joy of seeing him. crowley might typically the one to seek him out, but aziraphale has always welcomed him home.

#aziracrow #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #good omens #I AM WRITING THE FIRST DRAFT OF MY FIC 😈#they make me so……#the ex christian in me turns to a rabid dog when i think abt them #they both love each other with that christian ideal agape love #the kind that would sacrifice itself for the other #to love is to will the good of the other and all that #i just love and adore them both ok u will never catch slander against EITHER of them from me #tags added later :#is now a bad time to mention i think go3 will be #aziraphale realizing that crowley is his home and he was crowley’s #like heaven is not going to be as he imagined it #and he’ll realize being head archangel can change nothing #and ooooh that homecoming.. for both of them….#well i expect to be in tears that’s all i’ll say #IT HAS TO END WELL THO or may actually unfortunately have to pass away on the spot

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alienssstufff · 2 months

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Hey so, tomorrow (or today depending on where you live.) is the end of the strike and well hate to be bearer of bad news but rest and doodles isn't assured when you return to regular posting. In literally TWO days from now, a new bill will pass called the KOSA bill, and it will cause MASS CENSIRSHIP across the media! Now this bill claims to "protect kids" but in actually it will cause more harm than good to everyone since kids won't have readily availible acess (or even at all) to content that can actually help them, people would not be able to educate themselves as access to some information or topics would be deemed "innapropriate", freedom of expression would be revoked especially lgbtqia people, a lot, privacy wouldn't be respected because you would have to verify yourself, and most importantly fandoms would cease to exist (or at least have trouble existing).

Now what can you do to help? Research on the topic, inform your government, friends, and family, and sign petitions against KOSA. Now some of these are optional only if you can't do them, but's what important is that YOU SPREAD INFORMATION AGAINST KOSA.

Yes AND passing this bill would greatly affect protests and spreading awareness such as this now. Time and time again the US has made it clear they are not with Palestine. Like if the US was allowed to post pro-isreal ads in the superbowl WHILE isreal was bombing Rafah, imagine how much worse the propaganda will get if this bill is passed.

I’m leaving a link that explains it pretty well. Source has a copypaste form +number you can fill out to send to your lawmakers.

If you are able to call said lawmakers, here is also a script in suggestions on what to say on call - written in target of democratic lawmakers (left image) and republican lawmakers (right image) respectively [ credit : swopusa (twt) ]

[ CONTACT SENATE 202-224-3121 ]

While KOSA is a bill specifically introduced to the United States, knowing how much influence the US has on the internet - passing this bill would by proxy impacts EVERYONE

2 Days. It is crucial that this bill does not pass.

#ask stufff #stufff rambles #kosa #kosalies #Palestine #unsure what else to tag but may the word be spread regardless #apologies if info is wrong (inbox if so & ill readily change it) I am not american

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jungle321jungle · 1 month

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False Dawn: One

For his entire life, Janus Ekans had done whatever he could to prove himself and rise in the ranks of his father’s court, but it was all worthless in the end. Now, the only path to survival is to rely on his father’s killer, Duke Logan Ackroyd, even if it means discarding his pride and blood ties. It might not be freedom, but at least it won't be his head rolling on the floor next.

~~~~

False Dawn:

Idiom: A situation that looks like it is beginning to improve when, in reality, it is not.

Read on Ao3 - All Chapters - Masterlists

One

Janus had learned at an early age how to keep his face even despite what was happening around him. It didn’t matter whether he was excited, upset, or scared. An Ekans faced those emotions every day, and if he ever wanted even the slimmest of chances of being accepted as a legitimate child- controlling his facial expressions was a requirement. So his mother had drilled poise and etiquette into him the hard way, yet here and now, every word she had ever spoken seemed meaningless. Here and now, it didn’t matter that he had learned to dance; it didn’t matter that he could hold his own when talking to the nobility; his swordsmanship and equestrian lessons were also null and void. Because here and now, it didn’t matter that his face didn't change as he watched what was going on around him because everything he had done was to impress his father- to impress the king—the king, who was currently shy of a head.

The screams that echoed throughout the ballroom were on deaf ears as Janus’ eyes were trained on his father’s killer. The man was calm as he wiped the blood from his blade as if he was doing its daily maintenance as opposed to just having beheaded a monarch. And silently- wrongly - Janus couldn’t help but wonder why he bothered to do so when it was clear the rest of the royal family was next to die. Or was this man too important to dirty his blade with Janus’ impure blood? The knight stopped his actions and dropped to a knee as the Head of the Empire stepped towards him. Janus had thought so when he had seen the Emperor before at the start of the ball- but here and now, the ruler seemed even more like a child. He was likely just barely sixteen, his brown eyes slightly sunken in and partially hidden behind his hair, which was just long enough to fall into his eyes. He was shorter in stature, and truthfully, it looked like a strong breeze would be enough to knock him over. Even so, no one could be The Emperor of Angoro without having a nearly impossible amount of mana.

“Do as you see fit with the rest,” The Emperor told the knight.

The knight hadn’t dared to raise his head, “Yes, Your Maj-”

“Why!?” Janus heard one of his older sisters- the Second Princess- shout. “What did we do to you?”

The Emperor blinked at her once as if he couldn’t tell if she was stupid or not, and quite frankly, Janus wished she wasn’t as stupid as well… she usually was. The Emperor’s eyes shined with a slight tint of purple before he appeared to decide she wasn’t worth a drop of his mana. “I need to get back,” he told his knight instead. As he began to walk away, some of his troops fell in step behind him.

“Why? Why? Why!?” his sister shouted again and again. No one stopped her, not even the enemy knight who stood before her. No one did a thing until the Emperor had left the room. Then, the knight in charge stood, fixated his eyes on her, and moved closer, causing her to falter before the Queen put a hand over her mouth.

The knight adjusted his glasses as his eyes looked over them all, and then he spoke, “None of you want to answer her question?”

Janus wasn’t aware the tension could get any higher, but then the man brandished his sword.

“I see no point in answering. If she weren’t such a narcissist, she would have paid attention to the world around her,” Janus said with his mask of calm as he tried not to focus on the thought of that sword running him through. But he needed to try because something in him- perhaps all his experience in reading people- screamed that in this situation, silence was the wrong answer.

The knight’s attention and sword went to Janus, a shadow of amusement on his face as his right eyebrow twitched. “Oh? But it would be quite cruel for her to die without knowing what her crime is, wouldn’t it?”

“Ignorance is a crime of its own.”

The knight paused before he looked Janus up and down, “A prince with no crown? …A Child of the Harem then?”

“Correct.”

“Interesting,” he concluded, sheathing the weapon, and Janus forced himself not to give a large breath of relief like he wanted. The knight then focused on the Second Princess- or rather, her crown. “Your King was the one who cursed the Empire and caused the deaths of thousands. I think the amount of blood that shall be shed is inconsequential in comparison.”

The Second Princess pushed away the Queen’s hand, “Father would never! You-” she was stopped again by her mother, but this time their eyes locked, and an understanding moved between them.

The knight looked as if he was trying to hide his disgust, “Lock them up and prepare them for transport. Executions will occur back in the capital before all the people they’ve hurt. As for the nobility, I've already given your orders for them.”

The knights around them resoundingly said, “Yes, Your Grace!” And just like that, Janus found himself being shuffled along with the rest of the royal family, and he could only hope that the lingering inquisitive gaze he felt boded well for his future.

Upon having his wrists bound, he and the rest of his family were shoved into a relatively small cell for the number of them in the castle’s dungeon. It was certainly strange being on this side of the bars down here, but he supposed anything was better than the alternative. If they were to be transported back to the Empire’s capital, he had time to try and negotiate something for himself. It may all be for naught, but at least- unlike his father- he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“You're insane.”

The sound of his mother’s voice drew his attention back to his family amongst him. She was across the cell from him, with a few family members between them. She didn't speak again, just watching him with eyes full of fear, worry, tears, and surprise. He waited a moment and then another, but when no words left her lips, he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes so he wouldn’t need to see her face as he responded. “The silence was heavy enough to kill on its own accord… so I broke it.”

He heard his family quietly chitter amongst themselves as they commented on his behavior. It was probably the most attention they had ever spent on him, and it didn’t feel nearly as good as he had imagined.

It was early morning when they were pulled from their cell and outside to greet the rising sun and the three prison wagons waiting underneath it. Janus had anticipated that they all would've been split into each by numbers, but he was surprised to find that they were being sorted. Into one wagon went The Queen and her children, in another, the Queens of the Harem, and in the last, Janus and the other illegitimate children. He couldn’t help the spike of hope that struck his chest at the chance that they might be punished based on their status. But any hope quickly fizzled out as he realized the range in his siblings amongst him. More were guilty of horrible things than those who were innocent. So, if the wagon were indeed to divide who lived and died, currently, it seemed the harem would be the only cart to survive. And yet, some in there deserved death just the same.

The convoy traveled through the morning and only stopped once at midday, during which each prisoner was led one by one to relieve themselves under supervision. They were each given a small slice of stale bread, and the trip continued. So Janus would be lying if he said he wasn’t ecstatic to leave the wagon when they stopped for the night. His bottom and back ached from sitting on the hardwood all day, so even if it were just a short walk to use the bathroom, he’d take it. On the way back to the wagon, another knight jogged up, “The Duke requested this one,” she told one holding Janus’ rope. And to Janus’ surprise, he didn’t hesitate to hand it over.

Janus’ heart was thundering in his chest. But the knight said nothing to him as he pulled him along after her towards where the main army had made camp some hundred or so feet away. Eyes wandered to them as they made their way through the camp, but none said anything as they made way for them to pass. That was until they reached the Duke in question.

His father’s killer was sitting amongst his men, seemingly having a casual conversation with them as he sipped stew from a bowl. It was a bit of a strange sight, truthfully. Usually, those of higher status had tents to themselves full of all their luxuries of home, and yet this man was indistinguishable from the rest. Upon their approach, he stood and outstretched a hand, and the rope attached to Janus was set in it. The Duke said nothing as he led Janus away from the rest, simply sipping his dinner as he went, but ultimately, he came to a stop and leaned back against a tree facing Janus.

“You didn’t flinch as your father’s body was liberated from its head, and you also spoke out against your own blood without hesitation,” he started. “And from what I recall, this is often your behavior. You clean up the messes of others, be it with words or with blood… Tell me, what do you gain from that?”

“Rapport,” Janus answered easily. “Rapport with a man who refused to acknowledge me. And as you can see, it was all for naught.”

The Duke hummed another sip from his bowl, “You're quite good with your words. Truly a silver tongue.”

“Am I to take that as a compliment?”

“That is up to your discretion.”

“Then I thank you for the compliment.”

“I hadn’t expected you to beg for your life, but I didn’t expect you’d be this bold either.”

“Why beg? It’s clear whatever I have done so far is enough. And if I am truly to die regardless, then I will say what I please beforehand.”

“Your magic,” the Duke said, changing the subject. “Demonstrate for me.”

Janus couldn’t help but be taken aback by the statement, and it was the first thing that pierced his unaffected mask. But he was quick to repair it. “My deepest apologies; these ropes drain my measly mana.”

The Duke nodded as he stood off the tree and led Janus back through the camp to the prison wagons, where the guarding knights stiffened as they approached. “Remove his bonds,” the Duke ordered. The knights were confused, but they were quick to free Janus’ wrists anyway.

“Recover your measly mana ,” The Duke mocked. “I’ll ask for another demonstration tomorrow.”

~~~~

It was a test. Janus knew that well. Evidently, the Duke knew exactly what Janus’ skillset was- and yet he had more or less left Janus to his own devices. Sure, he was still behind the wagon’s bars and surrounded by knights, but that meant nothing. The mana he had regained by the time they were moving in the morning was more than enough for him to transform and escape. He could simply morph into a bird and take flight to a place where he’d never be seen again. That is, if he could avoid the archers. He could become a fly. He couldn’t get far or fly long, but he could lose them- but for how long? He could wait until they took him out of the wagon again, and become a horse and start sprinting- but the knights had their own horses. He could wait and then become a bear and maul them all on his way out, but there were too many to take them down. And even if he did get away, then what? The Empire had already taken over the Kingdom. And all nobility was being watched. It wouldn't take long for the commoners to realize that a person amongst them had a different level and different kind of education than they did. He would need to be constantly moving, constantly changing faces to survive- and he wasn't sure how long that would last. This was a test.

A test to see if Janus would take the bait off of its silver spoon, or if he would place his life in the hands of another. Especially when there was no proof that the Duke would allow him to live. Maybe he had sparked enough interest to save his life, but if he had, he’d still have to deal with a target on his back for the rest of his life. To keep himself breathing, he would need to let go of all ego and pride and do whatever he was asked forever- he’d have to go back to the way he was before his father spared him that first glance. Back to craving- needing that attention so badly that it hurt without it. This form of survival was one he had already led, and perhaps he could do it again now that he had learned from his mistakes... Or maybe it would end just the same. But, of course, this was all dependent on what the Duke intended to do with him. Because, quite frankly, it was far more likely that the man was the type to play with his prey before slitting its throat.

Removing his bonds was a test—a test for the Duke to see Janus’s character. And yet, even though he knew himself best, Janus wasn’t sure what the correct answer was.

His mind had been racing, running through possibilities to the point it exhausted him, yet Janus stayed put. He ignored his siblings' questioning as they also begged him to remove their bonds. While Janus still wasn't sure about running, he knew that freeing others—even the small children—would only end badly for everyone involved.

After dinner of the same stale bread, Janus found himself being marched through the knight’s camp once more. The Duke was once again eating with his men, but upon noticing Janus, he rose and led Janus away from the rest.

“Show me,” he said simply once they were alone.

Janus’ eyes skimmed the area behind him as the knights, who were at a slight distance, faced the other direction. It seemed they had been ordered to leave them be.

“Well?”

Janus took a deep breath as he felt the mana pulse within his veins as he focused on his transformation. He focused on his appearance. He needed to be an inch taller, his eyes a hair smaller, and their color to match that piercing blue. He focused on each of his features as he felt his body grow and shift until he looked the Duke in the eye. The Duke didn’t appear surprised as he looked at his own face; instead, he gave a pleased hum as he scanned Janus up and down before he made a small circle around Janus. “It's quite good,” he concluded, standing before Janus once again as he touched his finger to his lips in thought.

Janus mirrored the action as he focused his mana on his vocal cords. “I’m good at what I do.”

There was a glimmer of amusement in that eye, “You can mimic my voice as well?”

“What do you think, Your Grace? Do my parlor tricks, please?”

“They do. But I wouldn’t call them parlor tricks. You can turn into beasts as well, can't you? Show me.”

Janus couldn't hide his slight frown, and glancing behind him again, he unbuttoned his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

Janus removed his shirt as he answered, “Beasts are far larger than we are. I would prefer not to rip my only clothes.”

“Fine, something smaller then.”

Janus was more than thankful for that. He dropped his shirt to the ground anyway, though, and began to morph his limbs and digits to fit what was needed. He forced himself not to make any sounds of pain as his face rearranged itself; he needed to impress. When he had finished, he took a step out of his now discarded pants and gave a stretch.

“A cat,” The Duke nodded as he examined Janus. “Do you intend to maul me with your puny claws?”

“I considered it,” Janus replied.

“You can still speak?”

“In certain conditions.”

The man paused as he circled Janus once more before reaching out a hand that was now as large as Janus’ face to ruffle the fur on Janus’ head, much to his dismay. Janus pulled back against the contact and gave a cat hiss, but the Duke didn’t seem to mind. “How long does it last?”

“Depends. The further away from my initial form, the harder it is to maintain and the more mana it takes. I also need to maintain a certain level of focus. That’s why I stick to parlor tricks.”

“It's impressive nonetheless. Such magic is nearly unheard of.”

“My mother was of Osteria’s House Altier before she was sent to be my Father’s.”

“Osteria’s lineage magic was indeed top class... Can your mother do the same?”

Janus couldn't help but think that an average person in this situation would feel fear at the thought of potentially putting their mother in harm’s way. Still, rather than that, Janus wondered if he was rendering himself obsolete. “She can, but her mana levels are lower than average,” he lied. Thankfully, the Duke seemed to believe him.

“You’ll be enough. When we reach the capital, I will need to speak with His Majesty to confirm some things, but I’ll make you a deal once we arrive—one that keeps you alive—and maybe someone else if you behave.”

Janus returned to his clothes and began morphing into his human form. When he had, he pulled himself to his feet and put his shirt back on, asking, “What do you want me to do?”

“For now, all you need to do is keep this conversation and your abilities between us. You’ll need all your mana conserved for when we arrive.”

With that, the Duke made it clear that there was nothing more to be said as he began to lead the way back they had come because he knew Janus would follow. They walked in silence for a while, but just before they came into earshot of the knights watching the prisoners, Janus spoke, “I know nothing of the curse’s workings. Only that the war with Osteria served to-”

“I believe you,” The Duke interrupted. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not useful to me. I’ll see you soon enough, Prince Ekans.”

~~~~

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#sanders sides fic #janus centric #janus sanders #logan sanders #minor violence #shapeshifting #enemies to friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #monsters #magic #royalty au #tags may change #virgil sanders

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