#but word choice is done through the general perception of them along a set of axes. this is how it goes for All my writing.

[harryspet]

caged bird | s.rogers, p.parker & b.barnes

[Warnings] dark!steve rogers x reader, dark!peter parker x reader, dark!bucky barnes x reader, polyamory, prison au, noncon/dubcon sex, this plot scenario is very unrealistic but oh well,  reader makes a deal so she can survive, hella manipulation, dominants/submissive, oral sex (male recieving), hella angst, shower sex, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK

A/N: this is like a really f’d up situation so enjoy :):):) i also wrote this over the span of two weeks so i’m sorry if the pacing is weird and (also x2) this is nowhere near canon

In which you have to make a deal with three devils in order to survive in The Cage.

word count: 4.8k

main masterlist

Your eyelids were heavy though the bright light outside the bus was forcing you awake. Your limbs shackled to the seat, it reminded you that you had lost your freedom so quickly and that you’d probably never have a good night of sleep ever again, “How long?” Your mouth was dry, the heat from the wasteland you were driving through crept through the window. 

“Twenty minutes, princess,” Officer Rumlow looked you over for the millionth time like you were fresh meat ready for the slaughter. His perceptions weren’t far off and that’s what scared you the most. You weren’t cut out for a place like the Cage. 

A week ago you thought this place was fictional, a nightmare tale that was used to scare the new employees. It was still a nightmare but you were now living in it. You thought your heart might explode out of your chest as the facility finally came into view. Five stories of complete concrete surrounded by two, hundred-foot fences and surrounded by a barren wasteland. 

You were the only one on the bus. The Cage rarely received new inmates due to the nature of crimes that the prison was built for. Vigilantes and government traitors. Many used to consider them heroes but they were unregulated and dangerous. That's how they ended up here and, your boss, Alexander Pierce had sold you out to save himself.

“When … W-When am I going to get my phone call?” You asked as the bus entered the gates of the prison, finally stopping at the processing center. 

Rumlow chuckled, walking over to unchain your shackles from the floor of the bus, “Who are you going to call, princess? Mommy and Daddy?” He grabbed you roughly by your upper arm, pulling you out of your seat and dragging you down the steps of the bus. 

You refused to accept that you had been erased. Your parents probably thought you were only missing, not that you had been wrongly accused of betraying the government and had been thrown into the most dangerous prison in the country. 

“They can’t do this,” You winced as your arm stung, “No trial. No jury. T-This is illegal!”

Rumlow ignored you, and you had to pick up your pace in order to not fall down. Your eyes wandered around, the sun nearly blinding you and stinging your skin at the same time. You noticed in the distance a group of male inmates standing behind a wired fence, wearing the same navy jumpsuit as you, and even from far away, you could see cold and hungry glances. 

You thought you were lucky for a minute since you were a woman but then you remembered what kind of women probably lived here. As you were brought inside, past several guards, through metal detectors and pat-downs. 

When you got to the body cavity search, you expected to part way with Rumlow. Standing in a small, cold room, Rumlow stood in the doorway with his hands casually in the pockets of his pants, “Undress, inmate,” Your eyes widened and you quickly crossed your arms, “Slowly, if you don’t mind.”

“I-I do mind,” You said quickly, “I’m supposed to have a female officer-”

“You don’t get those kinds of privileges in the Cage. We don’t separate inmates by gender,” You shook your head as your eyebrows began to furrow. 

“That’s insane-”

“Undress, inmate,” He said more sternly this time, “Or would you like me to do it for you? You’re lucky I don’t make you put on a show for the rest of the guards.”

You shook your head again, tears starting to form in your tired eyes, “Please don’t-” You tried to plead with him but, as you did, you watched him reach for his baton, “Okay, okay!”

Rumlow smiled a wicked smile, “Good. Bend over and cough, inmate. Let me see that cute, little ass of yours.”

+

When you finally got to see a female officer, she was escorting you to your cell. In your hands, you held the rest of your life which included one more set of clothes, bedding, and a toothbrush. You had to eat what the prison provided and you could only earn extra commissary from working. Hela tried to explain everything to you but you were only latching onto every other world. 

You walked along a slim passageway which had cells to the right and a metal railing to the left. There were three floors of cells and they seemed to go all the way around in a circle. Passed the railing and in the middle of the dome was where it seemed most of the inmates were gathered. 

The shouting, laughing, and fighting echoed through the dome and you couldn’t help but think those calls were for you. You could barely carry your bag of things and walk straight without stumbling. If they couldn’t send your weakness from your appearance then they’d surely sniff it out soon. 

“This can’t be allowed,” You whispered to Officer Hela, though her dark hair mixed with the look of death in her eyes didn’t scream “empathy” to you, “There has to be some sort of rule-”

She stopped in front of an empty, six by eight-foot cell which told you that this would be your new home, “You can sit in solitary if you like,” She spoke coldly, “Your meals get brought to you and you don’t have to deal with the animals in here but there’s no time outside. It’s easy to lose track of the days and forget which voices are real and which ones are inside your head. If you prefer to go insane before you die then I’d recommend that route.”

There wasn’t much of a choice to make and you found your feet moving before your brain could register. You stepped inside the cell, setting down your things on the bottom bunk, “A girl like you is going to need to latch onto a group, pledge your allegiance, and do not let them question your loyalty. They live by a different code here and following it is life or death, do you understand?”

You slowly nodded as you listened and part of you was grateful that she wasn’t completely cold, “T-Thank you-”

She scoffed, “Such a precious little thing … I give you a week,” With that, she turned on her heel and you felt hopeless once again, “I’ll escort you to dinner-”

You shook your head, “I’m not hungry.” You were actually starving but you could not yet face the beast. 

She only shrugged and pulled the door closed. The light above you flickered and you stared back down at your bunk. You were holding back your tears as you tried to make up your bed. Staring at the flimsy mattress material only made you more depressed so you decided just to lay down. Facing the wall, your tired eyes roamed over what was scribbled on the walls. 

S.H.I.E.L.D. is evil. 

S.H.I.E.L.D. is corrupt. 

You hated that the words initially sent a wave of anger through you. You hated that you still felt loyal to that group of monsters. You were a low level worker with good standing and they had just sent you to die?

With your face tucked into your arm, you cried yourself to sleep. 

+

The next day you had no choice but to face your fears. You couldn’t go any longer without food and, in a place like this, you needed to keep your energy up. Before the sun was even out, you heard the mechanical click of the cell door. Your favorite officer, Rumlow, made sure to stop by your cell during roll call. 

“So you decided on general population,” He popped the gum he was chewing, looking you over, “I’m sad to hear it, I was gonna visit you every day in solitary but I guess we’ll get some alone time soon enough.”

You scowled at him and a shiver went through you as he continued pass your cell. You were now grateful that you had chosen general population. 

That feeling didn’t last as inmates started moving from their cells down to breakfast. You stayed back, waiting to slip out of your cell when the crowd had passed. You lingered in the back of the line but no one seemed to notice you until you were in the kitchen line. The first reaction was a quiet murmur that went through the group of (mostly) men at the sight of you. 

You didn’t quite match anyone's stature, not even the women. At least they looked like they could take care of themselves. You were sure that your face probably had dark circles and sunken in features. You looked down when you felt someone's eyes on you and you cringed at every word whispered about you. 

“If I could just get my hands on her …”

“I wonder what a little girl like that could’ve done to get in here.”

“I’d be real gentle with her …” “I wouldn’t … I’d make her scream …”

“Move along,” Hela barked at the inmates in the line. You tried to tune them out as a staff member handed you your tray of food. A stale piece of toast, plastic-looking eggs, peaches, and what looked like could be oatmeal. 

It was when you turned away that you felt a pinch on your bottom. You turned around quickly only to find yourself staring at a chest rather than a face. As you looked up, a man with long, dark black hair stared down at you, “Aren’t you adorable?”

“I said move along, inmates,” You looked towards Hela for some sort of help but didn’t receive any. 

When you looked back again, the man had disappeared. You shook it off, figuring that was the least of what you were about to experience today. As you stepped out into the middle of the dome, you remembered the advice that Hela had managed to give you. 

There were cliques formed at each circular, metal table and you looked each one over as you walked past them. Again, people stared and said vile things but you spotted a table where two women were sitting. They were much older than you but the look you got from them was not maternal in the least. 

“Can I… sit here?” You knew the answer based on their thin-lipped scowls. 

You weren’t like any of them … you were fragile. Besides that, you used to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and the organization was responsible for locking half of these people away. You kept walking, eventually finding an empty table to sit at. 

All you could think about now was eating. You picked at your tray with your plastic fork, and with each bite of the food you cringed. The toast was also completely rock hard, “It helps if you dip it in water,” Your head snapped up as you felt a shadow over you before someone took a seat beside you. 

You weren’t expecting someone so young and you certainly weren’t expecting a friendly smile. You stared at the handsome man with your mouth agape. You hadn’t realized what he meant until you looked back down at the bread in your hands, “Oh … I doubt anything would make this edible-”

He ran his hand through his light brown hair, before reaching into the pocket of his jumpsuit. On the table in front of you, he placed a twinkie. The entire room seemed to go quiet for a moment and you realized that everyone was watching the two of you. 

“I can’t accept this …”

“Of course you can, it’s no big deal,” His brown eyes pierced into yours as he shrugged, “I’m Peter.”

The sugary, process food was calling your name but you still weren’t sure what his deal was, “T-Thank you,” Not wanting to come off rude, you accepted it, unknowingly beginning to seal your fate, “I’m … I’m-”

“Y/N Y/LN,” He finished for you which left your eyes wide with shock, “You’re already famous. The guards like to gossip and it’s rare we get new inmates so people get curious.”

“Oh,” You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. 

“Don’t worry, some people in here care about your charges, how you got here, but not me,” He tried to reassure you, a smile tugging at his lips, “S.H.I.E.L.D. screwed us all and I don’t think there’s a point in playing who’s the better bad guy.”

You looked around. Now that you knew that people knew your charges and your history, you were starting to feel unsettled. The only thing keeping you grounded was him reassuring you that he didn’t care, “How long-” Your voice came out in a whisper, “How long have you been here?”

Peter took a breath as he thought for a moment, “Few years. Now I kinda forget that I was a normal teenager when this all started.”

Years. And he was a teenager when they brought him here? Did they have no limits to their cruelty?

“God,” You breathed out, overwhelmed, “I don’t think I can … do this-”

Peter reached out, placing a calm hand on your arm, “Hey, hey, you have to survive here. Whether you were meant to be here or not, you have to live like this is your reality. Looking like you’re about to vomit is not a good look to everyone else. I saw Loki over there … he’s an asshole touching you like that  but it’s because he’s already sniffed you out.”

You nodded, trying to stay calm, “But I don’t know how to look … to look less weak.”

“For one, you’re going to have to start eating more and building some muscle,” You could tell by his grip on your arm that he was quite strong, “And the next time someone disrespects you, you have to stand up for yourself. You also can’t just bark like a little chihuahua. Maybe you could pick someone out, someone that you could win in a fight against.”

As Peter started to scan the room, you immediately started shaking your hand, “I can’t just attack someone,” You whisper-shouted, your eyes wide with worry. 

Peter chuckled, “Not with that attitude. Maybe you could go for Heather over there,” He eyed a woman who was practically elderly, “She has a cane so even you could probably overpower though I’ve seen here use the thing as a weapon a few times-”

“Peter,” You spoke sharply, “There has to be another way.”

Peter looked into your eyes and you lost hope for a moment until he seemed to perk up, “I have some friends, we kind of run together in this place, looking out for each other,” Peter explained and you listened intently, hoping for a means of survival that didn’t require attacking an old lady, “I could probably convince them to start looking out for you too. But it won’t be easy, we take loyalty very seriously here, and it wouldn’t be without a cost to you.”

“What sort of cost?”

Peter shrugged, “Could be lots of things. They serve plums on Friday and Bucky loves those so maybe you’d show your support to the group by giving him yours. Something like that,” You followed Peter’s finger as he pointed two men out, one with dark hair and the other with light. Both were built like bodybuilders, “Steve’s a respected leader here and maybe you could help run messages for him.” 

You nodded, “T-That sounds fair,” You paused for a moment as the men eyed you, “And for the twinkie? What do you want?”

“Now you’re starting to get it,” Peter grinned, “Eat it and that means you accept our claim. You’re one of us.”

“Can’t I have time to think about it?” 

Peter seemed to hesitate for the first time, “I’m sure you won’t get a better offer,” Your face fell, “But sure. I’d be quick about it though. Those big, doe eyes aren’t going to work on everybody.”

+

The dark-haired one was following you. Loki, Peter called him, hadn’t taken his eyes off you ever since you parted ways with Peter yesterday. He and his greek god, blonde friend were now walking behind you as you made your way through the halls. They were pushing mop buckets, evidently taking a break from their cleaning duty. 

You had gotten lost trying to find the hospital wing and now you were paying the consequences. 

“Little bird … caged and unprotected,” He taunted you and your heartbeat quickened as you tried to keep from looking back,  “Not even the guards want to save her. Poor thing.”

“It seems she’s in need of protecting, brother.”

“Protecting? If I got my hands on her, the last thing I’d think of is being gentle-”

You turned into the first room you passed, expecting to find somewhere to hide but you only seemed to encounter more people. It was the TV room, a staticy old television airing a baseball game was hanging in the corner of the room, and a bunch of men were sitting at different tables. 

They all turned their heads to you as you interrupted and you immediately recognized the two men from Peter’s loyal “group”. Bucky and Steve. Your heart was out of your chest at the point and you found yourself whispering a “sorry” before turning back towards the door. Loki and his brother, however, were waiting patiently. 

Loki leaned in the doorway, eyeing you like you were fresh meat. 

“Is this jackass bothering you, hon?” Your eyes wide with fear, you quickly realized that it wasn’t Loki taunting you. The dark-haired man’s, you remembered Peter calling him Bucky, voice boomed through the room.

You froze.

“Don’t you have toilets to scrub, Laufeyson?” The light hair man with a thick beard spoke, and by the look on his face you could tell he was a man of power. Not so much power-hungry but someone that demanded respect and often received it. 

Loki scoffed, looking over you again, “As far as I know, this one is free territory.”

“Well, this room is my territory and guess where she happens to be standing,” Loki’s jaw clenched at Steve’s words. 

“C’mere, hon,” Bucky spoke to you, signaling to cross the room. She hesitated but only for a moment as you realized your choices were Peter’s friends or letting Loki, have you. You crossed the room cautiously towards them, everyone now looking at you. You paused awkwardly in front of the table but a small yelp left your lip as Bucky grabbed you by the arm, spinning you into his lap. 

“See,” Steve said as you uncomfortably tried your best not to squirm, “Don’t touch things that aren’t yours, Laufeyson.”

You felt a hand clench your thigh and cringed.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

As soon as Loki stormed away, you stood up, brushing whatever wrinkles had formed in your jumpsuit. Amused, Bucky smiled at you, “You could at least thank us,” Bucky leaned forward and you tried not to scowl. 

“Thank you,” You whispered. 

“Good girl,” Bucky smirked. 

“Lang, get Y/N a chair,” Steve ordered another man in the room. He was quick to obey the command and, even though you were in a new place, you felt you’d been transported into an entirely new planet. 

“You don’t have to-”

“Sit,” Steve said as the chair was placed beside you, “You can leave when you give us an answer to the offer Peter mentioned yesterday.”

You had thought long and hard about Peter’s offer and decided last night that you wanted to reject it. It wasn’t until now that you realized your decision was a mistake. There was no telling when you’d be getting out of this place, Peter had been here for years, and it seemed you were already a target. 

You’d even heard a rumor that the guards placed bets on how long you’d survive in here. 

“Yes …” You nodded your head, “That’s my answer.”

Steve's lips pulled into a small grin as he eyed his friend across the table, “Good choice, doll.”

+

A week later and you were still alive and relatively untouched. Bucky was quite handsy but Peter reminded you that it was just protocol. Everyone had to know that you were a part of their group and that, if you were harmed, they’d have to deal with Steve and his minions. 

Like Peter said, there were quite a few sacrifices you had to make. Your new job in the kitchen allowed you to provide the group with all the food they wanted and when you weren’t working, you were running errands for Steve. You got an idea of all the inmate leaders and how they functioned as a society. 

Steve seemed to be at the very top and you realized the possible consequences of crossing someone like him. Still, you felt more pampered than like you were a part of some elaborate prison gang. Most of your wishes were theirs to grant. 

They let you watch whatever you wanted in the TV room. Bucky always called you pet names that you were starting to grow fond of. Steve had some pull with the guards so Rumlow was never around to bother you anymore. Peter even found you a set of paints to occupy your time in your cell. As long as you followed them around like their cute little puppy, they were quite nice to you. 

“C’mon, run a lap with me. You gotta build your strength,” Peter asked you, his face sweaty and shining under the baking sun. He was shirtless, the shirtsleeves of his uniform wrapped around his waist, and his magnificent physique was on display just like Steve and Bucky’s. During rec time in the courtyard, you’d become accustomed to standing by the fence and watching them lift weights. 

“I’m good, thanks,” You smiled awkwardly, “I get tired just from watching you guys.”

“Peter’s right,” Steve let out a breath as he dropped his hundred-pound dumbbell.

“I just …” Your voice trailed off as Steve eyed you with his strong gaze. You knew that what he said goes but you were growing nervous, “I don’t want to get sweaty.”

“You’re serious?” Bucky chimed in, a curious look on his face. 

“Is that like a girl thing I don’t know about?” Peter flashed you an amused look and your cheeks began to heat with embarrassment. 

“Y/N?” Steve could see that you were hiding something.

You crossed your arms, sighing, “I just don’t want to have to shower, okay?”

“You haven’t showered since you’ve been here?” Peter asked incredulously. 

“I have!” You quickly defended yourself, “I mean, I’ve just been using the sink in my cell.”

“I see what this is about,” Bucky had a knowing look on his face, “Dollface is scared of the communal showers.”

Peter’s mouth formed the shape of an “o” as he realized what was going on. You still felt so embarrassed. It was yet another thing that made you seem totally defenseless. 

“Is that true?” Steve asked and you were beginning to feel overwhelmed by their concerned gazes, “Why didn’t you tell us? Next time, one of us will keep watch for you. No one’s gonna bother you.”

Maybe it was the isolation or the fact that your life would never be the same again. Maybe it was the fact that you’d never see your family again or that you cried yourself to sleep every night. That might be the reason you felt that they genuinely cared for you and why you wanted to fully embrace the comfort that they were providing. 

Maybe that was why you wanted to belong to them. 

+

For the first time, you were reminded of your old life. You weren’t sure how long you’d lost yourself under the water, letting time get away from you, as the warm water cascaded along your skin. The showers had a sorry excuse for water pressure and, despite the creepiness of the beige tiles and flickering light above, when you closed your eyes you were in paradise. 

“All clean, beautiful?” Bucky’s voice brought you out of your trance. Suddenly you were back in the square room with showerheads lining each wall. You wiped the water from your eyes before turning off the water. 

“Y-Yes, I’m almost done!” You shouted back, grabbing your towel from off the hook. You pressed it to your face, drying your skin. You were quite grateful that they’d taken the extra steps to make you feel protected, “Bucky-”

As you turned around, that feeling of gratitude quickly turned to something resembling fear. He was supposed to wait for you outside the bathroom and yet, there he was, only three feet away from you. 

“What are you-”

He looked over you hungrily and you pressed your towel closer to your body, “You have no idea how long it's been since I’ve been with a beautiful woman like you … Steve too. And Peter, he’s just learning the ropes.”

You took a step back, towards the wall, and as you did you caught a glimpse behind Bucky’s towering figure. Both Steve and Peter were here, stalking closer. 

“You said you’d protect me…” Your voice cracked, your hands beginning to shake. 

“We will,” Steve spoke, determined, “No one else but us will touch you.”

“Nothing in here is without a cost, Y/N,” Peter seemed a bit solemn like his current life was not what he wanted it to be but he was just as hungry, if not more, as Bucky. 

Bucky grabbed you then, his eyes impatient, and you wrestled for your towel for only a moment before he easily snatched it away from you. A helpless squeal left your mouth as he grabbed you by the arm with one hand and placed his other hand between your legs. He grabbed your thigh tightly and as his hand moved further up, you found yourself paralyzed. 

“Good girl. You’re going to take all of us,” Bucky spoke quietly, shushing you, his grip growing tighter and tighter. Before you knew it, all three of them were surrounding you, their curious hands wandering over your wet skin. Grabbing your breast, your thighs, turning your face to bite at your neck. 

“Get on your knees,” Steve grunted against your ear, growing impatient like his friend. 

When you didn’t move, Peter was the one to push you down onto the cold floor. You hiccuped, trying not to hyperventilate as they overwhelmed you from each side. As they all started to pull down their clothes, you made one final attempt at trying to crawl away. 

Steve grabbed you by your throat, making your efforts futile, pushing your face towards his crotch. You felt it, hard and throbbing against your cheek, “Open up, don’t make this hard, doll,” Through the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky stroking his own length, waiting patiently for his turn. 

Steve grabbed you by your hair next, pressing your closed lips against his tip. He forced himself in your mouth, “There you go,” Steve grunted, pushing himself deeper, “Move that tongue around.”

Steve Rogers could make your life a living hell in the Cage. Was this really the price you had to pay in order to survive here? You couldn’t imagine it being any worse than this but Steve could make that possible. That’s why you started to swirl your tongue like he said, deciding that their orgasms would end your pain. 

Bucky was much rougher than Steve, pinching your nose closed and enjoying watching your eyes widen and water. He practically touched the back of your throat and still commanded you to stroke Peter and Steve’s cocks with your hands while you took him in your mouth. Somehow, you managed. 

Peter was much more gentle and you were grateful for that. His hands rested softly on the back of your head, guiding your mouth slowly up and down his length, “God, this is awesome,” He cursed, his head tilting back as he enjoyed the stimulation. When he finally finished, his warmth filled your mouth and before you could spit or catch your breath, Bucky grabbed you again. 

He came so far down your throat that you were forced to swallow it but, unlike him, Steve took his time, “This little mouth. Is ours. Every single hole. Is ours. No one else, do you understand?” With each sentence, he thrust hard until he filled your mouth. You leaned over, coughing as you felt the stinging of your sore throat. 

You were about to collapse onto the dirty cold floor when gentle arms lifted you up into a broad chest. You found yourself not fighting, only pressing your face into Bucky’s chest as you began to sob. 

Steve didn’t have to say anything more. You understand your new position and there wasn’t anyone else there to save you from that fate. 

That night you learned there was a change to your cell assignment. You’d sleep in Steve’s arms, a little bird that was safe and protected in it’s cage. 

+

hope you enjoyed!! i’m posting this instead of sleeping because I have class in this morning :) 

#dark fic #dark peter parker #dark bucky barnes #dark steve rogers #dark!peter #dark!bucky #dark!steve #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x reader #dark!stucky x reader #peter parker #steve rogers #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes #steve rogers au #prison au #polyamory #menage #peter parker smut #bucky barnes smut #stucky x reader #winter spider #tom holland #chris evans #sebastian stan #the devil all the time

[baixueagain]

The Gendo & Rei Question, Part III

For the Intro and Part I, go here.

For Part II, go here.

Part III: The Gaze of the Prodigal Son

              Both Rei I and Rei III are “alive” for only a short period, and it is Rei II—the clone active from roughly 2014 through most of 2015—that we as the audience get to know the best. This is also the clone that has the most developed and complex relationship with Gendo, and we learn most of what we know about how Gendo views Rei as a whole from his behaviour with Rei II.

              Rei II and Gendo’s relationship during 2014-15—especially how they feel about it for themselves—is nevertheless one of the more difficult relationships to understand, since they’re two of the most mysterious characters in Evangelion. We rarely get glimpses into Rei’s point of view, and Gendo only truly speaks about his own emotional and psychological state in the final moments of his life during EoE. Even then, he only speaks of his feelings about Yui and Shinji, not Rei. In fact, he virtually never speaks to others about Rei unless he is talking about her involvement with piloting or the HIP. We only get a few glimpses of their direct interactions, and while these are highly charged with multiple layers of innuendo, those same layers of innuendo make the situation all the more opaque.

              One of the best perspectives we have on Gendo and Rei’s relationship, I argue, comes from Shinji. Granted, he’s the main character and most of the story of Evangelion is told from his point of view, but his perception of Gendo and Rei is just as valuable for another reason: he’s an outsider. NERV is by its very nature a place of secrecy and high strangeness, and it stands to reason that most of the people working there have long since become desensitized to their Commander’s odd personality quirks and the strange, solemn girl serving as his first pilot. Even Misato, who has only just recently started working in Tokyo-3 proper, has been in NERV/Gehirn’s general orbit since her childhood and thus seems fairly used to Gendo Ikari’s personality and the odd way things are done under his supervision. But now we have Shinji in the picture, who’s had minimal contact with his father and who has spent most of his life in the “normal” world, sequestered from the truth of the family business. His perspective is that of the everyman, and he is thus primed to see the unusual parts of NERV that other characters take for granted. Moreover, unlike virtually everyone else at NERV (except for Ritsuko, whose perspective I will be addressing in the future), he is uniquely invested in both Gendo and Rei as people: Gendo being his estranged father, and Rei being his co-pilot and thus someone with whom he feels a sense of camaraderie (even if he barely knows her).

              Shinji arrives at NERV shortly after Rei has a serious accident—one that he does not yet know about. His first-ever interaction with Rei happens in tandem with his first interaction with Gendo in years, and this consists of Gendo dangling a wounded, crying girl over Shinji’s head to manipulate him into piloting Unit-01. It is a brutal, cruel tactic, and Shinji seems to recognize this for exactly what it is. He has already accused Gendo of just using him (something to which Gendo openly admits); from his perspective, it at first seems that his father cares just as little for the poor young woman on the gurney who can barely stand, much less pilot.

              This viewpoint is only challenged when, unknown to Gendo, Shinji spots the burn scars covering his father’s palms in Episode 5. His reaction to being told the truth—that Gendo freed the wounded Rei from her overheated entry plug bare-handed (a scene I will discuss in later essays)—clearly stuns him after seeing the cold, calculating way Gendo used her condition to manipulate him earlier. “Father did that?” he blurts out. The concept clearly seems unbelievable to him, defying everything he thinks he knows of Gendo being a heartless, cold, selfish man.

              Interestingly enough, as Ritsuko describes Gendo’s heroic deed to Shinji, the “camera” momentarily moves outside the limits of Shinji’s perspective and shows us what Gendo is doing at that very moment. He is bare-handed (a rarity for him during the A-plot) and for once he has an open, receptive expression on his face as he examines the Angel’s core in obvious wonder and fascination. His lips almost form an excited little smile and the harsh lines of his face are softened. His naked hands touch the core gently, practically caressing it with just his bare fingertips. Considering Evangelion’s repeated use of hand- and touch-related symbolism, it is likely meant to reflect something of his inner emotional world. This is the first time during the A-plot (that is, the plot following Shinji’s perspective and experiences) in which we see Gendo with his emotional guard down. And it comes at the exact moment Shinji learns of his father’s act of self-sacrificial vulnerability for Rei’s sake.

              The idea that his father might allow himself to be hurt for anyone is utterly alien to Shinji, and this in turn is what prompts him to become more curious about Rei. Notably, the next scene is one of immediate contrast: “The burns on his palms are from then,” says Ritsuko, recalling the searing heat of the plug. The shot instantly cuts to a young girl’s body plunging into water. It’s just a small touch, but yet another masterful moment in the way Evangelion uses visual language and careful word choices to create an unspoken discussion on themes. This, we are being told, is going to be an episode about contrasts and subversions. It will also be an episode about sex.

              The poolside scene is the first in which Rei is first explicitly treated as a sexual being—at least from others’ points of view. Shinji is teased twice about his interest in Rei, the first time by his friends Toji and Kensuke, both of whom clearly see Rei as a beautiful (if unapproachable and intimidating) girl. The two of them (being high school boys) describe her body in explicitly sexualized terms, much to Shinji’s embarrassment. At the same time, we’re treated to shots of Rei sitting quietly in her bathing suit, oblivious to their chatter. She is small and vulnerable, but her bare skin and curvy form has still been made into something with sexual energy and potential.

              Back at NERV HQ after school, Shinji watches Rei without her knowledge, still clearly curious about her. Notably, up until this point he has never seen any emotional expressions from her (unless you count her agony in Episode 1). She has kept her distance entirely, and he realizes that despite working together for at least a couple weeks now, he knows virtually nothing about her. There are no relationships in which he can observe her behaviour with others…except for Gendo.

              As he secretly watches within his cockpit, Shinji watches his father approach Rei. Rei suddenly begins acting her age in her body; instead of moving stiffly, she skips and hops eagerly down onto the walkway and begins chatting with Gendo, a cheerful smile on her face and her eyes bright and alert.

              What’s even more shocking to Shinji, however, is Gendo: unlike the scene with the angel core, here Shinji can actually witness his father’s change in demeanour for himself. The Gendo that Shinji knows is a stern, unfeeling man whose rare expressions are that of irritation or a cruel smugness. But as Gendo chats with Rei, his eyes are soft, and a happy smile is on his face. His cheeks even look a bit flushed. Just as important is the way they’re both speaking to each other: although we can’t hear them, we can see their body language and their interaction. They are standing face-to-face, gazing into each other’s eyes, each speaking in turn. They are practically interacting like equals.

              Is it little wonder that Shinji’s jaw is on the floor?

              As always, Anno’s masterful direction creates an unmistakable atmosphere laid across what might otherwise look like a pleasant scene. Shinji’s hidden vantage point, the oblivious radio chatter from the control room, the low single chord of background music, and the fact that we can’t hear a word that Gendo and Rei are saying: all these things contribute to the sensation that we, along with Shinji, have just witnessed something intensely private. Something that neither we nor Shinji were meant to see.

              The scene immediately following this is, once again, Shinji being teased for showing an interest in Rei—this time by two attractive older women. Again the pressure to see Rei as a sexual being is mounted, and the additional overtones of a discussion about sex between a teenager and adults is added. This rapid switch back and forth between Shinji learning about the relationship between Gendo and Rei and being repeatedly asked if he’s interested in Rei himself (all the above scenes take place over the course of about ten minutes) creates an uncomfortable dissonance that charges the episode with a confusing, unnerving sexual tension. At the same time, Rei and Gendo are explicitly brought up and compared to one another: both are terribly awkward, we are told, at life in general. 

              And that’s when the climactic scene of the episode drops on us like a N2, bringing all these interweaving themes to an awkward, disgusting, hilarious, and horrifying head. Shinji goes to Rei’s apartment to drop off her new NERV ID card. Nobody answers the door, which he finds unlocked, so he enters. The room is filthy and spartan; the girl who lives here clearly does not care much about her surroundings or her possessions.

              But Shinji is drawn to the room’s one treasure: a pair of broken glasses carefully set on top of Rei’s dresser. We as the audience are let in on a higher degree of discomfort by knowing something Shinji does not: those once belonged to Gendo, who dropped them when he recklessly pried open the plug door to rescue Rei. Gendo is thus made extremely present in the scene to the audience, even if Shinji cannot sense him.

              I should note here the significance of Gendo’s glasses as a part of his personality. I have noted before that they are an additional layer that he puts on himself as a means of separating himself from others. Though he used to wear clear lenses, after those break he switches to tinted ones, making his expressions even harder to read and representing the increasingly rapid withdrawal of his personal investment and motivations from the rest of NERV and SEELE. His glasses frequently reflect the light, making it difficult to see his eyes even when he’s wearing the clear lenses. The direction of his gaze is thus frequently hidden, and with it his thoughts, feelings, and motives.

              And yet the glasses reflect other things on occasion, too, informing the audience of what Gendo is looking at and what he’s concentrating on. Shots of his face thus have a doubling effect of simultaneously hiding and revealing his gaze: we can see glimpses of what he is gazing at, but only by looking directly at his face and into the glasses which reflect his vantage point. His perspective is simultaneously revealed and hidden.

              So as Shinji approaches the broken glasses on Rei’s dresser, his face is reflected in them—something we rarely (perhaps never?) see happen when Gendo is actually wearing them. His gaze on his son is thus simultaneously present and absent, accentuating the deep dichotomies of their relationship.

              That’s when Shinji does something that feels even more shocking (almost taboo) from the viewpoint of the audience, based on our prior knowledge: he puts them on. It is an incredibly childish gesture, reminding us once again that he’s nothing more than a curious fourteen-year-old boy, but at the same moment he—in the audience’s eyes—becomes his father (emphasized by their similar physical appearance).

              And what is the first thing he sees through his father’s eyes after he turns around and looks behind himself?

              It’s Rei, fully naked, staring back at him.

              Yet at the same time, his view of Rei is blurred and cracked, reminding us definitively that these are not his glasses.

              This, the shot suggests, is not his sight to see. This sight of Rei’s nakedness “belongs” to someone else. Already we are being told exactly what Gendo has seen, how much of it, and that he owns this sight—or at least thinks he does.

              The events that follow are on their surface hilarious due to the awkward nature of the situation, but the staging and shots used (for lack of a better word) are a recollection of the scene down in the cage: Shinji has entered in on something that he should not be witnessing, something that is not for him. Rei strides forward to seize the glasses from him, Shinji slips and topples onto her, his tote catches on her dresser drawer and sends bras and panties flying everywhere. He lands on top of her, covered  in her private items, in a slapstick missionary position with a hand on her breast—and in showing us this, the introductory focus in the pan is of her own hand clutching the glasses. Gendo’s presence is again invoked, even in this deeply awkward, intimate, and violating moment. He is the third, invisible character in this deeply sexually charged scene.

              At the same time, this is the moment where we as an audience begin to see what makes Rei tick. She seems to have no reaction to Shinji seeing her nakedness (leading us, of course, to wonder why), but it is the first moment in which she has a direct emotional reaction to Shinji: anger. But instead of hiding herself, she walks towards him and seizes the glasses away. Shinji walking in on her bathing was not a violation in her eyes, but his wearing his father’s glasses is. Once again, we are given the uncanny message that Rei’s body is treated as a commodity—including by Rei herself. This time, however, we are given an alternative source of her identity. She does not derive her sense of self from her embodiedness, but from something more intangible, represented by the one item in her life treated with reverence: the glasses. She is given her sense of identity through Gendo’s gaze, and it is Shinji’s appropriation of this gaze that she finds violating. Even as Shinji lands on top of her, a hand on her chest, her anger is gone because the issue is resolved: she has the glasses back in her possession and Shinji is no longer invading that space (even as he inadvertently invades other spaces).

              Shinji’s next violation provokes an even stronger response. Despite the horrifically awkward event, it has at least broken the ice, and as they travel together to NERV HQ he begins trying to make conversation about their commonality: Eva piloting. This then invokes the silent third party in this entire exchange: Gendo. Rei asks if Shinji has faith in his father’s work, and when he furiously denies it, she turns, looks him square in the eyes, and slaps him hard across the face.

              And this, of course, seems odd (even humorous) until one realizes why she perceives this as such an insult: she is his father’s work. An insult to her person is of no consequence in her eyes, but an insult to Gendo is an insult to something far more intrinsic to her identity and her emotional world. Between these two scenes, we have seen just how wrapped up Rei’s sense of identity is in Gendo, and in further essays I will argue that the reverse is true as well. Gendo cannot conceive of Rei as existing outside of himself, her identity is so deeply wrapped up in his own. If he ever did conceive of her as a separate being, he will have lost this ability by time Instrumentality arrives.

              Yet at the same time, between all these questions of identity and sexual violation, we see toward the end of the episode that there is a layer that is far more simple and human: Rei takes Gendo’s glasses with her into the entry plug when it’s time for her resynchronization, and she hangs them where she can look at them when she feels afraid.

              Because she is, in the end, also a fourteen-year-old who wants someone to make her feel safe.

To be continued in Part IV: Green-Eyed Monsters

Like my meta? Buy me a coffee!

#gendo ikari #rei ayanami #shinji ikari #neon genesis evangelion #nge #meta #bai xue writes

[iamverysmall-andihavenomoney]

“It’s going to be okay.”

I just did a couple of my comfort characters for this one. Send in requests if you want to see specific characters, I’d love to write for y’all’s comfort characters too 🤍

Haikyū!! Masterlist

Pairing(s): Suna Rintarō x Gender Neutral! Reader, Miya Atsumu x Gender Neutral! Reader, Tsukishima Kei x Gender Neutral! Reader, Bokuto Kōtarō x Gender Neutral! Reader, Oikawa Tōru x Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: Fluff/Comfort, Reader is stressed out because of jobs/midterms/college in general, reader cries

Suna Rintarō:

It had been a rough week.

It felt like everything was going wrong. Day in and day out.

It felt like the universe was hell bent on making you break, this past week.

You worked as a barista, while you got yourself through college. 

Not an easy job, despite what some people liked to believe.

And with each day came a new promise.

Monday? A trip to the ER with second and third degree burns on your arms, when an angry customer had taken out their anger on you.

Tuesday? Your boss had yelled at you - humiliated you in front of the rest of your coworkers.

Wednesday? You ended up not realizing that yo were decorated in chocolate syrup, when you slumped on your bed, having to wash the sheets and most of you laundry, after.

Thursday? You’d tripped while at work and gotten to go home early, with your face burning in embarrassment at the snickers of other college students.

Friday? A pop quiz that you were 50% sure you failed.

Now it was Saturday, your studying? Done. Your assignments? Completed.

But you still felt the stress of the past week weighing on you.

So when you started tearing up, Suna couldn’t say he was surprised. He wished he could have made this past week easier for you.

Midterms were coming up, as well, just adding to the stress you were already feeling.

So, your boyfriend just does what comes natural to him, when it comes to you.

Rintarō doesn’t waste a moment when he returns from practice, spotting you slumped over on the couch, glaring at the floor while you tried not to let any tears fall from your eyes. With your choice comfort movie playing on the screen, he knew he had to do something.

   Even if you had been pushing him away out of frustration, for the duration of this entire week.

   Rintarō walks over to you and gently scoops you up in his arms, before sitting on the couch with you in his lap. Well-manicured nails begin to softly and affectionately run over your scalp, bringing a comfort to you that you could no longer deny you needed. Desperately.

   He tugs you gently so you’re comfortable in his lap before he brings a calloused hand to your cheek, his thumb rubbing your cheekbone softly. He can’t help his sweet, soft smile as he sees the first tears trickle down your cheeks. He normally hated to see you cry, but he knew that you needed to get this out.

   Sometimes, people just needed to scream and cry to get pent up emotion out. So when you started sobbing, completely collapsing against your boyfriend’s chest, he pulls you as close to him as you can possibly get, rocking you as he cradles your body against his own. 

   “There’s my baby, let it out...” His tone is soft as his hand holds your head against his chest. “Let it all out. It’s going to be okay. I’m here and I’ve got you.” 

   He doesn’t quite know how long it is until your sobs quiet down, the crying wearing you out, but it doesn’t matter to him. He snatches the remote up to restart the movie that you’d failed to get through, earlier, before tossing that same remote across the couch so he could readjust your bodies.

   Leaning his shoulders and head against the pillow and armrest, he reclines himself, allowing you to get comfortable on top of him. As you rest on him, he brings a hand to your cheek once again, wiping away any remnants of the tears that had previously decorated your cheeks.

   “It’s going to be okay, baby. I promise.” 

Miya Atsumu: 

Being stressed around your boyfriend?

Unheard of.

Atsumu is a perceptive little shit who picks up on the smallest changes in your mood.

And he will do everything in his power to reassure you, or cheer you up, whatever you need.

So, it’s not built up stress that gets you.

No, it’s the phone call you get in the middle of the night, while you’re resting in Atsumu’s arms.

You and Atsumu put your phones on do not disturb/bedtime mode every night.

Very few people are set up so that your phone will ring, when they call.

So, you end up waking up pretty quickly at the sound of a familiar ringtone, Atsumu sleepily sitting up beside you as you sit up to take the call.

Your best friend.

Who had just been admitted to the hospital after a car crash.

They were most likely going to make it, but they were still undergoing surgery and you knew that anything could happen.

You were her emergency contact so they called you from the ambulance.

Not too long after, you found out that the other person was undergoing surgery and probably wouldn’t make it.

The realization that that could have been your best friend made you feel like you couldn’t breath.

Atsumu had been watching your frantic pacing for the past ten minutes, watching you work yourself up more and more. You were shaking, though you hadn’t turned to him yet, like you always did, when you needed comfort. And he was too scared to make it worse.

   Until he heard how your breath caught in your throat, once again, nearly sounding like you were about to start hyperventilating. Standing, the tall volleyball player comes to stop in front of you, gently grasping your wrists in his hands to make you look at him. He doesn’t say anything as you let out a shaky breath and crumble against him, just falling into his open arms.

   Cradling you against him with his large palm at the back of your head, he lets you get out the emotions that were pent up, soft sobs being let out against his shoulder. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he whispers soft words of encouragement. “They’re going to be okay, sweetheart. It’s going to be okay, I promise. And have I ever broken my promises to you?”

   With a shake of your head, your sobs quiet and all that’s left escaping you are quiet sniffles. If anyone was able to calm you, it’d be your Tsumu. There wasn’t a bad day you could remember that he hadn’t made things better. Your boyfriend always knew what to say... When it came to you, at least.

   It wasn’t ten minutes later when a doctor came out to let you know that the surgery had been a success and that your friend was okay.

   They’d be asleep for a few hours, allowing you to go home and change from your pajamas, if you would like. You didn’t catch that bit with the immediate relief that flooded through you.

   You both did end up going home to shower and change, wanting to get you both and your friend some food on your way back. As soon as you were in the comfort of your own home, Atsumu took your face in his hands, cradling your cheeks and gently stroking your cheeks with his thumbs.

   “As long as I’m around, I am going to make sure that everything works out in the end. I don’t like seeing you cry and I don’t like seeing you stressed out. You’re my significant other and I’m going to take care of you.” He reassures you earnestly. “It’s all going to be okay, I promise.”

   And as his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his chest, you know that it is, in fact, all going to be okay. You had Atsumu and he had you.

Tsukishima Kei:

Mid-terms aren’t shit.

Not only are the tests long, and hard, and stressful,

But both you and Kei had them.

And both you and Kei had attitudes - especially when it came to either of you getting stressed out.

So, you both decided to stay and study on your own for the most part, until exams were over.

It was only a week, after all, how much harm could a single week do to the two of your mental states?

A lot, apparently.

It was Kei who caved first, surprisingly, needing to see you.

It was actually pretty unsurprising, boy is whipped for you.

Grabbing his keys, he tugs on the hoodie you’d gotten him for his birthday, along with grabbing you matching one that you’d left at his place.

Then he leaves, his usual preference to wear pants rather than sweatpants, when he left his home, being overpowered by his craving to see you.

And he knew you needed to see him too.

But if anyone was more stubborn than he was about things, it was you and he knew you weren’t going to cave anytime soon.

What he didn’t expect when he entered your home was to find you crying into your hands, in a pile of your own notes, with your computer in front of you.

He furrowed his brows - you had overwhelmed yourself...

Because he hadn’t been here to prevent you from it.

Kei sighs as he listens to the clanking of keys together, his attempts to unlock the door to your apartment failing multiple times, before finally ending in success. At least he knew no one would ever break into your apartment. They wouldn’t be able to get in.

Look at him, he’d been over here a dozen times and it still took him about three minutes to manage your locks open. You must know how much he loved you with the fact he still put up with it. He enters the home, near silently, placing the strawberry shortcakes and milkshakes down on the counter, his keys being hung beside yours. Walking past your kitchen, he freezes in the doorway, hearing your quieted sobs before he sees you.

He had never, not even in his years of playing volleyball, moved as quickly as he did in that moment. He moved to kneel in front of where you were seated on the couch, taking your laptop and shutting it.

Kei knew you hadn’t opened your eyes, or moved your hands from shielding your face to see him, but you knew it was him with the way you slid off of the spot on the couch to kneel on the floor, your face finding familiar purchase in his neck.

“I’m not around for a few days and you manage to overwork yourself like this. God damn it, Y/N, don’t do this again.” His words, no matter if they should have sounded angry, just came out worried.

You knew that the only person he was mad at was himself for even suggesting the idea of you both spending time studying individually.

“I’m right here, okay? I’m not going to be going anywhere,” placing a large hand on the back of your head, he gently kisses the crown of your head. “It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

“It’s all going to be okay,” his soothing voice calms you quite a bit, making your body slump against his in relaxation. “There’s my shortcake. Just relax, alright. We’ll study more later. In the meantime, we’re going to watch a movie and eat the sweets I brought. I don’t want you to think about those god damn exams.” Your nod in confirmation is all he needs to get you both comfortable on the couch so he can take care of his partner... Like he should have been going this entire time.

Bokuto Kōtarō:

Kōtarō, despite people thinking he’s not the smartest, is a very intelligent person.

Especially when it comes to emotional intelligence.

Which is why he figured out about your family issues, within a month.

Poor boy wished he could do something, though other than the constant sleepovers in high school, there wasn’t much else he could do. It broke his heart.

But that changed, when you both graduated high school together.

He didn’t allow you to stay any longer in that house. You’d dealt with the constant yelling and the lack of care for your feelings, long enough.

Though, that didn’t mean you’d escaped it when you went to reunions or to visit them on holidays.

They always managed to drag you into going.

And they always managed to drag you into their bullshit.

Kōtarō hadn’t been able to go to this year’s reunion - a practice game held him up.

His presence usually encouraged your family member to back the fuck off and not drag you into things.

But, this time...

He was just glad he’d gotten there when he did.

Pulling up in the driveway of the designated home of this particular family reunion, he could hear the yelling, as soon as he stepped out of his car. The volleyball player tensed up as he quickly walked towards the home, throwing the door open without care.

    Kōtarō wished you wouldn’t put yourself through this. You didn’t deserve it. He enters the living room, most of the arguing falling silent at his presence, already knowing that he wouldn’t hesitate to get on them for their bullshit. Walking over to you, where you sat, slumped at the dinner table, your head in your hands, he frowns.

   He wasn’t surprised when he found tears in your eyes as he gently picked your head up to look at him. A frown befalls him, once again and he guides you to stand, pulling you into his embrace, his hand holding your head against him, practically cradling you.

   He holds you for a few long moments to let you calm down, before he turns towards your family, letting you go so he can take your hand. “We’re leaving. They’re tired.”

   No one argues. They’d seen how angry Kōtarō got when it came to you and they didn’t want to face the wrath of the angry volleyball player.

   Without another word from you both, or spoken to you both, Kōtarō escorts you out of the house. As soon as you’re out, you can hear the yelling ensue, once again. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” he whispers as he pulls you into him, once again. “It’s going to be okay.” He whispers to you, pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

   “I promise. We’ll go home and take a long bath... We can make some cookies and relax. We can even watch some Disney movies and make a pillow fort. How’s that sound, my sweet owl?” Kōtarō cooes as he begins to walk you to the car, smiling at you as he noticed how relaxed you seemed to be out, away from them and with your fiancé.

   No matter if he could help your family’s constant fighting, he’d always be here to whisper soft reassurances to you and make sure that everything was okay.

Oikawa Tōru:

Dating Tōru isn’t easy.

Living over 18,000 kilometers from one another was no easy feat.

Somedays are easier than others.

And this wasn’t one of those ‘easier’ days.

No, not at all.

Instead, today is one of those days that you tug on Tōru’s old volleyball jacket and bury your nose in the collar, hopping it’ll smell somewhat like him.

One of those days that you watch his dazzling face appear on the screen of your television and pretend he’s here with you.

It’s one of those days that you shoot him an ‘I miss you’ text and he’s unable to reply.

You both make it work because you love one another and want to watch the other succeed and do what they love.

But sometimes, it would be so much easier if you both lived on the same continent.

What you didn’t realize was that he hadn’t been to reply to you, because he was caught up getting his stuff off of the plane and into a car.

He was exhausted, but excited to see you.

He wasn’t expecting to come home and find you asleep on your couch, wrapped up in his jacket with dried tears on your cheeks.

Tōru dropped his bags at the door - he could worry about them later, right now he needed to get to you. With his signature grin, he walks through the kitchen, “Cutie,” he cooes through the apartment, before halting as he enters your living room, head tilting like a confused puppy’s would as he spotted you.

   His brows furrow and a frown crosses his lips, walking over to you and dropping to his knees in front of your sleeping form on the couch. He brings his hand up to gently stroke your cold cheek. “Y/N...” He cooes as he caresses your face, waiting for you to stir. Once you begin to open your eyes, a smile returns to his face, seeing your excitement overpower the sleepiness in your features.

   “You’re here...” You whisper, pushing yourself forward to hug your fiancé, no matter how unconventional this position was for you both. “I missed you,” you mumble into the soft cloth of his shirt, inhaling deeply. Peppermint. He always smelled like peppermint and it was a scent you had immensely missed.

   “I missed you too, cutie... But it’s okay. I’m here, now.” Tōru reassures, shifting so that he can scoop you up into his arms while you curl up into him.

   Not hesitating to want to fall asleep with you in his arms, once again, he brings you to the bedroom, dropping you onto the bed and pulling out comfier clothes for the both of you. Unpacking could wait later. Explanations of the vacation he was taking could wait. You being comfortable and in his arms was all he wanted.

   He undresses you, putting one of his shirts on you, before he undresses, as well, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, before he pulls back the covers and slides under them with you.

   Long, toned arms come to wrap themselves securely around you, pulling you into a tanned chest. “I missed you so much... But I’m here now, alright?” He whispers to you, kissing your head with a tenderness that only you got to see from the Argentinian volleyball player.

    “Go to sleep, we’ll talk when you wake up.”

    It was safe to say you fell asleep peacefully in his arms, finding peace in the fact that you’d soon be happily waking up in his arms.

General Taglist:

@thathoneybee3 @bratkugo

#🤍.suna #saffron's works #suna rintarō x reader #suna rintarō comfort #suna comfort #atsumu miya x reader #atsumu miya comfort #atsumu comfort #tsukishima comfort #tsukishima kei comfort #tsukishima kei x reader #bokuto kōtarō x reader #bokuto kōtarō comfort #bokuto comfort #oikawa tōru comfort #oikawa tōru x reader #oikawa comfort #haikyū!! comfort #haikyū!! x reader #haikyū!! fluff

[ruby-whistler]

hi, here's a short (long) analysis of this song which you should at least give a watch in my opinion! you might not like it, but you also might, so i say give it a shot.

anyways, here's my personal interpretation of the lyrics i (co)wrote. ani might have a completely different one, but you know.

beforehand, i need to point out that the first half of this was written before c!wilbur's revival and the second one was written after.

so, starting with the title

my motivation for it was c!wilbur's general role in shaping the narrative of the server, as well as cc!wilbur often joking around about scripts and other plot elements.

another thing was a clip of him talking with philza about how he thought the server's storyline was becoming very scattered, and i got the idea that maybe when c!wilbur comes back, he might try to rewrite the plot to his benefit as he has done time and time again.

hence, the idea for the song was born in my mind as i was falling asleep one night, because that is the only time i get good ideas.

the first half

"history, history, s'told by the winners, made by the sinners"

this was a reference to wilbur quoting the famous line "history is told by the victors". the reason i chose to use this set of words is because although the winners (wilbur) are the ones telling the story, the people who actually make the impact are often flawed, and genuinely invested in the cause (rest of l'manberg).

while c!wilbur knew the cause of l'manberg was false, he let the "sinners", or people he considered lower than him, since he was the one "telling" the story, win the war for him and make history as he altered the finished "story" in his own favor.

"so lie that you'll free them, s'long as you lead 'em"

this one is pretty self-explanatory. wilbur promised the revolution freedom in return for total loyalty to him, his power, and his country.

i'd also like to point out the use of "you" in this song - this was written, once again, before the revival; it was however expected that dream was going to bring wilbur back at some point. and i'm pretty sure ani doesn't know this, but writing this, i intentionally made the "you" wilbur is singing to be dream.

in essence, wil's telling his newfound ally about how powerful he is due to his abilities to "rewrite the script" - picture this being your usual villain monologue song after a dramatic return, since wil's always had a knack for the theatrics. keep this in mind for the rest of the explanation of these lyrics.

"the ink doesn't dry 'till time blows by spin a silver web and they're comply"

i absolutely loved this lyric, i couldn't stop gushing about it. ani came up with this one completely, so i don't know whether or not it has any deeper meaning, but i wanted to point it out because it sounds hella cool. the second part is about c!wilbur spinning lies until people would listen to him and do what he wants.

"smiles in the mirrors, reality's a game"

this line was meant to give an idea of just how screwed wilbur's perception of the world and people around him is, in that he treats everyone's lives as a narrative, as a symphony, as something that belongs to him and is free for him to play with.

smiles in the mirrors can be taken in a lot of ways, but one interpretation i like is that wilbur and dream as characters are parallels in their actions, but no one realizes it because the narrative paints them in different lights and the tragic hero and puppeteer respectively, when it's moreso the other way around.

"with help from the spinners we can shift all the blame"

spinners are the people wilbur uses to "spin" the tales for him. and, well, he's always been very good at shifting the blame and making himself out to be a victim.

seeing as he's talking to dream, in this line he is also reassuring him that he has people on the outside that can help them "rewrite" the current narrative and shift the blame away from dream and wilbur, in order to change the public's perception of them, which is at the time overwhelmingly negative.

"and if the world hunts you down out your mind and around we'll set their precious world adrift, adrift"

this is the most obvious pointer that wilbur is singing to dream. he is directly telling him that since the people of the smp have "hunted" him (or would, if he were to escape), and have hurt him mentally and physically in the prison, wilbur would work with him to destroy their lives and their world as they know it for their mutual gain.

it also brings forth his views of possession and power; in essence, he sees himself as in charge of the lives of everyone in his story, hence finding their realities fragile and fully his own to mess with. he finds it amusing that he has full control over something so "precious" to them, and mocks this sentiment in the last line.

"and if you don't like what's shown and you feel like no one's grown just, rewrite the script!"

this was the first lyrics for the song, which ani wrote, after i proposed the idea. this begins a trend in the song where wilbur will alternate between talking to dream and the viewers themselves.

here he is directly addressing those who don't like the way the smp has been since wilbur has stopped writing, and who call out the lack of character development in certain people's stories. he is reassuring them that now that he's back, he will rewrite it to be more entertaining - for him, that is.

the second half

alright, now we're going over what i myself wrote the day wilbur was revived after getting a surge of inspiration.

"screams, broken voices poor writing choices"

this starts off with revived wilbur's opinions on the new storyline he has come into. the first line refers to the torture dream is going through in prison, and the second is him simply commenting on how he finds the plotline inadequate after his return.

"dreams of redemption caught my attention"

the interesting thing about this is that wilbur, as has been shown before with eret, doesn't believe in people's redemption.

this line insinuates that even if there was any chance of the circumstances changing and dream getting better, now that wilbur was back, he wan't planning to let that happen, as he finds it one of the aforementioned "poor writing choices".

it caught his attention as something he finds interesting - since he's always had a twisted fascination with people's hopes and goals, finding ways to use them to his advantage - but in the end, naive, since his outlook on the world has always been quite cynical.

"train wheels screech on the rails in the end, my world prevails"

this was an attempt to shove a reference to the stream i had just watched into the song. the train stopped in limbo, and it came to get him back out to the world of the living.

the second line is him boasting that he knew all along that his efforts to gain people's loyalty would would pay off in the end, and hence his "word" prevailed even over death.

"i've got tales in store, of loss and of war it's a shattered world for me to restore"

see, this entire sequence is quite the oxymoron, and it's meant to be confusing, showcasing once again just how twisted wilbur's outlook on the world is.

he finds the story "shattered", which is a reference to cc!wilbur saying he prefers more centred stories than what the dsmp is right now. he is promising to fix this, finding it another game for him to play, another puzzle for him to solve, however, his definition of "restore" is proven by the previous line to be a contradiction at its core.

he has plans from his time in limbo, and just like all of his stories so far, they're tragic and traumatizing to the people playing in them. he plans to perpetuate war and conflict in order to make the story more lively and dynamic, while using loss as a tragic element to push the "characters" in their lives further towards development.

in the end, the way he's planning to "restore" the world is by rewriting the narrative in such a way that it wouldn't stagnate, or work itself out naturally, but continue endlessly for him to write and control.

"villains and heroes, traitors and moles when push comes to shove they'll burn the world for their goals"

the second part of the first line was meant to be "interchangeable roles" instead, but we switched it out so it would be easier to sing.

it's talking about how after all, it doesn't really matter to wilbur who the villain or hero is, as long as they are part of the narrative that he has power over.

"and if i harness the flame their hope will blaze all the same no time for interests to conflict"

this is confirmation of the previous point that he can use people's feelings against them and in order to perpetuate his own "interests". as long as he can make people think he's helping them, even if their goals are different, there won't be room for them to truly conflict.

the people on the dream smp all burn with hope and passion and human emotions he can exploit and use in favour of himself and his story, and even then they won't get any weaker. he sees them as an endless fuel source he can take from, essentially.

"so when you're blue and betrayed by all the choices you've made just, rewrite the script."

the last lines of the song, and here he is speaking specifically to the characters in the story. all of them have made mistakes and been "betrayed" by their choices to trust others, which left them or others grieving or hurt.

wilbur is in essence mocking this, by pointing out, once again, how simple it is for him to "just rewrite the script", and take all of their "blue" away - while also making it clear that he only plans to use this power to take further control by driving those he sees fit further down their path of revenge and villainy.

epilogue

thank you all for reading, whoever did! this song was truly a passion project for me to work on, and i loved coming up with deeper meanings to the lyrics, by using my own personal interpretation of the character. i get that this is not everyone's interpretation, but i like it. i also really can't wait for what wilbur's up to now that he's back. either way, have a nice day!

#dream smp #rewrite the script #fansong #fansong analysis #c!wilbur #long post

[meyerlansky]

since I watched u play thru marble nest and you had all those withheld Thoughts and Opinions can I ask ur thoughts on one aspect of the story: the way everyone in town seems to disagree on what kind of person dankovsky is, what he wants to do, etc.? it feels to me like it's meaningful on a story and meta level that he's so built up by others to be whatever they want to see?

admittedly most of those went unsaid because i’m inarticulate as shit when i can’t write my thoughts out and i lost my train of thought talking to npcs, and also all of them basically just end in "godDAMN i love him"

BUT YES oh man i definitely agree, daniil is on the receiving end of a TON of projection and assumptions, and i think the thing is, he sort of... cultivates it? like artemy gets people's assumptions projected on him too, but he's MUCH more vocal about correcting it when someone's expectations of him don't match up with how he sees himself. daniil, on the other hand, tends to wear people's perceptions of him like a second skin, and doesn't push back nearly as hard or as often when those perceptions don't sync up. i will be nice to my dash and put my rambly bullshit under a cut, but tl;dr i think daniil finds value in finding out how people see him and utilizing that perception to get what he really wants, and he's willing to play the villain in particular because a. negative perception is as useful as positive perception if you're clever enough to use it to your advantage, and b. based on some stuff in artemy's route but especially based on the particular circumstances of marble nest, he thinks that, to some degree, he deserves to be thought badly of.

so i realized halfway through writing this you probably meant marble nest's story specifically, but i think it's relevant to his characterization in artemy's route too, because... marble nest daniil is not that different from artemy route daniil, as far as i'm concerned—he's just more desperate and more beaten down. as for the actual question, overall i get the vibe that daniil's used to leveraging how he's perceived to get what he needs out of a situation, and he's waaay more comfortable playing the villain than, say, artemy is, if that's what people are putting on him from jump. it's less work, right? correcting people's assumptions is a waste of valuable time and energy, and people are hard to convince once they've set their mind to something. why bother when you can just play along and, if you're clever enough about it, get what you need out of the interaction anyway? he gets built up into so many different versions of himself by different characters because he's willing to be different things to different people without it eroding his goals or his sense of self. he has a flair for the dramatic, obviously, but i don't know how much of it is innate and how much of it is cultivated in service of that kind of perception leveraging. like, prime example, the day 1 conversation with artemy reads as EXTREMELY performative—from his word choice to his demeanor to the exclamation points in the dialogue to the fucking LIGHTING, he comes off like he's playing a role, and not a new one. and when the conversation's over, he's learned some things about what kind of person artemy is, what kinds of things get a rise out of him, all without really revealing too much of his own hand. but the front sloughs off the closer he gets to artemy, and it sloughs off QUICK, to the point that A DAY AND A HALF LATER he's gone from saying "you owe me" in the most facetious way possible to "i need your help" and "if this goes badly, i'll take the consequences" completely unselfconsciously, and subsequent conversations with artemy are complete turnarounds from how he approaches artemy and their relationship on day 1. on the whole, i think he cares way less about his reputation than he does about Getting Shit Done, and he's surprisingly willing to be the scapegoat for other people's fears and other negative emotions, as long as the end result doesn't hamper his goals. which makes some sense considering his corpus of research involves spitting directly in the face of natural law and the people who consider themselves responsible for enforcing it. you don't do that kind of shit if you care about being well-liked. so i think 99% of the time, daniil gets read multiple ways—often incorrectly—because he finds more value in utilizing those perceptions than he finds in correcting them and Being Known. as far as characters we see in the game go, artemy's the exception, which might change once daniil's route is out, but every comment everyone else makes to artemy about daniil leans on their assumptions about him, which means he's not going around showing anyone else what he really thinks.

i also think daniil has sort of... internalized that he's Unlikable, on a personal level. he doesn't walk into a single situation in p2 expecting to be liked, or willingly helped, or for his presence to be wanted beyond the utility he can provide. he relies almost entirely on his ability to deliver solutions [with, uh, declining success as the game goes on], the respect his reputation and his status as the kains' guest confers, and on the rumor that he's willing to get violent if things don't go his way. i think he's utterly convinced his ultimate goals will benefit humanity as a whole and therefore are fundamentally good, but i don't think he thinks HE'S good. there's a couple of moments in marble nest where he can pretty explicitly shoot down people saying nice things about him, and the "i guess i had to prove them right" and "do you condemn me?" lines in the shelter convo do not read to me like the words of a man who thinks he's 100% in the right in the way he's gone about achieving his goals. so like as much as i think he does have a very solid sense of Who He Is, i don't think it's a very generous self-image, and i don't think it's entirely accurate either, because i do think he's fundamentally a good person, despite people [in the game and out of it] not really bothering to push past whatever front he's put on. artemy pushes through it, and the kids in marble nest push through it, and i think it's somewhat telling that the kids in marble nest are... the only real people IN marble nest. georgiy undermining his authority as soon as he's indisposed is part of the fever dream; the soldiers and orderlies believing he's the one giving the okay to kill kids and civilians are part of the fever dream; the clerk assuming daniil will agree with his racist bullshit is part of the fever dream. all these negative images of himself are in his head—based on previous conversations with the real people, but at the time of marble nest, in his head. they're all things he, somewhere in his mind, expects people to think of him or expect of him, and to me, that's not the kind of stuff someone as arrogant and convinced of his own awesomeness as people seem to think daniil is would think about himself. but the kids worrying about his health and taking care of him while he's infected are real, and for whatever reason they think he's worth trying to save. THAT'S the reality, THAT'S who he really is, even if he can't see it himself, and i don't think he can.

so ANYWAY i think the multiplicity of daniils in marble nest in particular is to some degree a manifestation of the fact that he IS willing to be different things to different people, that he knows this about himself, and that he has SOME level of anxiety over the thought of the various masks becoming the reality, and him losing control over who he ACTUALLY is, not just how he's perceived. i think this bothers him in artemy's route as well—the last thing he says to artemy translates to "the greatest power is to have power over oneself" and i do not think he's talking about himself. i think he's talking about artemy, and the fact that, ESPECIALLY from daniil's perspective in artemy's route, artemy very much controls not only his own narrative, but at the very least strongly influences daniil's and everyone else's too. [there are also layers and layers with that line and the doll narrative but i am too tired to get into it right now and also the doll narrative fucks my feelings up in so many ways.] i have no idea if any of this makes any sense, but here it is /gestures weakly at All This

#permian tropos #asks #pathologic #pathologic 2 #daniil dankovsky #kara plays pathologic 2 #/SHRUGS #Daniil Liker On Main

[skyborn-reads]

Awaken the sleeping giant — an intuitive reading (with technomancy)

Technomancy refers to divination with the use of technology. For this reading, the cards will be tucked away, replaced with intuitively shuffled pictures that will reveal your dormant gifts, abilities and talents.

Meant only for those drawn to this picture:

Picture source

First impression before shuffling: I smell spices, cloves and garlic. There's earth energy in you. The sign Taurus brushed across my mind. Fret not if this doesn't resonate as it is only a general first impression. Now let's see what photos will pop up for you!

Picture sources 1 ♢ 2 ♢ 3 ♢ 4 ♢ 5

The Pizza

The first message I get is that you have the tendency to be too hard on yourself. You have high standards and you work tirelessly to achieve it. This has its positives and negatives. You're able to improve and constantly reinvent yourself, but you might also run the risk of slipping into a dark void where you can find no way out because you couldn't meet the standards you set for yourself. You've come a long way since before and it is important to celebrate your achievements along the way.

Second message: Independent and self-sufficient, you're not one to make others worry. People feel reassured with you because while you're a grounded presence you're also a breath of fresh air, very cooling minty energy. There are sometimes you may unknowingly present a false image of yourself. People may get a wrong idea of how you're like when in truth you're not at all how they assume. This attribute puts a mysterious aura over you, allows you to blend swimmingly in various situations.

The Dragon

The key theme of this picture is amassing treasure. You're perseverant, patient and not one to be swayed by mere whims and fancies. Whatever you set out to do you're able to consistently build up results over time. You have strong Earth energy that feels grounded like a mountain because of this productive habit you built up, so it mostly stems from consistent choices. The other element that you're closely aligned with is Air, but Air that is flowing and oceanic; very translucent, otherworldly and magical. It is a sign of psychic talent. This energy is innate in you but you haven't done much exploration into it.

The Woman

You're charming. People can't help but be drawn to you but you're also afraid of opening up. There are parts of you you show to the world and parts of you that even you are foreign to. The latter part gives me an energy of a barren land where nobody speaks the land's language. You are protective over your inner world, more of like a reflex action. There are pieces of childhood hopes and dreams that you still hold dear to. I see stars, trees and pastel colours. These can be actual things or more of a vibe of your inner world. When you're at last comfortable (but that is a process not to be rushed), expressing your inner world in the form of colourful expressive art can allow this barren land to become merry once more, and open new doors that take you to further destinations.

The Meme

You're a healer who wouldn't give up. You'd hold onto people when they're depressed or are pushing you away but you'd be persistent to offer them guidance and unwavering support. You talk things through like a counselor. Some of your advice to others come from books, some from your personal experiences. You're one to internalise the advice you give to others, saving them into your memory as a sort of “advice bank” for yourself when you encounter similar problems.

Maudit

Please note that the words in this picture aren't important for this reading. You have unique perceptions of things, seeing what others cannot see. This makes you philosophical, offering eye-opening insights. I see a book, a collection of your philosophical thoughts and insights. Making that book will allow you to share your thoughts with others and create new connections.

However, you might sometimes get lost in your own thoughts and instead become a victim to them. Once you consider a belief to be true, nothing can change your persistence to that belief, it feels to be set in stone. Stubbornness combined with a cold view of the world, believing that the world is cold and there is a hidden agenda to most events resulted in you being locked in these thoughts. This is an exact opposite of what you have originally wanted to achieve — personal freedom. Being aware of this pattern is the first step towards change. This reading serves as a messenger, and whether or not to heed its advice depends on you.

This reading can sound harsh and more of a mix of wake-up call and dormant talents. I hope it resonates and that it is helpful to you. Do share with me what you think 💙

~ Skyborn

#free reading #free readings #intuitive reading #intuitive readings #16

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Synthesis of Aether

#FebHyurary Day 17: Food + Day 18: Music

A/N: So I had too many ideas for yesterday, but knew for today touching on Synnove’s aether synesthesia would work well, and then I said, “DT YOU FOOL YOU CAN COMBINE BOTH DAYS FOR HER AETHER SYNESTHESIA.” And lo: a fic! Mostly dialogue, I haven’t done a dialogue heavy ficlet in a loooong time so I feel a bit rusty, but this was a fun exercise!

RATING: T WORD COUNT: 1455 WARNINGS: None!

---

[Installing SCAEVAN SYSTEMICS operating software.]

[Installation successful, running update cycle.]

[Updates complete. Archive Node Unit 453 now online. Please specify primary user.]

“Synnove Greywolfe.”

[USER: SYNNOVE now registered. How may I assist you today?]

“Please stand by for audio recording.”

[Standing by.]

The node’s lights dimmed from bright grass green to soft seafoam as it partially powered down, its northern and southern hemispheres slowly rotating in opposite directions.

Synnove lowered her hand and glanced over at Rereha. “All right, you can babble now,” the Highlander said.

Rere took her hands off her mouth to tug at her braided pigtails and beamed at her. “Whatcha doing?” she said, in the sing-song tone of someone feeling exceptionally nosy, rocking back on her heels.

Synnove rolled her eyes and set her hands on her hips. “Y’shtola’s working on a compilation of aetheric synesthesic perceptions as a downtime project,” she said. “She asked me if I was willing to contribute, to which I obviously said ‘yes.’ But because I’m not often able to spend much time in Revenant’s Toll that doesn’t devolve into Warrior of Light or Ironworks business—”

“—audio recordings you can send or give her are more convenient.”

“Careful, Rere, or other people will begin realizing you’re smarter than you pretend to be.”

The lalafell gasped. “Madam, you wound me!”

She received a satisfied smirk in reply as Synnove added, “And what better way to create an audio recording than with my new archive node?”

Rere pulled herself up onto Synnove’s desk, sitting on the edge and kicking her feet back and forth as she leaned back to rest on her hands. “Did you liberate it from the Ironworks?”

“I purchased this fair and square, I have a bill of sale from Jessie herself.”

“Nero’s OS?”

“The fact you know that term is vaguely frightening, but the man does have an unparalleled understanding of Allagan technology and if you tell him I said that, I will hang you by your toes from the edge of the Steps of Faith.”

Rere mimed locking her lips.

“Hand me that stack of paper, please.” Synnove pointed to Rere’s right. The lalafell snagged it and dutifully handed it over.

The arcanist shuffled through them, humming tunelessly as she did, before she came across the correct page. “All right,” she said, mostly to herself. “Start with Y’shtola’s list of baseline sensations today and go from there.” Louder now: “Begin recording.”

[Audio recording now live.]

Synnove automatically straightened her spine and rolled down her shoulders in the same way she did before she began a lecture for the fourth-year arcanist students. In a clear, strong voice: “Synnove Greywolfe recording for Y’shtola Rhul on the 18th day of the Second Umbral Moon, 11 Year of the Seventh Astral Era, on the subject of synesthetic perceptions of aether. I personally perceive aether, in addition to visual manifestations, as both taste and sound. Occasionally, one sensation will dominate the other, and certain sounds and tastes aren’t exclusive to one elemental type.

“For this recording, I’ll describe the overall generalities I associate with different elemental aether; variance is high depending on factors such as location or origin, in terms of ambient or crystallized aether, or in the case of spells, if they are being performed correctly or are altered in some capacity.”

“How to spot the catastrophic boom just before the boom becomes catastrophic and it’s too late to do anything about it.”

Synnove sighed. Rere giggled.

“Y’sthola, remind me to recalculate the angle needed to ensure Rere lands in Silvertear if thrown from the highest tower in the Toll.”

“Hey!”

“You’d be fine, Hydaelyn likes you best.”

Rere pouted, lower lip pushed out to the point of exaggeration, which meant she wasn’t actually offended.

“To get back on topic: fire. Fire aether most frequently tastes like hot spices, such as peppers; coffee; red meat, such as buffalo; bitter chocolate; cherries; wine. Sound tends to be uniformly brass instruments such as horns and trumpets; very occasionally it can sound like metal striking metal.

“Earth aether is auditorily simple and gustatorily complex. The sound of earth is always rhythmic and steady, if not outright drumming; the sensation of it echoing follows fairly often, too. Taste runs a huge gamut: savory or sweet seasonings, such as cumin or cinnamon; white meat, such as pork; most vegetables, particularly green or starchy vegetables; certain fruits such as apples and figs; bread; cheeses; stews; whiskeys.”

“I’d call most of those foods ‘homey.’”

Synnove frowned thoughtfully. “That’s a fair assessment,” she said after a moment. “Earth aether tends to ‘taste’ comforting.”

“Does that mean Tyr is the ultimate comfort food?”

“Does that mean you want to go flying out of my office window into the harbor?”

“I’m going to shut up now!”

“See how long that lasts,” Synnove said under her breath while her sister smiled beatifically. “Where was I… Ah, wind.”

The Highlander frowned. “Wind aether is another oddity, taste-wise. Mint tends to present quite frequently, along with sweet chocolate, white grapes, vanilla, white wine, arak, olives, and scallions. Thankfully when it seems to be a combination of flavors, it’s complimentary…” She shook her head. “Sound is similar to flutes, chimes, whistles. Bit stereotypical, honestly.

“Lightning…” Synnove paused, frowning again. “Sound tends to be similar to specific string instruments such as violas and cellos; deeper sounds. Low notes on a piano or harpsichord, sometimes simple humming or vibrations. Taste does not tend to be strong, but most frequently has manifested as berries and/or stonefruits. Alcohols such as gin, palm wine, ouzo, and brandy.”

“That is not the element I’d consider boozy,” Rere said idly. She had lain back on the desk and was staring up at the huge arched ceiling of the tower office, twiddling her thumbs.

Synnove shrugged without further comment, already looking at the next item on the list Krile had transcribed on Y’shtola’s behalf. “Water is what one would think would be boozy but I have legitimately never tasted ‘boozy’ water aether before. Tropical fruits dominate; in terms of savory, as horrifically stereotypical as it is, seafood. But almost never in a way that makes sense, I once found a water cluster in a bluefin tuna’s belly that tasted like Coerthan oyster confit.”

“I remember that, you made the weirdest face.”

“I still can’t find the words to describe just how fucked up that taste versus visual dichotomy was. In any event, water aether also sounds like string instruments, mostly harps, dulcimers, and brighter pianos. Also, a very specific drum… Rere, what’s that staccato-sounding drum the Flames have been using in their parades of late?”

The lalafell picked her head up. “Snare drum?”

“That’s the one. Timpanis on occasion, too. And finally…ice. Sound leans towards woodwind instruments like the clarinet and piccolo, as well as bells. Any bell. Taste…hmm. Slaw, fruits that freezes well, fruit juices, Thavnairian sweet tea—”

“That is not tea, that is an abomination.”

“—some melons, cucumbers, white rum, wintergreen.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never come across ice aether that tastes like the Bismarck’s root beer float.”

“They introduced it to the menu last year.”

“So?”

Synnove sighed that heavy, gusting sigh everyone who spent longer than thirty minutes with Rereha learned. “Y’shtola, I see a note here about Primordial Light and Dark, but I’ll do that in the next recording along with variations and discrepancies, as first, I need to beat my sister over the head with a grimoire—”

Rereha hopped down from the desk and ran for the office door, shouting BYE Y’SHTOLA I LOVE YOU BEST over her shoulder as she did.

“—and second, I’m hungry and now is a good time to break for lunch. Recording end.”

[End of recording. Is there anything else on which I may provide assistance?]

“No, that will be all for now—ah! Before I forget. Please create new nodal designation of own choice.”

[Clarification requested.]

“Pick a name for yourself.”

[…]

[Accessing imperial Allagan databases for repository of birth certificates. Scanning records.]

[Archive Node Unit 453 rename complete. Archive Node Unit 453 is now Kleio.]

Synnove smiled, pleased. “It’s nice to meet you, Kleio.”

[…Thank you. Database scans are currently inconclusive as relates to instruments in modern usage versus those of Allag. What samples are available to provide edification?]

The Highlander cocked her head, staring at the silver-and-green node for a few long moments, before another smile, this one slow and delighted, crossed her features. “I have a few orchestrion rolls that include solos and chamber music that you could listen to while I have lunch, and I can provide lists of which instruments are used in each piece.”

[That would be satisfactory.]

“Perfect! Let’s get you set up…”

#febhyurary #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #oc: synnove greywolfe #oc: rereha reha #oc: kleio the archive node #dt's writing

[that-damn-girl]

Freed

(Oneshot)

Pairing: Platonic!stucky (aka Steeb and Bonky) x Gender-neutral!teen!reader (later becomes adoptive!sibling)

Words: 4600+

Type: lil angst (for introduction and back-story), Fluff, platonic.

Warning: lil angst, a couple of bad words.

A/N: This is in answer for my first request! I really had a fun time writing it. Thank you sweet anon for your lovely request! Hope I didn't disappoint. Would love your feedback!

Summary/Request:

Those eyes, just like his own once.

Bucky looked down at you as you took up a defensive pose in front of him, trying to act menacing and the heartless soldier you were molded into. Act, because he looked at your eyes and immediately understood that unfortunately, you had a better understanding of what would happen to you if you so much as dared to show your target a negligible fraction of mercy or hesitated to attack and render yourself weak.

He knew because he saw himself in the pair of eyes he stared into. Once new to this ruthless predicament you were in,  he understood that following commands and surviving yourself was a higher priority to you than caring about any other thing in the world at that moment. You had no other choice and were helpless. Just like HYDRA wanted it's puppets to be.

He took in your stance; legs spread wide, both arms bent at the elbows, one at shoulder level and the other raised in front of yourself. Atop a body covered with black garments sat a head with such a sneer he would've thought you were an animal caged inside a human's shape. Because that's how HYDRA had treated him, just like an animal.

You looked young to him; really young. He couldn't help but drown in pity for you. Oh, a child of only fifteen, maybe sixteen, too young for the horrors he supposed you would've witnessed and gone through while in their hold.

He kept up his gun poised steadily at you, though he hated himself for threatening a kid, and tried to think how low could HYDRA have gone to kidnap yet another innocent soul and turn it into a killing machine. He then realised that they didn't really know any limits. It was a bottomless pit. They grabbed at anything and everything beneficial to them, not thinking even a bare minimum amount of others. They never even had a conscience to begin with.

He then noticed that one thing almost unique only to you. At first he thought it was some sort of new mobile weapon developed by those horrendous scientists, but then was horrified as he corrected himself that - no, no that couldn't be a weapon, at least not a mobile one since it literally jutted out from between your knuckles. Three metallic blades on each hand with the luster of his old metal arm, nearly six inches long.

What in the hell have they done?

On the way over to this HYDRA base, Bucky had sworn he'd burn this place to the ground and not let any of these beastly people live. But he couldn't go through with that after watching you. He couldn't do that to a victim just like him, a child nonetheless.

"Hey, kid," He cautiously took a step forward, gun still raised, slow and calm enough to show you he didn't mean any harm but alert and stiff enough to show you that he wouldn't hesitate if you wouldn't. "I don't wanna hurt you."

"You never can." You spat back and stood your ground.

Steve's voices cackled through his earpiece, "What kid?"

Ignoring Steve for now, Bucky kept forwarding towards you slowly, "I know what they do to you, what they will keep doing to you." Bucky didn't exactly know that, but he could make nearly accurate guesses. He gauged your reaction. You tried to remain as stoic as possible, but the slight  furrow of your eyebrows encouraged him to continue, "They had me once too, but I was broken free. I am not like them. I can help you, trust me."

You charged forward and tried to strike at him  with your dominant hand, but he ducked. You tried again but he dropped his gun and grabbed both your elbows to criss-cross them in front of your chest, your back pressed to the wall. Your looked at him for a hard moment before sneering, "That's what they told me."

Bucky saw in your eyes that you badly wanted to believe him, but he supposed a past incident had given you enough wisdom from outright trusting any stranger, "They made me think that they had helped me too."

This time round you couldn't help your eyes from narrowing. Confusion sat blankly at your face, though the fight to break free still persisted. He hated to admit that he had to work in order to restrain a teenager. No doubt that they had experimented on you too.

Bucky gestured to his arm. Only then did you realise that it wasn't a part of his costume - one black left sleeve of the burgundy jacket, which you had thought to be in the dimly lit hallway. No, it was not an extremely fitted sleeve; it was his arm, black and gold and made of metal, you realised.

They replaced a whole arm with metal?

Your eyes widened and the struggle in you began to subside. Bucky continued, "They captured me, tortured me, but there were these people who helped me break free. I am with them now, let us help you."

You looked at him, trying to decipher whether he was lying, and after a careful and slow moment you found out he wasn't.

Bodies of HYDRA agents, either dead or unconscious, were scattered front and back. The stench of their blood filled the air. You had seen him destroy those bodies when conscious with an unparalleled vengeance you didn't understand. You concluded it to be his fighting style, but then you understood the reason behind it. If he was saying the truth and your perception of body language hadn't gone rusty,  you believed he fought with rage and a want for revenge for all he was put through when in their control. You believed him.

Yet you couldn't be too sure, "Why?" Your timid voice asked.

He smiled, "Because I don't want another soul to go through what I did." You believed him this time too.

~

Bucky led you to the quinjet, where everyone had already assembled. Everyone was skeptical of you, everyone but a brown haired girl who seemed only a few years older to you. She reminded everyone of something along the lines of her being in your shoes a few years past.

By the talking you heard, you found out that the brown haired girl could read minds. So they had experimented on her too, you thought. They wanted Wanda to take a peek in your head to be assured that you wouldn't try to be clever with them. You grew uncomfortable with the idea, but the metal armed savior said that they could only help you if they trusted you, and the girl assured you that she would only look into the parts necessary and wouldn't pry for more. You agreed, because you were desperate for their help, desperate to be free of the horrid people who had tormented you to no end. She looked and you were approved.

Everyone was curious to know more about you, a potential addition to the team in near future, but kept their inquisitions to themselves. Before reaching the jet, you had retracted your blades into your palm, and Bucky had watched flabbergasted as the skin between your knuckles healed immediately, leaving no trace of the deadly weapon now inside your body, but decided not to comment on it.

You had naturally chosen to sit beside Bucky on the way back. He gave you a vibe, one which you hadn't felt in a long, long time; of safety and security. For so long you had spent in that dirty den of monsters, without once being taken care of, doing whatever immoral things they commanded you to, or receiving punishment for not doing it. You'd receive punishments even when you did complete the task, because they somehow always seemed to point out a flaw in your execution which didn't exist.

You saw a man sit on the other side of the metal armed man, blond with blue eyes and a similar built to Bucky, you learnt. A weird name, you thought, but cute as well. You told him his name shyly when he asked.

You wanted to know more about the Bucky and Wanda, who seemed to have been under HYDRA's clutches previously, but felt too nervous to initiate a conversation with strangers. The fact that almost every team member of the Avengers, they seemed to call themselves, was present on the quinjet and crammed the space didn't make it any easier on you. Neither did the fact that you had no idea about what your future would hold.

Bucky noticed your anxiety and  wasn't sure if you'd be okay with it, but he took a chance and patted your shoulder reassuring you, "Everything will be fine." You believed him yet again.

Throughout the journey, a few words were exchanged, complimentary with a few smiles. You felt even more safe and at ease with Bucky than before. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he was the first person in a long time to want to help you genuinely. Perhaps it was due to the fact that you knew you and him had somewhat same shared experiences of torture by nearly the same people, so your mind assumed he would know and understand what and how you felt. Whatever it may be, you were glad to have someone generous enough to offer to help you out when every nerve and muscle of your body had intended to harm them.

When the jet landed, others went for debriefing while you were sent to the med bay. You didn't want to go alone into the unknown space, so you set your pleading anxious eyes on Bucky, who without another word accompanied you after sharing a look with the blond, Steve. Dr. Banner and his team took various scans and tests, all with Bucky by your side because you refused to let him be out of your sight.

Meanwhile the team discussed on how to handle the situation. After all, you were still a child to them. They knew it would be how it was with recruiting Wanda all over again, a scared teenager ripped apart from normalcy trying to find a place and meaning with all these people who were anything but normal. She had Vision by her side, and now you have Bucky.

Everyone saw your immediate closeness with Bucky, and the slight protectiveness Bucky had taken over you. Since you felt more at ease with Bucky than anyone else, it was a unanimous decision to let him handle the progress you made with the team,

And, of course, Steve too. It was an unspoken rule. How could he not not be involved anywhere where Bucky was?

After all the tests and scans, you were given a clean set of clothes and were guided to a washroom where you could freshen up. When you went inside the shower, you expected the shower of water to be cool as you turned the knob. Surprise was the understatement of the century when you felt soothing warm droplet fall over you.

You checked out the various items placed by a small counter in the shower with labels which you could read but didn't know what they meant. You looked across  at the large mirror. For the first time in a very long time again, you could really take yourself in. The dips and curves of your body, or the lack thereof; the proportions of yourself. It felt weird not exactly knowing what your own self looked like. Despite the presence of mirrors, you never had a chance to ponder over your looks, even while bathing. Your body and skills and the blades were what was the most important to them; never your looks.

All of this newfound freedom felt so overwhelming, you broke down and allowed yourself to pour your eyes out and sob the pain of all those dreadful memories out of your mind, something which you were never allowed to do before.

As the water ran cold, you stepped out of the shower and into the clean clothes provided. When you met Bucky outside, he noticed your red and puffy eyes, but didn't say anything.

You later met everyone in a large sitting area. Dr. Banner and his team were extremely efficient. They had informed everyone of the special abilities you had as a result of the experiment. You had a very high metabolism and extraordinarily fast self-healing abilities, much higher than that of the super soldiers present.

Moreover, your palm looked normal superficially only. In reality, the metacarpals and carpus of your palm were connected to the radius and ulna of your palm in such a fashion that they accommodated six inches long and one-fourth of an inch wide plates, three in each arm, made up of an alloy yet to be named (adamantium, you learned very later on), but they found it to be similar to titanium. Their purpose was a mystery to them.

When confronted about it post your shower, you didn't know how to explain, so you opted to simply show them instead. You jut them out, piercing the skin between your knuckles. Everyone looked at you stunned. They realised that they weren't metal plates which Bruce talked about; no, they were blades. Feeling overly self conscious, you retreated the blades and pulled your arms by your side, palms on your knees, sitting uncomfortably stiff and straight like the perfect soldier you were trained to be. As soon as the blades were back inside your flesh, the pierced wounds amongst your knuckles weaved back into your skin faster than one could blink, showing no evidence of even a slight scratch.

Some sat open mouthed and some couldn't form sentences or words other than, "Wow" , "Woah", and "Holy cow". You blushed hardly. No one had ever looked at your way and given you such amazed reactions.

Sensing your discomfort once again, Bucky wrapped an arm around your shoulder and asked everyone to move onto other important things. Seeing a little super soldiers with great powers, they wanted to recruit you to the team, but only if you wanted and when you were mentally healthy.

Of course you wanted to join them after learning of their purpose. You had done many bad things and wanted to do something good with the weapon you were cursed with. Bucky and Steve loved and appreciated the fact that though you weren't sure of who you were exactly yet, you were sure of all the good deeds you wanted to do despite experiencing only the worse.

Later that night you were given your own quarters, right next to Bucky's. You were utterly thankful for it. When you proceeded to sleep on the bed, you found it too soft to relax enough to sleep. Having only known mattresses as hard as the ground it was kept upon, you hadn't known that a mattress could be as soft as your were given. You were conflicted between being grateful and vexed.

Regardless, you didn't sleep that night. You decided to step out of your room and into the common balcony of your floor to get some fresh air. You stayed there for a few minutes and realised bringing a jacket would have been a better idea if you wanted to spend your night away staring at the shiny  and sprinkling stars above.

As you walked back the length of the hallway, Bucky suddenly appeared in front of you. Filled with shock, you instinctively drew your blades and took up a defensive position, blades placed in front of his neck.

"Hey kid, calm down. I'm not trying to heart ya." Bucky put his hands up to show he was harmless.

Ashamed and guilty, you drew your blades in and looked down at the floor and shook your head, "Sorry...I was just surprised, I guess."

"It's alright, kid. Sorry, I shouldn't have been that quiet." You didn't understand why he apologized for what was his nature, but you gave him a little nod nonetheless.

"What are you here, by the way?" He looked inquisitively at you.

"Couldn't sleep. I wanted to get a jacket to sit down in the balcony." You still didn't meet his eyes. He understood the unspoken words; that you couldn't adjust to all this with just a clip of your fingers.

You felt awfully bad for how you reacted to someone who had thought more good of you in a few hours than the beasts you escaped from had in all your lifetime. Still overwhelmed from all the new and good possibilities your future could hold, tears sprang to your eyes.

Bucky wanted to comfort you, to assure you  that you were safe here, that him and the others would look our for you. He tried to make himself as small as possible and gently asked in a soft voice, "Is it okay if I hug you?"

You looked up at him with wide eyes. Bringing your here and freeing you from those varlets; he had already done so much. Why did he want to go out of his way for your comfort? Whatever the reason may be, being gentle touch deprived all your life, you didn't want to turn him down. You nodded.

He smiled and slowly took a step forward. He encircled you in his arms. You broke down again at his soft touch and laid your head in his chest, not quite as tall as him. He used one palm to pet your head, whispering sweet words to assure you that you are well and everything would be fine.

When you calmed down enough, he asked, "Would you mind if I accompany you?" You nodded again.

After getting your respective jackets, you sat down in the small couch placed in the balcony. You leaned into him. He put an arm around you and you both looked at the stars above wordlessly.

This continued for a few nights. You'd come to the balcony and he'd already be there. You'd keep your head on his shoulders and stare into the night sky. You'd dose off and Bucky would remain in the same posture, afraid to wake you. Sometimes he would be lulled into sleep too by the beautiful atmosphere. You both didn't need much sleep, thanks to the serums in your bloods. You'd wake up in a couple of hours, refreshed and back into your rooms.

In the daytime, you were assigned to therapy and sharpening you skills in the gym. Steve would take care of that. He'd help you correct your techniques and style with pushing you much, in a soft and gentle way. You were grateful to him too.

On your fifth night on the balcony, Steve had joined you guys too. You didn't know the reason why, he just came and sat on your other side and slumped down enough to rest his head on the back rest and eyes on the twinkling night sky.

After a few moments he spoke, "Beautiful, isn't it?" Words of confirmation were exchanged, and so you three began talking.

Steve and Bucky first shared their stories of the previous century, after hearing which you were surprised to know Steve had survived through all the 'idiocy' stuff he did. Bucky's words, not yours. Feeling comfortable enough, you told them the things you hadn't even shared with your therapist. Bucky held your hand and Steve stroked your back as you went through a roller coaster of emotions. Bucky told you about his own time under HYDRA's control, sparing the gruesome details, to give you a hint that in a way he understood all you had gone through.

You felt really good, as if a weight had been lifted off of your chest. As the conversation died down, so did your conscious pulling you into a deep peaceful sleep.

Being with you, taking care of you, Bucky and Steve were reminded of a sibling they had too little time with. They liked this unofficial care-taking role.

After the talk that night, or rather early morning, you seemed very cheerful and elevated for that day and the days to come. You started to initiate small conversation with everyone, smiling gleefully at everyone you passed in the hallways, opened up more to your therapist, and gave Steve your best while training.

Soon you were cleared for missions, accompanied with Bucky, Steve and Sam. You were exceedingly excited for your first mission; to start doing things right with the advancements you were given to do only the wrongs. Bucky and Steve had given you a lengthy talk about keeping your safety in mind, to not overexert yourself and not be too rash in your decisions. You calmed them down with a long hug to each, assuring them you would take care of yourself.

Almost every mission from there onwards, you were paired with at least either one of them or both. In the compound too, you had become inseparable from them, or maybe they from you. Movie nights had been introduced, where they would show you all the hits from your own generation which you had missed or from their own, along with those which the others had shown to them.

They soon took over a pair of protective older brothers' role. They wouldn't let Sam or anyone else mess with you, except for themselves. They started calling you all these crazy and funny nicknames to tick you off. In retaliation, you started calling them Steeb and Bonky. They hadn't looked happy.

When you started dating, they would give murderous glares to anyone you were with, which would give them a clear enough idea not to be in your bad books. Steeb would keep his hand on his hips, broadening his shoulders and flexing his biceps. Bonky would make the presence of his metal arm even more obvious by doing everything with it and whirring the plates constantly to make enough noise to give your date a hint.

Then came the ever dreaded 'talk'. They felt that since you had started dating, things between you and your significant other would  escalate quickly either now or in the near future. They felt it was their responsibility to give you 'the talk'. You had been ever grateful for their presence in your life up until then. All three of you ended that conversation with faces red enough to rival Bonky's burgundy leather jacket.

Once Sam had approached you to prank them. You were eager to do whatever Sam had planned. The end result had been Bonky's arm and Steeb's shield adorned with stickers of various mindless things stuck with a strong adhesive. They had had a field day in scrapping and removing the glue with a shitload of acetone.

Your birthday was coming in a few days. Steeb and Bonky wanted it to be special; your first birthday outside of HYDRA. You didn't remember celebrating your birthday ever, so when the day rolled around you didn't suspect a thing when Steeb and Bonky offered to take you to Coney Island. You hadn't even remembered it was your birthday.

You spent the day in disguise so as to not be recognised, hopping from one ride to another and stuffing your face with anything you found appealing. Though you had a higher metabolism than the other two super soldiers, they didn't think eating the way you were was a good idea, but they couldn't say no to your puppy dog eyes and the cheeky grin you put on in victory afterwards.

You had stopped on a shooting stall to play, but Bonky cast you aside before you could even fully reach there, paid the amount and started shooting. Shoulders slumping, Steeb sighed loudly.

He was an excellent shooter - hell, he was a sniper in the WW2 and is currently one for the Avengers. Everyone knew that, but to not make anyone suspicious of his true identity he purposefully hit the first few shots wider. The stall keeper watched with a smug smile, convinced the last shot wouldn't be any different cause it hardly ever was. Steeb hid his smirk with the pretense of clearing his throat as Bonky hit bullseye, earning a giant [whatever you want] for you. You squealed as you accepted it, hugging and squeezing it to your chest after hugging Bonky.

By the time you had reached the compound, your faces were lit up with a hundred watt smiles. You had thoroughly enjoyed the day to its best and didn't think it could have gotten any better. Laughing your asses off, your heart came to your throat as you stepped out of the elevator and everyone yelled, "Surprise!"

A banner hung from the ceiling written, 'Happy Birthday Y/N'. You were momentarily surprised as you gaped at it open mouthed. Balloons and string lights were scattered beautifully across the living room. You didn't register who took Bonky's win from your arms and who hugged your limo form, wishing you. When it finally registered, you were teary eyed as you looked at everyone's genuinely happy expression.

You were determined not to cry but all hell broke loose when Wanda brought in a small and cute cake with icing piped in her trademark way, candles lit. You broke down then and there, crying into your elbow. Bonky and Steeb instantly hugged you from both sides. Petting your head, Steeb said, "Aw kid, don't cry."

You felt elated. No one had ever thought of or cared for you enough to organise a little something behind your back for your birthday, so that you were happy. You had hugged everyone as you thanked them, still overwhelmed. Candles were blown and the cake was cut. A big portion of the icing was in your face. You didn't complain though; you felt appreciated and loved.

A few weeks later you were graced with a mission where your right lung got punctured and a few ribs got broken. Even with your abilities, it took you a day to gain consciousness and another three for all your injuries to heal completely.

Steeb and Bonky had lost it when you fell into their arms when you got attacked and wouldn't wake up in the quinjet. The next day until you were conscious, they hadn't slept or left your side after the required surgery. They had been soft with you until you were discharged, but as soon as you got okay, they blew up your head with unending scoldings and lectures for you to be safe. They crushed you to their chests later, telling you how scared you had made them.

Though you felt bad for worrying them, you couldn't help the happy beats in your heart to know people actually did care about your well being because they care about you and not your utility.

Many instances happened in your life, some happy, some sad. You had had Bonky and Steeb by you side, and knew you would later too. Ever grateful for their presence in your life, you looked forward to life with renewed vim and zest.

~~~

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[courtlandmcintosh]

[Hafsanur Sancaktutan, cisfemale, she/her] who’s that? oh it’s [Courtland McIntosh]. i hear they’re [19] and are known as [The Wallflower] around [Ohio]. they’re also a [Freshman] at [OSU], and are part of [OSU’s art club & McIntosh Orchards]. they’re known to be [caring & thoughtful] and [prying & an overthinker]. some people say they remind them of [the soft glow of fairy lights, bundling up on a cold winter’s morning, journaling & the first stroke of paint on a new canvas]. only one way to find out! [Bee, 21, GMT]

BASICS

Full Name: Courtland Ariane McIntosh

Nickname: Courtland, Court

Birthday: May 27th

Age: 18

Zodiac Sign: Gemini

Hometown: Manhattan, NY.

Sexuality: Bisexual? (Still questioning)

Grade: Freshman

School: OSU

Occupation: Managing the family orchard

Activities: Art club

LIKES/DISLIKES

LIKES: Wildlife, sunrise, art in all its forms, journalling

DISLIKES: Being alone in a crowd, bullies, being underestimated, overheating

TL;DR BIO

Courtland McIntosh took a long time to grow into herself, and her family’s legacy. Between her solitary hobbies and general shyness, she was always reluctant to stretch herself beyond the social reach of her twin. However, after a sudden life-change on her sister’s part, she realised she couldn’t hide in her shadow forever. Now, Courtland is studying at OSU and running her family’s new orchard, determined to prove that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

FULL BIO

Courtland’s life has undeniably been one of privilege. Being descended from the self-proclaimed “reigning emperor of apples” himself comes with a swathe of perks, both nutritionally and financially. Along with her twin sister Braeburn, Courtland grew up in the lap of luxury and the heart of Manhattan. In every sense aside from literal, the two were always attached at the hip as kids. Their dynamic shone through even in their early years; Braeburn

Out of the pair, Courtland was always the most introverted. She held no active disdain for other people outside of her family, but she struggled with approaching others socially. Whenever the choice was provided, she would opt to stay at home and work on her hobbies rather than going out to play. She established an early interest in art, especially painting. Her parents had very polarised reactions to this; while her father was mostly indifferent and concerned for their furniture, her mother was all-in, to an off-putting extent. While in her own mind she was providing unwavering support and motivation, to a young Courtland, she was offering up unsolicited criticism and pressure to improve even her most whimsical finger paintings, constantly. While she couldn’t know it at the time, these attitudes from her parents would prevail as she grew up, no matter what the pursuit was. Cello, her studies, writing - it was all or nothing from either side. She internalised both of these responses, but art would remain as her escape for years to come.

Braeburn was the one who made sure of that. No matter where they went or what they did, Braeburn was the driving force behind what little confidence Courtland had. Outside of arts and crafts, a young Courtland could credit each and every new venture in her life to her twin; her dependence wove itself into existence early on. Because she was quieter, Courtland saw herself as weaker, and during her childhood that didn’t present itself as much as a problem. It was a fact she was willing to accept. She didn’t need to be popular in her own right at school - Braeburn was extroverted and charismatic enough to attract a healthy crowd to their elementary school lunch table, and she was content to linger quietly in the corner. That isn’t to say she offered nothing to her sister - she was perceptive, and observant. From her slightly removed perspective, Courtland was happy to offer her sister a fond ear and often pertinent advice. Beneath their contrasting surfaces, their bond was always one of give and take.

Their coexistence held strong all the way through middle school, and the early beginnings of high school as well. Courtland had a few people she met through Braeburn that she would call friends, but none of them were close. Braeburn remained her idol, and the centre of her world, and so when her sister began to shut her out, she knew something was seriously wrong. Courtland couldn’t understand it. Looking back, she cringes at the way she made her sister’s struggle about herself over those months, but until her sister eventually came out she had herself convinced that she had done something wrong. For a while, nothing could get through to her. Not the hushed knocks and whispers from outside of her bedroom door, nor the drawings softly worded letters slipped beneath her door.

For a while, the world became a faded version of itself. Her art lost its spirit, and in turn so did Courtland; she had no idea how to be herself without her twin. This, combined with the already messy maelstrom of feelings that came along with puberty, made for a difficult time in Courtland’s life. When Braeburn was finally ready to come out, the relief was incomparable. She had her twin back, and her twin had herself back. It was all Courtland could ever ask for - and a wake-up call, all at once. She had to be stronger, and more independent. Of course she would always be there for Braeburn, and she would still count on her in the same way, but she wanted to be able to stand on her own two feet.

It took a little while, but between helping her sister run lines for Little Shop Of Horrors and helping here and there with the set design, she realised it was time to branch out. The school had a small, but open art club, and with encouragement from Braeburn she eventually plucked up the nerve to sign up. She loved it. School was no longer just a place to accrue accomplishments - the was a small part of it that became a second home. She made friends there, ones all of her own, and although it took her a little while to open up she took her new, individual social life in stride. Braeburn was still her best friend, but for the first time she could confidently say she had friends she wasn’t related to. For once, other people were looking up to her - the other members of the art club respected her, they valued her contributions, and by the end of her junior year she took over as its president. As it turned out, she liked being a leader.

This, in turn, fed into a growing interest in the family business. Braeburn had started college prep in her junior year, with a range of schools in mind - some Ivy League, some not, but all fitting into schools her father referred to as ‘The Apple League,’ AKA any school he personally approved of. At the same time, her confidence grew. She was a smart girl. She held her own in several AP classes, and from her time in art club she realised she had ideas. Here and there, she began to pitch some ideas to her father over the dinner table when he brought up business concerns. For several months, he either brushed or laughed these off - but Courtland had changed. For once, she didn’t want to shy away from confrontation. She took her time, compiled her ideas, and worked them all into a presentation she was rather proud of. After several run-throughs with Braeburn there to offer pointers, she sat their father down, and finally asserted herself. To her surprise, he was enthused. So much so that, when her college acceptance letters eventually came in, he encouraged her to head to OSU so that she could oversee the launch of their newest orchard while she studied.

Going to college so far from home and so far from Braeburn would be her biggest challenge yet, but Courtland was ready for it. She packed her bags, and with a steadfast promise to facetime her sister as often as possible, she set off for Ohio to kickstart a new chapter of her life.

HEADCANONS

As young children, the twins developed in very different ways. While Braeburn’s speech came to her rather quickly, Courtland dawdled far behind in that area. She didn’t speak until shortly after their third birthday. Instead of talking, as soon as she could grasp on to a crayon for more than a few seconds, she started to draw. It made her so visibly happy that her parents provided her with all the art supplies a toddler could dream of. Her mother encouraged this as much as possible, hoping for a child prodigy, while her father was a little more wary of the mess. He did, however, have a couple of her first paintings of apples framed for his office. Her love for art only grew exponentially from there.

Throughout Courtland’s childhood, her sister was her idol. Her hero. She was always more reserved, keeping to herself and her hobbies unless somebody actively invited her to participate in social activities. More often than not, that invitation came from Braeburn. This pattern never really faded, and during the brief period before her sister came out where she withdrew into herself, Courtland became more aware than ever of how dependent she had let herself become. Even when Braeburn came out and their bond gew stronger than ever, she remained cognisant of her growing need to branch out as her own person.

When Braeburn first came out to her, Courtland wanted to offer up the best possible advice to her sister. To prepare herself for this, she bulk-bought as many contemporary fashion magazines as she could get her hands on. After holing herself up in her room for several days with those after school, she found herself hooked, and still enjoys flicking through these magazines on occasion, even though she rarely goes for the products advertised in them. They provide a range of pose references and jolts of inspiration every now and then for her art.

Throughout high school, Courtland began to feel a need for a little independence, although she wasn’t sure how to establish herself. She wasn’t bullied, but she was rarely included - sometimes she felt like an afterthought, hanging off the edge of Braeburn’s social circle. Eventually, with enough support from her sister, she finally joined the school’s art club towards the end of her sophomore year. For the first time she made her own friends, completely of her own merit, and the club became her passion. Before too long she was its secretary, and then its treasurer, and finally its president by the end of her junior year.

Courtland was always fascinated with the family business. While Braeburn was always expected to eventually take on their father’s legacy, Courtland was the only one who actively wanted to enter the world of apple farming at all. Her pitches for their orchards were rarely taken seriously, until around her senior year of high school. When Biff let the family know he was planning on opening a new orchard in Ohio, she saw an opportunity. With her gradually bolstering confidence she put together a presentation complete with elaborate slides, detailed infographics, and a laser pointer. She rehearsed the speech for weeks on end, mostly with her sister as the sole audience member, until she eventually cornered their father in his office and delivered the whole thing. By the end, he was impressed enough to request that she oversaw the project during her time at college, running that small branch of the business under his remote supervision.

#crhq:intro

[riviae]

so anyway... did anyone ask for a regis-centric character study set during his time in beauclair in ‘lady of the lake’ ft. angouleme? no? well i wrote it anyway lol:

Beauclair was a fairytale place—that much Regis was certain of. However, even fairytales bore monsters, gave blood and bone to things that were better off not existing at all. And, more often than not, fairytales gave birth to monsters in the shape of men. 

The land was an illusion of peace, a mirage of vineyards and bustling cities that fed the monsters that thrived there. Where there was peace, there would also be strife. Where there was laughter, there were also tears. Where there were innocents, so also were there those who sought to spill blood. Regis had not spilled blood in a long time, but some of his more... tumultuous memories resurfaced during the full moon, the urge to fly high above the castle battlements and walls giving way to more long-repressed desires. 

He wanted to fly. He also desired a drink—though this wasn’t confined to full moons. He settled on walking and humming the melody of some tawdry ballad that Dandelion had composed when they reached the Sansretour Valley. Regis could have misted through the cobblestone streets as a barely perceptible fog—in fact, it was how he had favored to travel before his encounter with Geralt and his rag-tag hansa—but his time spent traipsing the narrow pathways of Beauclair with his companions had made him oddly nostalgic. Walking at a human’s pace allowed him the chance to reminisce, to commit the sprawling array of shops and houses to memory. 

To his right, he saw a row of apartments painted a soft peach, dark green ivy climbing over an overhanging trellis and up the façade of the building. In the mornings, there was often an elderly woman that sat on one of the stoops with her cat. She had a faint Nilfgaardian accent and spoke animatedly with Cahir, who, to Regis’ surprise, smiled and laughed brightly. Regis could count on one hand the number of times Cahir had laughed in his company, which was only once more than Geralt. 

Without the winged helmet and cape, Cahir looked almost boyish, his tan, freckled skin and dark hair giving the impression of someone who worked hot summer days on his parent’s farm. In truth, with just his sword at his side, Cahir did not look like a soldier or even a knight. It was only in his most basic mannerisms such as the way he postured himself as he walked, the subtle way he mapped a room with his gaze, his back always pressed to a wall, that betrayed his years of service as a soldier. War had not yet taken the kindness from his eyes or the gentleness by which he spoke to Milva, Angouleme, Regis, Dandelion, and, at times, Geralt. So, along with his politeness, it was only natural that he would be popular with the older generations. 

Regis stopped in front of the elderly woman’s door, his eyes shining silver in the flickering lamplight. In the dark, he could see that she did not choose to close her window, the drapes within the first-floor bedroom moving almost imperceptibly due to the mild draft.

In a fairytale, a monster would materialize from the shadows to crawl through the window. It would approach the woman’s bed, its rows of teeth poised over her, only to have its head lobbed off by some kindly knight. 

The vampire approached the window. He could hear her snoring loudly, heard her shaky intake of breath and then a brief stutter. It was a moment where she had stopped breathing, but Regis was not worried. Most sleep apneas were generally harmless and he did not hear any other telltale signs of more serious ailments such as excess fluid in her lungs. In fact, her lungs and even her heart seemed strong. It was likely nothing more than apnea brought on by the muscles of her throat relaxing, something that could be treated by learning to sleep on her side or abdomen. 

Quietly, and without difficulty, he misted into the room. He locked the window and closed the drapes before disappearing again, this time the dark fog of his incorporeal form crawling underneath the space between the stoop and the door. When he reappeared, he was human-shaped and he suddenly felt the lateness of the night tugging at his eyelids. Sleep was not always necessary for his kind, but it was a luxury he had been spoiled with ever since coming to reside in Beauclair castle. 

It had become a habit thanks to Angouleme’s insistence on sleep being a ‘good fucking elixir to any ailment’—her diction taken, more or less, from Regis, but sprinkled with her choice of vulgarities. It was quite endearing. And it also explained why he spent some afternoons in the shared common area within their wing of the castle, tome in hand, dozing now and again on a wide chaise lounge while the flaxen-haired girl snored in his ear. Sometimes even Milva would join them, though she took to the adjacent sofa and either played cards with Cahir or sharpened her arrowheads. Geralt, on the exceedingly rare days where he wasn’t tangled up with Fringilla Vigo or taking on a contract, sat in the armchair and scribbled in his own personal bestiary, gazing now and again discreetly at his dozing company with an expression that could almost be described as tender. 

Perhaps he truly was getting old even for vampire standards, he thought, returning to the present. Giving a very human yawn that he covered reflexively with his palm, Regis turned away from the apartment and immediately met the gaze of two teenagers. One of which who had brandished a small, curved hunting knife. 

If they had seen Regis reappear from a spindle of smoke, neither teen acted as if it mattered. As if all he had done was but an elaborate parlor trick, as evident by the way that more muscular teenager pressed the blade silently and fervently to his neck. The vampire allowed himself to be pushed into the nearby alley and against a brick wall as the blade pressed deeper into his skin. 

A few beads of red dripped down the knife, splattering onto the ground in a star-like shape. The pain barely registered to the vampire, though his nostrils flared at the scent of sweat and alcohol. The teenager with the knife to his throat was sober, though possibly high on fisstech if his dilated pupils were any indication, but the other boy, lean and dressed in black with a sabre at his side, had definitely been drinking. He smelled of cheap beer and blood—many people’s blood. 

“Looks like you’ve caught us a meddler, Boris,” said the boy with the sabre. He pulled a metal flask from his belt and took a swig, wiping the excess with the back of his hand. “Listen here, grandpa, we’ve been casing this place for weeks. So instead of worrying about some elderly wench, you should focus on yourself.”

Boris flashed a grin that sent a sinking feeling to the pit of Regis’ stomach. It was a wholly familiar grin. One that he had given long ago, so long ago that it felt like he had dreamed it. “This guy looks like a fucking tax collector, doesn’t he? Hey, gramps, you’ve got any coin on you? You must, it’s Beauclair, after all.” 

“I’d bet he has more coin than common sense. Only a senile old coot would walk around alone at night, ” the other boy added, snickering. “It’d be almost a mercy to kill him.”

It was, disturbingly, like looking into a mirror of his youth. The jeering, the recklessness, the utter lack of respect or dignity for life—they were young, stupid, and thought the world owed them something. Something that they had no qualms taking violently. 

This is what I was like before, he thought to himself. I only cared about myself. I lived to drink—and died for it, too. How pitiful.  

His inner thoughts were interrupted by a swift strike to his cheek. Boris had dropped the knife in favor of using his fists, one hand curled around the vampire’s throat while the other prepared to punch him squarely in the jaw. Regis fought the urge to snarl, settling on a frustrated huff. If they realized he was not human, he would likely have to kill them. He did not want to—bloodshed no longer suited him. At least that was what he kept telling himself whenever the option for violence arose. 

Regis did not fear many things. He did not fear fighting or war or even death, really. But he also knew that there were many fates worse than death. He feared returning to the habits and mindset of his youth, of losing the respect he had for others that had taken centuries to come to fruition. Regis was not naturally kind; kindness did not come easy to him. But he was naturally good at learning through observation and, like any skill, kindness could be cultivated—even in the worst of people if given the time to change. Or so he believed.

“Listen to us when we’re talking to you, old man,” Boris hissed none too kindly, this time reaching to tug at Regis’ greying hair. “Vinny, let’s just kill the guy already and go rob that wench.” 

“No,” Vinny replied, his tone almost playful. “I’m just starting to have some fun.” 

The words echoed loudly in the vampire’s ear, alchemizing into a voice that he recognized as his own. 

“I’m just starting to have some fun,” Regis remembered himself saying as he rose from the barstool, lips pulled into a sneer. In a blink of an eye he had crossed the entire distance of the tavern to seize a drunken man by the scruff of his neck. 

“Now, now, there’s no need for tears, my good fellow,” he said calmly, pulling the man closer. “We’re just having a party and need your… contribution.” Fangs met flesh then, the man’s outcry cut short as Regis dug his teeth cruelly into his neck. The vampire rolled the body away from himself when he was done, barely sparing it a second glance. He was already thinking of where he could get his next drink now that the last human patron of the tavern was dead, adding to his morbid pile of bodies. 

Back in the present, the lean, dark-haired teenager had traded places with Boris, choosing instead to point his sabre directly at the vampire’s Adam’s apple. 

Again… must I always have swords pointed at my throat? 

Vinny blinked, dark eyes widening in surprise. “Huh, well I’ll be damned. The old man’s got a sense of humor.” 

Regis, who had not realized he had spoken his previous thought aloud, hid his own shock with a hum of agreement. “Amongst other things,” he said, voice calm and polite. “Anyway, I’d be more than willing to part with some of my coin if you would be so kind as to lower your weapon. I am not in any mood to fight.” 

“But what if I’m looking for a fight?” Vinny goaded. 

Regis sighed. Perhaps he couldn’t talk his way out of a confrontation. He was tempted to use hypnotism, to simply have the pair fall into a drunken slumber beside the nearest gutter, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t prey on some other innocent citizen the moment they awoke. “I’m sorry,” Regis began, tone and expression severe, “But a fight with me is equivalent to courting death.” 

“This old fuck must be on something…” Boris muttered, a full-body shudder wracking his muscular frame at Regis’ tone. “Let’s go, Vin. Something doesn’t feel right about all this.” 

Before Vinny could respond he was cutoff by a distinctly raucous laugh from the mouth of the alleyway. “Hey, uncle!” a familiar voice chirped. “Need a hand?” 

“Angouleme?” Regis breathed, watching as the teen approached, both hands shoved casually in her pockets. 

As she approached, her grin grew even wider. It was an expression that very much reminded Regis of a feline who had gotten its claws hooked into a canary. “Oho, now look at what the cat dragged in! Vinny and Boris, it’s been awhile, you whoresons.” 

“Angouleme,” Boris greeted, giving a nervous look to Vinny. “What are you doing all the way in Beauclair? Thought the Nightingales didn’t travel this far south.” 

“They don’t—I’m not a part of their shit gang anymore. They’re also all very, very dead.” At this, Angouleme flashed another wide grin, giving the two boys a wink. “So maybe don’t bother my Uncle Regis anymore if you don’t wanna end up in the ground.” 

“Fuck this,” Vinny groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He lowered the sabre from Regis’ throat with a frown and stepped away. “Ang, we were just casing some house when your uncle or whatever showed up.” 

Regis took the brief interlude to fix the collar of his shirt, smoothing out the creases in the dark fabric. His gaze then returned to Angouleme who had now stepped in front of him, acting as a barrier between him and the two teenagers as much as her petite, lithe frame would allow.

“I’m sure you were,” Angouleme agreed. “But y’know what else I think, Vinny? I think you’re just out looking for someone to kill. Steal from whoever, I don’t care—but watch your blade. Too many murders in one area and people are bound to notice.” 

“Almost sounds like you’ve gone soft, Angouleme,” Boris said, tone neither accusatory nor playful—as if he was only stating a very obvious fact. 

“Almost sounds like I should’ve let Uncle Regis kill you two,” Angouleme replied icily. Her right hand twitched, ready to reach for the blade she kept hidden in her boot—a gift courteous of Milva after she had lost her own. “No one’s going soft, especially not me. Go find some drunk in a ditch to rob if you must and then get the fuck out of Beauclair.” 

“And what if we don’t want to leave?” Vinny asked with obvious bloodlust. “What’ll you do then, Ang? Because I don’t believe for a second that your geriatric, grey-haired babysitter could even throw a punch before I have him gored on my sword.” 

Angouleme cackled, a feral glint in her eyes. “Since uncle doesn’t like resorting to violence very much and I’m feeling particularly nice tonight, I’d be sure to kill ya both myself. And since we used to run in the same circles, I’d make it a quick death too. You’d both be bleeding out before you even had a chance to piss yourselves in fear. Call it a friendly discount—two quick, painless deaths. Hell, I’ll even bury your bodies so the birds don’t dine on your insides.” 

“Now there’s the girl I remember,” Vinny said, whistling appreciatively. “You always had a way with words. You were all bark and bite. But now I wonder if you’ve been muzzled; why else would you be traveling around with a man who looks like a bank teller?” 

“If I may interject?” Regis asked, raising a hand politely. Angouleme whipped her head back to shoot the vampire a confused look. 

Regis cleared his throat. “I think there’s another way we can settle this. Without bloodshed.” Not waiting for a reply, Regis turned his gaze to Vinny and Boris, sighing. He addressed the dark-haired man first. “Vinny, was it? You like killing, don’t you?” 

Vinny nodded, tone expressionless. “It’s fun. I like hearing ‘em scream. Why do all these people get to live cushy, painless lives here in the city? What’d they do to deserve a good life? Nothing. I’m just here to settle the score. Be the monster all these rich folk told me I’d be growing up. It’s a bonus that I enjoy it.” 

Boris gawked at the other teen. “What the fuck? Why’re you admitting all that? Have you gone fucking mad?” 

Regis continued, ignoring Boris’ outcry. “So you feel that you have some right to kill? Because you were wronged in life?”

“Yeah, I do. I’m good at stealing and killing. It came with practice. Do anything long enough and you learn to develop a taste for it.”

“I see…” Regis trailed, now turning his attention to the other teen. “Boris. Why do you follow Vinny? I can tell that you have less of a stomach for murder than him. Though it seems as if you are fine with violence… within reason. ” 

“He’s a right bastard but he’s also my only friend. I can’t abandon him no matter how much I want to sometimes. He likes getting into trouble—starting brawls, drinking till he pukes, murdering when he doesn’t have to, racking up as many bounties on his head as he can without it being chopped off—and it’s up to me to keep him from going too far. From getting himself killed.” 

Regis smiled sadly. “You think you’re helping him. But in actuality, you are enabling him. I don’t blame you, however; it’s often difficult to tell the difference.” 

“So what’re you gonna do with ‘em, uncle?” Angouleme piped up, eyes wide with admiration for the vampire. “Wish you could teach me how to hypnotize people… seems like it’d come in handy,” she added, kicking at a loose stone. 

“Hmm… well, I’ll actually leave that to you, Angouleme. You know them better than I do. Do you have a solution? We can’t just leave them to their own devices.” 

At this, Angouleme paused, brows furrowing. She deliberated for a few moments, tilting her head from side to side until she snapped her fingers. “I’ve got it! Keep ‘em still for a second, uncle.” 

Regis nodded, focusing on keeping the two teens in place. 

Swiftly, and without any preamble, Angouleme landed a solid kick to Vinny’s right arm, relishing in the loud crack that followed. The teen howled then, the pain freeing him from Regis’ influence. 

“Fuck!” He cursed, falling to his knees to curl up into a ball. His outcry was jarring enough to snap Boris from his own trance, panic flooding the teen’s face at the sight of his friend curled on the ground. 

“Hey, Boris,” Angouleme drawled casually, smile curling even wider at the way the larger teen steps back instinctively in fear.“ Do me a favor, will ya? Take Vinny and get out of here. Help him heal and teach him how to control his anger. Not everyone in the world is out to get ya; you don’t need to take a swing at every person you come across. So if I hear about you two causing any sort of ruckus I’ll make sure to break more than an arm. Got it?” 

With a shaky nod, Boris helped Vinny back to his feet. In mere moments the pair had disappeared, skittering out of the back alley as fast as they could. 

“Thank you, Angouleme,” Regis said, smiling in his own gentle way, the tips of his fangs peaking out from beneath his lips. “You were able to defuse the situation rather brilliantly—with no bloodshed. Impressive.” 

At the genuine praise, the flaxen-haired teen looked away, embarrassed. She didn’t want Regis to see how her cheeks had reddened at his words. Praise was rare; before joining Geralt’s hansa, she had only been praised for her prowess at killing and stealing. This was different. She wasn’t doing something because she wanted the praise or attention or the safety that came with being stronger and more dangerous than her peers—she was simply doing what she thought was right. 

As they walked back to the castle, Angouleme gave a contented sigh, tilting her head up towards the full moon. 

“It’s a nice night, isn’t it?”

“It is, my dear Angouleme. It certainly is.” 

Angouleme smiled, gaze softening. “Think we’ll get more nights like this?” 

“I hope so,” Regis replied, voice thick with something akin to melancholy. 

At that, Angouleme snickered, nudging the vampire’s shoulder playfully. “Heh, you sounded so sentimental there. Don’t tell me you’re gonna miss going on long walks with a brat like me. ” 

“…I’m going to miss a lot of things about Beauclair. Mostly, though, I think I’m going to miss all these fragile moments of peace.  I know even good times must end—we still have a quest to complete, after all. Geralt’s ward is still in danger. But being here was nice. And I especially enjoyed our walks, Angouleme.” 

Together, they walked the winding road back to the castle. Home, Angouleme thought a moment later. They were going home. It was the first time that she had ever thought of a place as home. There had been houses, small huts and backwater inns that she had lived in, sure—but home implied belonging. She had a place where she belonged with the friends she now saw as family. 

And if Regis noticed the few stray, happy tears that brimmed in her eyes, he politely didn’t mention it.

He too was busy reminiscing--his life had changed the moment he decided to follow Geralt, to join his company and work to save his ward. Even if it amounts to nothing but ash, Regis thought, I won’t regret my choice. Here, with everyone, is where I know I belong. I don’t know if this story will end like a fairytale or a nightmare, but at least I won’t be alone. Not anymore. 

#emiel regis #angouleme #other hansa characters are mentioned but it's mostly these two #can't believe i wrote something that primarily ignores geralt lmaoo but here we are #this is kinda all over the place but i did try i promise ;v;

[kikizoshi]

Fyolai OTP List

Original list taken from sonse’s The Ultimate OTP Questions List: Fyogol Edition

I urge anyone interested in my list to go look at sonse’s, too. They have a lot of cool takes. (There’re 48 questions in total.)

        1. Who is the most affectionate?

Neither of them are super affectionate or touchy-feely, really.. I guess you could say that Fyodor’s more touchy, but even then it’s usually only fingertips… But yeah, usually there isn’t much touching in general.

         2. Most common argument?

Argument… Well, it’s hard to really call it an argument. Usually, Nikolai’ll get upset at Fyodor not seeing him as a person or manipulating him and go off for a few days or weeks until he can come back and pretend he was never upset. Fyodor, for his part, doesn’t acknowledge it and just welcomes Nikolai back when he returns.

         3. Who apologizes first?

Well... Fyodor's too arrogant to assume he's done something wrong, and Nikolai's too prone to brush past things he doesn't want to think about... So they kinda just leave it to fester in the corner and continue about their days.

         4. Favorite (non-sexual) activity to do together?

It depends on the mood. But, most commonly, Fyodor's favourite activity is to curl up in a private place (library, nook, underground base, etc.) with Nikolai and read with him, each occasionally sharing thoughts or questions--or even conversations--about their individual books. Nikolai's favourite activity, however, is taking Fyodor out to a carnival, or the theatre, or a fair--something fun and flashy.

         5. Who drives and who rides shotgun?

Public transportation~ (though, in cases where that's not possible, it just depends on location and need, so probably about 60/40 for Nikolai and Fyodor.)

         6. Who is most likely to carry the other?

Nikolai's way more likely to carry Fyodor as, well, Fyodor'd struggle to lift someone his own weight. That being said, I don't see this happening unless out of necessity, as they're both fairly independent.

         7. Nicknames?

Russian ones? Yes, probably. I imagine Nikolai'd call Fyodor Fedya (since he calls him Dos-kun in Japanese), and Fyodor... he'd probably just stick with the name Nikolai (or maybe “golubchik” (little dove) on rare occasions?).

         8. Who proposes?

Ehh, I highly doubt they'd get married, since Nikolai's all 'society's norms are hellish brainwashing' and Fyodor likely just doesn't care (it’d be a hassle for nothing).

         9. Who sings along to the radio?

Nikolai, though it's rarely lyrics since all Fyodor listens to is classical pieces or old operas Nikolai can't decipher. He'll hum along quite a lot, though.

         10. Who worries most?

I feel like Nikolai's more of a worrier in general. Like, in his moments of downtime, with nothing to distract him from the futility of his goals, he'll worry and worry about what he should do, what he's doing, how what he'll do will affect the future, etc. Fyodor's more sure of himself, so I don't see him worrying about much. Maybe about Dazai, though...

         11. Who always wants to take selfies with the other?

Nikolai would secretly like to (though not so secretly, considering how perceptive Fyodor is), but Fyodor won't let evidence of himself in a location be found, lest the picture be stolen and used against him. Nikolai usually doesn't mind, though, unless they're in a once-in-a-decade place. He complained about not being able to hold onto mental pictures like Fyodor once, when they went to see a travelling fair that was doing its last tour.

         12. Who likes to playfully tease the other?

Nikolai, completely. He'll enter the room with a joke, and leave it that way too, as well as adding them in the whole way through. Fyodor, though, I'd say teases back almost as much, just more subtly and in response. Nikolai initiates the teasing, and Fyodor finishes it with a tease.

         13. Who has the weirdest taste in music?

Depends on your definition of weird. Fyodor listens to mainly classical and old operas, stuff like that, whereas Nikolai's more into modern things with some sort of twist (experimental jazz or electric swing, for example). He also loves musical theatre.

         14. Who remembers what the other always orders at a restaurant?

Well Fyodor remembers everything Nikolai's ever ordered when they were together... Using a word like 'always', though... Fyodor remembers what Nikolai ordered but Nikolai usually gets something different each time, and Fyodor's more uniform with his palate choices, but still tends towards trying out new things half the time. Fyodor could guess what Nikolai was going to get, though.

         15. Who is embarrassed to take their clothes off in front of the other?

Hm, neither of them are.

         17. Who initiates kisses?

Depends on the situation, so I'd say about 50/50. Neither of them are touchy-feely, as I've said, and kissing is only slightly more common than hugs for them. But, generally, Fyodor kisses Nikolai when Nikolai's having a rough day, or when he's trying to get Nikolai to want to do something. Nikolai kisses Fyodor when he's in a really good mood, or when he's really in a bad mood... I'm not sure how to put it properly though...

         18. Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

They don’t, really.

         19. Who kisses hardest?

I honestly don't know... I really liked the second half of sonse's answer though.

         20. Who is most ticklish?

Nikolai.

         21. Who brings an animal they found home?

Fyodor would kill the animal to put it out of its misery.

Nikolai would just walk past and think that there's no point in helping.

         22. Who holds the umbrella for the other when it’s raining?

Nikolai, since he's taller and his arm doesn't tire as easily.

         23. Who tries to playfully embarrass the other in public?

Neither, embarrassing each other isn't something they do.

         24. Who kills the scary bugs?

I mean neither of them are afraid of bugs-

         25. Who asks the weird questions at random in the middle of the night?

Nikolai'll wake up from any number of bizarre dreams, and, if Fyodor's still awake, he'll bring it up.

         26. Who hogs the blankets?

Fyodor. If he's asleep, his subconscious will do all in its power to make him as warm and comfortable as possible, even if it means the freeze of his dear friend (Nikolai usually just ends up draping himself in his cape at that point).

         27. Who wakes up first?

Nikolai wakes up first since he goes to sleep earlier, though he only wakes up first by about thirty minutes.

         28. Who wants to stay in bed just a bit longer?

Depends... Fyodor's good about getting up when it's a workday, and on the rare day's he'll take off, he still usually gets up quickly to make the most of the day, and drags himself off to the shower. Nikolai, on the other hand... Well, it depends on several things. If he's alright or moderately alright, he'll get out of bed just fine. However, if he killed someone in the month or just, in general, can't stand himself, it'll be a lot harder to convince him to get up. Some days even a gun to his head won't get him out of bed.

         29. Who always makes coffee for the other each morning?

Neither. Ivan makes Fyodor's tea and Nikolai makes his own.

         30. Who cries during certain films or when reading sad books?

Haaaah, well I guess if Nikolai was in a really, really, really (and I mean REALLY) bad place, something might set him off, and a few tears may fall. It's super uncommon though--he usually just bottles his emotions until he can 'forget' about them.

         31. Who gets scared during horror films?

Neither of them scares easily at all.

         32. Who cuts the other’s hair?

They both cut their own.

         33. Who says “I love you” first?

Fyodor says it first, as a way to get Nikolai fully on his side. Nikolai’s said it a few times, in despair, but always pretends it didn’t happen afterwards.

         34. Who tells their friends/family about the relationship first?

Well there isn't really a 'relationship' to tell about? They don't classify their relationship as anything other than lovers and friends, and there’s really no point in mentioning it randomly.

         35. What do their friends/family think about the relationship first?

Well... Pushkin hates Fyodor, always has and always will, and considering how their relationship started... Pushkin does have a reason. Goncharov doesn't care. Fyodor's mother and sister vaguely know about Nikolai. They've met him maybe once or twice, but they just know him as 'Fyodor's friend'. Turgenev... it's best to say that his relationship with Fyodor is... turbulent... but when they end up talking their conversations are usually very fascinating (if they can get over their mutual disdain, that is). Mishima flat-out couldn't care less, why is this being brought up to him?

         36. Who is more likely to ask the other to dance with them?

Nikolai, probably, after being moved by Dostoyevsky's cello playing.

         37. Who cooks best?

I'd say they're about the same.

         38. Who wears the other’s jacket?

Neither. Nikolai needs his for his Ability and Fyodor's the one that gets cold easily. Nikolai does, however, keep a spare cloak in his Overcoat just in case (though whether or not he’ll offer it to Fyodor depends on his mood, and Fyodor never asks).

         39. Who uses cheesy pickup lines?

Nikolai.

         40. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear during inappropriate times?

Both, but in different contexts. Nikolai spontaneously gets ideas from things around them, and excitedly likes to share them with Fyodor on a whim. Fyodor likes to respond to them with a small quip to encourage the idea, though he sometimes does them just in general if he's super bored at a social gathering or something. In any case, they usually do it in a language no one else around is likely to speak.

         41. Who makes the other laugh most?

Fyodor makes Nikolai laugh all the time, though those laughs are always sort of fake (like an extreme version of a small, polite chuckle). Sometimes, though, when Nikolai's in a really good mood, the laughs will be genuine. On the other hand, Nikolai tries to make Fyodor laugh, but doesn't succeed. In the end, neither of them are much to laugh.

         42. Who needs more reassurance?

Nikolai, definitely. Fyodor's sure of himself and his plans, and so is Nikolai to an extent, but Nikolai still gets doubts, which is when Fyodor comes in to tell him that everything is going to work out.

         43. Who would have to bail the other out of jail?

Well... I don't think either of them would pay for bail, but Nikolai'll be fishing Fyodor out of jail (or general captivity) pretty regularly. (It's just such an easy way to extract information!)

         44. What would be their theme song?

Oh boy I have no clue- Maybe ‘The Land of Might-Have-Been’?

         45. Who would sing their child back to sleep?

Fyodor, as he softly touches their forehead and watches the blood pour from their slack lips- On second thought, maybe children isn't such a good idea...

         46. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Oh, all sorts of things. Fyodor does work, gets kidnapped, messes with Dazai. Nikolai bounces from place to place, spends time with friends, finds work or other such things to do. In the end, they don't actually spend that much time together.

         47. A headcanon about them that stabs your feels?

Neither will ever truly achieve fulfilment.

         48. A headcanon that mends the previous one?

:')

#bsd list #fyolai #fyogol #nikolai gogol #bsd nikolai gogol #nikolai #gogol #bsd nikolai #bsd gogol #gogol nikolai #bsd gogol nikolai #fyodor dostoyevsky #bsd fyodor dostoyevsky #fyodor #dostoyevsky #bsd fyodor #bsd dostoyevsky #dostoyevsky fyodor #bsd dostoyevsky fyodor #nikolai x fyodor #gogol x fyodor #nikolai x dostoyevsky #gogol x dostoyevsky #fyolai list #otp list #bsd #anathe

[tigerkirby215]

5e Soraka the Starchild build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Riot Games)

That feel when I put off making this build for so long that I can now remove my warning for this build using Theros content.

Soraka is a very obvious choice for a Theros character. Along with being a Satyr (by the way Soraka’s a Satyr she has goat hooves so of course she’s going to be a Satyr) she has a clear divine connection with Mount Targon. So she’s a great pick if you want a healer in Theros, or a healer in general!

GOALS

To heal and protect - Soraka is the first character people think of when they want a support in League. She heals so much it hurts her!

Violence cannot go unanswered - That doesn’t mean Soraka can’t do damage, calling down the wrath of the heavens to harm enemies and heal herself.

Have hope! - Soraka isn’t just a good healer because of big numbers. She’s also a good healer because she’ll rush to your aid if you’re in danger!

RACE

Along with being a Satyr (by the way Soraka’s a Satyr she has goat hooves so of course she’s going to be a Satyr)

Soraka’s a Satyr she has goat hooves she’s a Satyr. As a Satyr your Charisma increases by 2 and your Dexterity increases by 1. You count as a Fey rather than humanoid, and henceforth have Magic Resistance for Advantage against all magical effects.

You can Ram enemies to do 1d4 + your Strength modifier as an unarmed strike, and have Mirthful Leaps to add a d8 to any jump you make. You are a Reveler with proficiency in Persuasion and Performance, as well as a musical instrument of your choice. (Divine Soraka’s artwork shows her playing the Flute so choose that.) And finally you can speak Common and Sylvan, and have a walking speed of 35 feet, which I mention because it’s more than average!

ABILITY SCORES

15; WISDOM - All the compassion abilities are tied to Wisdom, and you have to be pretty damn compassionate to main Soraka.

14; CHARISMA - With a base model like that you’re still one of the most popular champs in the game. That takes some form of Charisma.

13; DEXTERITY - With the +1 from our race it gives us enough to dodge a few hits. And by “dodge a few hits” I mean wear Medium armor.

12; INTELLIGENCE - As a child of divine power and an enchanter you’re bound to know a thing or two about Religion or Arcana. (Feel free to swap this with Constitution if you want more health but worse skill checks)

10; CONSTITUTION - You’re an enchanter support. Squishy.

8; STRENGTH - You’re an AP support, not an ADC.

BACKGROUND

I actually had to read Soraka’s lore; end me. Do you know how many times this shit was revised? Didn’t Soraka have a rivalry with Warwick at one point? Regardless based on her lore Soraka was... literally formed from the stars? Fuck me... Well Hermit gives us Religion and Medicine proficiency so that’s good enough for me. Your background feature “Discovery” essentially says “the DM gives you plot spoilers.” Maybe you learnt that you were a child of the stars? Maybe you saw the coming of an army and a great war? Maybe you won’t be playing a campaign in Runeterra?

(Artwork by Riot Games)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1

“Oh Soraka’s a healer so she must be a Cleric I bet she’s going to be a Life Cleric!” Nope! Wrong!

SORCERER 1

Soraka was born from a star which means her healing power is innate, henceforth meaning that she’s a Sorcerer! Her subclass is pretty obvious too but let’s get her proficencies sorted out first: choose Arcana for knowledge of magic that may cause harm, and Insight for knowledge of people who may cause harm.

For your subclass: want to heal as a Sorcerer? Divine Soul! Divine Soul Sorcerers have Divine Magic, giving them access to the entire Cleric spell list along with the Sorcerer spell list! Additionally they get another spell tied to their alignment and naturally Soraka is a holy good girl of goodness so you’ll learn the Cure Wounds spell to... cure wounds. Divine Soul Sorcerers are also Favored by the Gods, letting them add 2d4 to a failed saving throw or attack roll once per short rest.

But now for spells! Along with Cure Wounds you can learn 4 cantrips and 2 leveled spells from the Sorcerer list or the Cleric list. To guide your allies the Guidance cantrip is a good choice, letting them add a d4 to an ability check. And to guide them through the darkness Dancing Lights will let them see what’s ahead. For some generic magical effects Prestidigitation is good to help in small ways, and to sling a banana to inflict Grievous Wounds grab Chill Touch, because sometimes you need to harm to heal. For leveled spells Healing Word will let you heal at a distance and not get in harm’s way yourself, and Sleep will let you end a fight without bloodshed.

LEVEL 2 - CLERIC 1

“Oh well Cleric at level 2 is clearly done so you can get Life Cleric for increased healing!” Nope wrong again! While Soraka heals a lot her heals aren’t really empowered; they’re just really big. But you know who Soraka does heal a lot? Those who are injured. Time for Grave Domain baby!

Grave Clerics are in the Circle of Mortality, letting them heal for the maximum amount on any target who is at 0 hitpoints. Additionally they get the Spare the Dying cantrip with a casting range of 30 feet, and can cast it as a bonus action! Grave Clerics can also detect those who insult life’s natural circle, and can use Eyes of the Grave to detect any undead within 60 feet that aren’t behind full cover or protected from divination magic. You can use Eyes of the Grave a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier, and regain all expended uses on a Long Rest.

But let’s talk spells, because woo boy you’re going to get a lot of them with this build: as a Cleric you can learn three cantrips from the Cleric list. Sacred Flame is another way to deal damage which we didn’t take as a Sorcerer, and Word of Radiance is a way to keep yourself safe if surrounded. Finally Thaumaturgy will let you perform some divine acts that are a little more intimidating than Prestidigitation.

You can prepare a number of Cleric spells equal to your Wisdom modifier (2) plus your Cleric level (1 - so a maximum of 3.) As a Grave Cleric you always have Bane and False Life prepared, to keep your enemies at bay and keep yourself from being harmed. To further protect your allies grab both Shield of Faith and Protection from Evil and Good, and to illuminate your foes in an Equinox grab Guiding Bolt. It’s worth mentioning that Clerics are prepared spellcasters because Sorcerers are not, so any Cleric spells we grab as Sorcerer are “essential” while the ones we grab as Cleric are more “optional” and can be swapped out as you see fit.

LEVEL 3 - CLERIC 2

Second level Clerics get access to Channel Divinity: all Clerics can Turn Undead, forcing all undead within 30 feet to make a Wisdom save or run away from you. Additionally Grave Clerics can further set up with Equinox thanks to Channel Divinity: Path to the Grave, allowing you to curse an enemy and make it vulnerable to the next attack that hits it. Root your foes to set up for some potent skill shots! Regardless of what Channel Divinity you use you gain the ability back on a short rest.

You can also prepare another spell like Bless, letting your allies add a d4 to attack rolls and saving throws.

LEVEL 4 - SORCERER 2

Lol what’s second level spells? Second level Sorcerers get Font of Magic, giving them Sorcery Points equal to their level in Sorcerer. You can convert sorcery points into spell slots, and thanks to the Class Feature Variants UA you have a few other options: Empowering Reserves lets you spend 2 Sorcery points to gain advantage on a skill check, Imbuing Touch lets you spend 2 Sorcery points to make a weapon magical for the sake of overcoming magic resistance, and Sorcerous Fortitude lets you convert Sorcery points into d4s which you can roll to grant yourself temporary hitpoints. None of these are really in flavor for Soraka except maybe Empowering Reserves, but it’s still nice to have the option if your DM allows UA.

You can also learn another spell and to keep you safe from those who’d wish to abuse your power (and try on new skins) grab Disguise Self, letting you alter the appearance of yourself and your clothes! No what do you mean we have too many first level spells?

LEVEL 5 - SORCERER 3

Third level Sorcerers get Metamagic to alter their spells with their Sorcery points. To keep enemies at bay grab Hightened Spell and spend 3 Sorcery points to give enemies disadvantage on their first saving throw against your spells. If you want to cast from bush and not draw attention to yourself then Subtle Spell will let you spend 1 Sorcery point to ignore any verbal or somatic components of a spell, so that you can cast without a sound and without drawing attention to yourself.

And hey look at that: actual second level spells! You know me: when given the chance Misty Step to Flash is always going to be my spell of choice.

LEVEL 6 - SORCERER 4

At 4th level you get your first Ability Score Improvement, but we’re actually going to be a good support and ward with the Observant feat. Along with a plus 1 to your Wisdom you also get a +5 bonus to your passive Perception and Investigation by watching the minimap, and you can read people’s lips to make sure they aren’t complaining about how you’re a shit support. What no I’m not projecting.

Also yeah with an increase to your Wisdom modifier you can prepare another Cleric spell.

You can also learn another spell and another cantrip! Minor Illusion will let you make a small image you can use to deceive enemies; maybe it’s a scarecrow? For your leveled spell you have a silence in your kit so grab Silence to silence enemies. Silently.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 7 - SORCERER 5

5th level Sorcerers can grab third level spells: to protect yourself and your allies with a Banshee’s Veil grab Counterspell, blocking incoming magic and keeping yourself safe!

LEVEL 8 - SORCERER 6

6th level Divine Soul Sorcerers get Empowered Healing, allowing them to empower... their healing. Whenever you or an ally within 5 feet of you rolls dice to heal you can spend 1 sorcery point to reroll any number of those dice once. Soraka’s healing isn’t strong because it’s high but because its consistently high.

Speaking of healing Life Transference will let you give your life to others. You hurt yourself for 4d8 necrotic and then heal that much to the target you choose. I should also mention that technically speaking you can cheese this spell with Empowered Healing: since only the healing is affected if you roll all 1s against yourself you can then Empower the heal and get more value out of your self harm! ...That sounds really weird when you say it out loud!

LEVEL 9 - SORCERER 7

7th level Sorcerers can learn 4th level spells but I’m actually going to suggest quickly hopping back to third level for Fly. Why? Because it’s Fly, and because Star Guardian Soraka can fly. Also because it’s Fly why do I have to justify this?!

LEVEL 10 - SORCERER 8

8th level Sorcerers get another Ability Score Improvement: seeing as most of investment so far has been in the Sorcerer class get more Charisma for better Sorcery.

You can also learn another spell but again we’ll be hopping down a few levels for Hold Person for a Root with Equinox.

LEVEL 11 - SORCERER 9

9th level Sorcerers can learn 5th level spells which means it’s finally time for Starcall! Enervation is a ranged attack that heals you: the targeted creature must make a Dexterity saving throw or take 4d8 Necrotic damage. On each of your following turns you can continue doing 4d8 to that target without them being able to make a saving throw! If they succeed their save when you target them you only do 2d8 damage, but regardless of if they save or fail you will be healed for half the damage you deal to them!

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 12 - CLERIC 3

Third level Clerics can prepare second level spells. Grave Clerics have Gentle Repose and Ray of Enfeeblement innately prepared, keeping foes from harming your allies and keeping your allies that were harmed... fresh for respawn. Lesser Restoration will let you remove some minor CCs with a crucible, and Zone of Truth will let you figure out who blinded, deafened, paralyzed, or poisoned your friends.

LEVEL 13 - CLERIC 4

4th level Clerics get an Ability Score Improvement: now that we’re taking Cleric levels increase your Wisdom for better Cleric spells.

A Wisdom increase means two more prepared spells, along with the new Cleric cantrip you can learn! We may as well grab Mending because you hardly need more offensive cantrips. For prepared spells you can lend Aid to your allies to increase their max HP (and use some of those higher level slots you don’t have spells for.) We’ll hold off on preping anything else until...

LEVEL 14 - CLERIC 5

5th level Clerics Destroy Undead of CR 1/2 or lower that fail their saving throw against Channel Divinity: Turn Undead. Of course it’s unlikely you’ll be fighting CR 1/2 enemies at level 14 but...

5th level Clerics can also prepare third level spells! As a Grave Cleric you will have both Revivify and Vampiric Touch innately prepared, for more healing from harm and a way to bring your allies back from literal death. To further keep your allies from dying Beacon of Hope will maximize incoming healing in the area while also giving allies advantage on Wisdom saves and Death saves. For a close-range Wish (the League of Legends ultimate, not the D&D spell) Mass Healing Word will let you heal 6 creatures within 60 feet as a bonus action.

LEVEL 15 - CLERIC 6

6th level Clerics get a second use of Channel Divinity per short rest, but more importantly as a Grave Cleric you’re a Sentinel at Death’s Door, letting you negate critical hits on allies within 30 feet! You can use this reaction a number of times equal to your Wisdom modifier and regain all expended uses on a long rest.

You can also prepare another spell and to further aid against crowd control Remove Curse will let you... remove a curse affecting a target.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

LEVEL 16 - CLERIC 7

7th level Clerics can prepare 4th level spells. Grave Clerics will always have Blight and Death Ward prepared. How Blight falls into your mantra of not doing harm I don’t know, but keeping from falling off the brink of death is always useful! Speaking of useful: knocking an enemy out of the fight harmlessly with Banishment can allow your allies to focus on more dangerous threats.

LEVEL 17 - CLERIC 8

8th level Grave Clerics get Potent Spellcasting, letting them add their Wisdom modifier to the damage of their Cleric cantrips. Naturally since your cantrips are going to be increased with Wisdom I’d suggest increasing your Wisdom with the Ability Score Improvement you just got!

With our final increase to Wisdom you can prepare two more spells and we’re actually going to be hopping back a few levels, first for Daylight from third level to banish the fog of war, and then all the way back to first level for Detect Evil and Good, so you will know who has evil in their hearts.

LEVEL 18 - SORCERER 10

10th level Clerics get another Metamagic, but none of these are really that impressive so you may as well grab Empowered Spell to keep your enemies from ever damaging your allies in the first place.

You can also learn another spell and to root more powerful beasts grab Hold Monster, which is like Hold Person but it works on monsters! And you learn another cantrip like Resistance, letting your chosen ally add a d4 to a saving throw, so you can support them without using any resources.

LEVEL 19 - SORCERER 11

11th level Sorcerers can learn 6th level spells and of course we’ll be going all out for the most reliable Heal in the game. A creature in 60 feet is instantly healed for 70 health and cured of any blindness or deafness.

LEVEL 20 - SORCERER 12

12th level Sorcerers get our final Ability Score Improvement, so cap off your Charisma modifier to have the strongest spells from two spell schools.

What? Did you think that you’d get another spell to learn? Lol nope screw you Sorcerers only get a spell every other level past level 10 because I don’t know. Feel free to replace one of your older Sorcerer spells with a 6th level spell if you wish, because you’ve certainly got the slots to do it.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

I lend my aid - You’d never guess that the character built specifically to heal would be good at healing, with tons of supportive spells to keep your allies alive and your foes at bay.

What must be done - You also do quite a lot of damage with powerful spells like Vampiric Touch, Blight, and Enervation, not to mention an insane array of cantrips and your Channel Divinity empowering the attacks from allies.

Where am I needed? - Even out of combat you are constantly helping the party with an ungodly amount of cantrips and insane utility with both Charisma and Wisdom skills.

CONS

Be at peace - Sorcerer levels plus no Constitution modifier equals less than 100 max health on average! Your foes don’t even need to hit you: just hit the Power Word Kill button and you’re down for the count! Not to mention that your AC and saving throws are incredibly subpar, even if being a Satyr helps against magic.

Never waste a breath - The vast majority of your damaging spells are Necrotic, so while you may be intended to be the healer of the group you might struggle to do much else against foes that resist necrotic damage.

This is my path - There’s such a thing as too much Cleric. Doing a near-perfect 50/50 split between two spellcasters means that while your slots go up to 9th level the actual spells you know only go up to 6th. And you don’t even get Wish; that’s literally the name of your ultimate! What’s more is that Divine Soul Sorcerer really doesn’t help us much with the only use you get out of the class being Empowered Healing. Sure 2 more levels in Sorcerer would give you wings but then you lose out on Potent Spellcasting and an ASI.

But your job was to heal and protect which is a job you do well. Any brute can save the day by crushing the head of the bad guy, but saving the world through compassion is a tough task. But keep a level head, support your team, and be ready to mute everyone if it becomes too much to handle. You’re just a Deathcap away from becoming the very thing you swore to destroy.

(Artwork by Riot Games)

#DnD 5e #dnd #dnd build #dnd guide #League of Legends #League of Legends Soraka #healer #dnd cleric #dnd sorcerer #dnd multiclass

[bellamygateoldblog]

The 100 7x01: Discussion

My general takeaway from the episode can be summarised like this: Echo is spectacular. (I might’ve said “oh my god look at her!!!!!” and “ugh she is just The Best” too many times to count).

This is long-ish because I really just wanted to consolidate my thoughts in one place. Bitch it’s me i got a lot to say!!!!!

The Good Parts

— The farmhouse setting. While it’s existence is strange and “a sore thumb” and worked to further push Sanctum being the abomination born of clumsily mixing genres and time periods in terms of construction/costuming, making everything appear disconnected and obnoxious, it was still a nice change. It made me feel warmer and more comfortable as a ‘modern’ viewer. It’s a breath of fresh air from the constant dark element: dilapidated post-apoc buildings falling from their foundation, endless woods, and equally cold-feeling labs and skeleton dungeons.

— Echo. This was a damn good episode for Echo and every second reminded me of why she’s my favourite. She’s a badass. I always love to see her falling naturally into leadership of her little ragtag groups who accept it wholeheartedly. From the “testing a theory” moment where she went ‘when Gabriel doesn’t speak >>>’, to right at the end when she killed the solider about to “eliminate” Hope (hesitation is death...oh no he can’t hear us he’s got airpods in oh my god). It was Echo that got them through the whole sequence with the anomaly, Echo who figured shit out, Echo who quickly judged the situations and formed plans to overcome the obstacles. In other words: she did THAT.

Favourite scene: Echo coming face-to-face with the projection of her own insecurities in the form of Roan and Echo 1.0, and physically overcoming them (shooting them down), along with the trauma and pain that they both represent. The perserverence and getting the job done despite the emotional torture felt like a callback to the Psychosis episode of 6x02 when she was clever enough to sedate herself to silence the voices in her head. I also think the dialogue chosen was also foreshadowing that she would become a leader by the finale (commander?) and i love to see it!

— Clarke and Madi’s conversation. Oh Clarke, you just keep reinforcing and validating my perceptions of who you are as a person over and over again lol. In all her self-importance failing to remember that Madi, in fact, had and was raised by her biological parents for half of her life (and the new knowledge that she spent six years telling her little mind tales from the book of her life whilst apparently never taking the time to learn about Madi’s or acknowledge/honour her birth parents in any way) is “yeah that’s about right” to me. Sure you could say she was still reeling from the events of six and her death-almost death-almost death again. But I’ve always had this Thing about the relationship between Clarke and Madi. And i’ve seen some of the lighthearted humourous reception that scene got from fandom, “#where do you think the child CAME from?!” which only served to remind me of my own impression that Clarke views Madi as wholely ‘hers’, as if Madi’s existence was tied to Clarke, but i might elaborate in a seperate post.

This scene was a lovely display of self-awareness I’ve rarely seen on Clarke (never even got it when she electrocuted said child two seasons ago- however that absense of apology and acknowledgement of the sheer wrongness of that action also fits very nicely with my view of her lmao, still though, a weird choice for your ‘heroine’).

— Clarke’s “feels like a different world.” Felt romantically-coded. I think Gaia/Clarke might be the most convinient relationship to transform into romance at this point. However I’m sincerely hoping this road they could go down won’t reduce Gaia to a crutch/accessory for Clarke, and that she doesn’t become merely a love interest. I’ve seen talk already of Gaia being “Clarke’s happiness” etc.. which is already confirming my worst fears. Sigh.

This moment very much felt like found closure and the turning of a page. But i will say it was a very sharp turn from the three seasons of shoehorned-in mentions of Lexa, and last season’s emphasis on Clarke’s very-much intact emotional response to her memory- “it’s why you cry when you think about Lexa”- to her looking at an image of Lexa’s memory of her, reminicing but having no emotional response to it, and brushing it off while sharing a soft look with Gaia (and this is a few days since s6? I don’t know how this timeline is working but Tbh it’s not like these writers ever concerned themselves with ‘realistic time frames’ anyway lol). Yep, Jason’s seasons are individual “movies,” alright.

Other *nodding approvingly* moments

— Raven’s subtle “elevator eyes” on Clarke when she started giving her orders again. I see you, Miss Reyes, and I appreciate you.

— Raven + the foot in her mouth and the cute way she catches herself both times. I just love watching characters fail at existing LOL. She was feeling more human than stereotype or plot device this episode.

— "Mommy and Auntie O” and the implication that Hope is a child inside an aged-up body.

— This quote: “I know what it’s like to lose your family 100 years ago and yesterday at the same time.” It’s so literal but I like it a lot.

— Clarke being ‘leader’ again is, as usual, solely a matter of convinient (and familial/love) circumstances and it felt very true.

The Rest

— The Eligius Situation. So Clarke and her inner circle conquer and live in a nice home, and we’re specifically told Clarke takes the master suite (and the dog), and I was like ‘fair enough’ but then she orders prison labour. She tells them to build her a compound that they won’t actually get to be apart of, and to live in tents while they do so. They aren’t getting anything out of this (before they resist and set their own terms). This is slavery. Also, those aren’t her people to boss around, look down on, and use accordingly for her own gain (in fact they barely know her or why she’s gone from being that one unloyal woman who executed their men and got herself captured like an idiot, then couldn’t make up her mind about which side she wanted to kill- to one in the uppermost position of authority...like...they woke up yesterday) But, then again, that never stopped her.

— Too much and not enough at the same time. The pacing of the episode in general was awful. Too much happening in quick succession, no breathing room, too many factions (no, actually Raven, where is ALIE when you need her? smh). I blink, I miss an entire scene and a character is now beating someone else up. Amazingly, i was still bored 90% of the time.

— The Children of Gabriel calling themselves “The Children of Gabriel.” It was always goofy, even more so when a grown man is saying it.

— Murphy + his self loathing over Abby’s death. Did I miss the part where she was ever good to him? One of their final moments together was of her telling him he deserved to die over Clarke after she spent the entire series treating him like he was inferior and disposable. uhhhhhhhhhh.

— The picnic scene. Jackson’s sudden violent outburst was unearned (it wasn’t even set up???), and also disrespectful. Wrong place, wrong time, bro. He’s grieving? Okay. But when Abby’s daughter is sitting right in front of you, making this about you, ruining a perfectly good toast in her honour with your uncomfortable accusations loses you points you never even had to begin with. And this is a ‘me’ thing but I can’t be bothered to be sympathetic when this is about Abby Griffin.

Also, I have to say it. Eliza’s acting took me out of the scene every time I looked at Clarke. I couldn’t for the life of me work out what those expressions were supposed to be.

— Russell, his manpain, and a fury over the consiquences of his own actions  that could rival the grounders (”my brother died in your ring of fire [while he was trying to murder you all]” hmm sounds like a you problem). But the worst part is, I simply couldn’t tell where he stood or what he was feeling. He’s so one-dimensional. He’s an evil man (so much for ”grey morality”).

— Clarke + Jordan. A small point to make but all Clarke has done since Marper made her ‘Godmother’ of their son has blame him for everything bad happening lol. Marper loses a lot of my respect as time goes on for that choice. As much as I dislike Jordan’s presence in the show, still not a great pattern to have noticed.

— Raven seeking approval from Clarke (specifically) for the Prime idea was...weird and very bad. When has Raven ever cared for Clarke’s validation, especially in the last few seasons?

Was also taken aback by how Indra and Miller are both suddenly so protective of Clarke, like i can make sense of the Indra part even though it relies on me making things up that aren’t supported by what’s on screen, but Miller?

— (Bonus moment that was bad for me, but not for the same reason it was for the rest of you: the scene of Hope finding the message in her arm. When she was removing the blood-soaked bandage I freaked out because I thought she was peeling her skin off. You’re welcome for that visual.)

The Mixed/No Feelings

— Clarke’s full-dark-no-stars. How many times have they told me now she’s “the head”? LMAO. 

I have no actual formed opinion on it. Only disjointed thoughts. Like i might’ve just gone “good for her” if Clarke wasn’t the person she is, with the history she has.

I appreciate the idea, to have her spend the whole episode declaring she is, in fact, completely fine, to end it having her explode with the repressed pain.

I mean...i realise the cognition behind it, but it’s eye-roll inducing at this point. This- kicking Russell to death (giving him exactly what he wanted and set out to provoke), and burning down a palace she promised to keep intact, once again going against the group to do her own Thing that they all ultimately have the suffer the consiquences of and help clean up- is just a repeat of past patterns, and Monty’s “do better” mantra that she desperately clung to like she owned it last season is nowhere in sight.

(Also, I can’t be the only one who spotted her physically smacking that Sanctum girl as she walked onto the balcony? Not cool. Wasn’t cool when Murphy acted like a dick to one of them either this episode.)

The rushed switch did a number on me, too, like Jackson’s did. Literally five minutes before she was preaching about a peaceful life for Madi that doesn’t take revenge (I think I know what they were going for with that but it just left me feeling confused and frustrated).

Furthermore, I’ve seen talk that this was her “burning down of a symbol of oppression”, something she experienced first hand (not so unlike Blodreina and the bunker she desperately wanted to escape and deliver her people from), but there was no noble, calculated intention there. She burned the palace accidentally in her rage because she was in pain and disorientated. The moral stuff was just an after effect.

The speech was also very ‘Clarke’. Feeling entitled to and making decisions on who lives and dies right after declaring this wasn’t their kill to make. She wasn’t the only person hurt by the Primes (but we’ve also been given no reason to care about any of the other victims- the manipulated, enslaved population have been turned into a joke and a punching bag for the main characters which...isn’t great either). And the castle could’ve been used to shelter some of the “too many people” we had problems with through the episode (or used to harvest resources from). It really comes down to if i think the situation justifies the reaction and if i hold her wholely responsible...and this is the part where i reiterate that i have no intact opinion and don’t actually care to have one either ha.

#the 100 s7 #7x01 discussion #the 100 7x01

[tragedybunny]

The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends Fanfiction - Chapter 17

Hello Lovelies, I hope you are all well in these times. Out of sickness and moving house, I bring you this chapter.

❤Tragedybunny❤

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected.

I stretch and make a note on the report in front of me, the last of a small mountain that had occupied most of my desk, well the desk I poached from the downstairs study. I determine that ultimately it contains nothing of consequence to the Empire. It puts forward that the rebelling mages put an end to Jarvan III, a conclusion that I find open to doubt. Rebels whose very existence was outlawed in Demacia would have seen much more value in the King as a bargaining chip or at least executed him very publicly. I imagine something else is at play. Unless their leader really is the raving madman the Crown Prince has painted him as.  Ah Demacia, that veneer of justice and mercy is starting to wear off. I wonder… no, that belongs in the past. 

We should dig deeper into what befell this last Jarvan, we might even find out before the newest Jarvan. I carefully lay out the orders in a code, wax seal it, and put it on the pile to be dispatched. At my feet, Skadi stirs and makes an excited chirp startling Bea who digs her claws into my shoulder and caws angrily. Jericho had infuriatingly been proven right about the challenges of keeping the two of them in the same house. I wince but stroke her head, trying to calm her. “Come in Rowan.”

The door to my parlor turned office opens and Rowan glides through, cloak billowing around them. “How did you know it was me?” 

I look down as Skadi hurtles across the floor, a black and red blur, to collide with their legs, leathery tail whipping back and forth.  “She never growls when it’s you.” 

They bend down and acknowledge her with a quick pat which sends her trotting happily back to my side. Rowan slides into the chair across from me, tactfully averting their eyes as I move the reports out of sight. “She certainly has grown quite large in just a couple of months.”

“She’s also a pain in my ass.” Papers stowed, I pull her into my lap, which Bea mercifully tolerates. “And how are you, Rowan?” 

“Quite excellent, that hidden library in the Bastion is yielding many interesting insights and mysteries. The Mage’s Council is eternally grateful to the Grand General for the unfettered access to it. It sounds as though he has fared well against this rebellion?”

“As you would imagine. Most of their number broke and ran as soon they realized who they were up against. He’s been chasing down stray bands of them but it would seem a good number have faded back into their former lives.” Skadi suddenly tilts her head up to lick my chin, a habit she’s developed that I imagine Jericho is going to despise. To his credit, he had tried to conceal his dislike for drake hounds but it didn’t take long before it was obvious. I don’t understand why he agreed to me keeping her at all. 

“And yourself, is the recent promotion agreeing with you?” I note they’ve been fidgeting with the sleeve of their robe since they sat. Typical of life in Noxian High Command, something more is at play. 

I stand, firmly holding Skadi, and Bea vacates my shoulder. “The weather is lovely, let’s walk and talk. I’ll show you my garden.” That should be far enough from any eyes and ears that could be curious. Moira, to her credit, rules the staff with an iron grip, but Gwen’s spy ring has taught me how dangerous their disloyalty can be. Rowan nods and follows my lead out into the hall. “I hate this damned promotion! Between overseeing a contingent of warmasons and leading the Guild I spend most of my time doing dull administrative tasks.” I can’t even admit to them that Inara is mostly running the Guild while I scramble to keep tabs on all of Jericho’s pawns, allies and enemies alike. When he returns I’ll have to have words with her, she’s been spikier than usual and seems to be avoiding me. I navigate the stairs with Skadi in my arms, she still has trouble not tumbling down them, and set her down to bound along behind us. “And I still think it has more to do with earning my husband’s favor than anything I’ve done.” Summer has just settled over the Capitol and the windows all stand open to ease the stifling heat. 

“Perhaps, or perhaps your capabilities are greater than you estimate. I’ve heard no complaints about your performance.” Rowan has developed quite a few ties in High Command with their place in the Mage’s Council, and they’re not shy about exploiting that for information. 

Silence falls as we pass through the house and finally we reach my long sought after prize. The garden, now reclaimed, is an explosion of color, order carefully disguised as chaos. It seems like a wild space, a forest clearing somewhere far from the harsh steppes of the Noxian homelands, as long as you ignore the benches and fountains.”How do you like it? I didn’t want it to look overly fussy.” 

They think for a moment as we continue to stroll. “Perceptive choice. You make an excellent Lady of the House. Perhaps you can even host that trade delegation from Piltover”  

I turn to glare at them and see the smile they don’t bother to conceal. “You’re not the first to think this a joking matter. You’re just lucky I’m fond of you and won’t consider stabbing you for it. And don’t remind me of the god's forsaken mess that is Piltover.” We come to a stop and I notice Bea perched in the branches above us. She hasn’t strayed far since Jericho left, she must really feel his absence. “I know you’re not here for tea and gossip or to see this garden. What really brings you here?”

We’re finally out of earshot of the house, a small tree blocking us from view. They lean down to use a hushed tone anyway. “She came to see me. She’s plotting something, I can tell. She was making not so subtle overtures for my allegiance.” 

I narrow my eyes. She’s getting aggressive with Jericho gone, but this is more proof of his suspicions. Maybe even something that can finally be acted on. “Keep her dangling?”

“I played neutral, yes. There’s more though, I’m hearing constant rumors, she’s recruiting others. There are possible traitors everywhere, even among your own.” 

I think of all the Guild’s potential recruits that have vanished, our numbers still thin, likely an intentional move. I didn’t miss the tense look of General Talus when she promoted me, giving me rank in Intelligence I hadn’t earned. It makes sense now, my loyalty to the Trifarix is somewhat guaranteed. The irony is that the threat is from within the council itself. “Keep what mages you can loyal. And if you can get any word of her sanguinary friend moving outside his little Crimson Cult, make it a priority.” 

“Of course. And I’ll await the Grand General’s return with fervor, ready to be of any use I can.” They look down suddenly, eyes wide. Skadi is happily chewing on the hem of their robe. 

“Bad girl, stop that.” I lean down and scoop her up “Apologies, we’re still training.” I grimace, cheeks flushing. 

Rowan laughs, a musical sound that’s been said to enchant. “Worry not, this is the least of our problems. I will be in touch, dear Katarina.” 

Once I see them out I return to the daunting stack of reports. They have a strict deadline of tomorrow morning, I’ve already put them off as long as I can. Currently, I oversee our warmasons to the far west, mainly Demacia and its immediate neighbors. This intel isn’t used for direct military action, yet. We predict where they will intervene, where the Empire can use it’s warhosts most effectively. Although, with all that has happened, I imagine Demacia’s military will be occupied for some time. I can’t say they don’t deserve this with their foolish and backward attitude toward magic. 

My mind wanders to Rowan’s warning, the danger is growing and she’s outed herself as the one behind it. If she were mortal I would have slit her throat long ago. She ensnared my father, caused his death, and now she threatens my…, my husband. I look down at the ring on my hand, still an unbelievable thing to behold. He was right about the necessity, it’s been an endless task to keep our circle of allies tight and make sure his presence is still felt in the Capitol. There is the nice little reward of my critics being forced to refer to me as Commander Swain with the sourest looks. 

I pull a fresh sheet of parchment from the desk. I haven’t written lately, he’ll probably be looking for an update. Not that he’s been consistent about writing me back, it seems one for every three I write. I should really chide him about that when he returns. 

J. 

Rowan came to see the garden today. He had some words of wisdom on its care. I’m hosting Argos and his new companion for dinner, let’s see if she’s more entertaining than the last. Bea is well, she’s adjusting to Skadi quite nicely. Noxus celebrates your triumphs and I’m confident you will bring a decisive end to these rebels soon. 

K.

Seemingly nothing but domestic babble, I trust him to know what I mean. Rowan came with information, Argos is still loyal, and I’m still managing everything as he would like. I keep them brief since I know he’d prefer to not have excess information to sift through. I tuck it into an envelope and set my personal wax seal on it. One perk of my position in Intelligence is being able to send my letters with official military dispatches. 

There was never any doubt that Jericho’s Warhost would crush the rebellion. While not as legendary as the Trifarian Legion, it would be foolish to underestimate it. Really any army could have sufficed with him at its head. I have to admit, I regret I didn’t get to join this campaign. I’d rather be at his side, slitting throats for him, than here reading reports. Damn it, I really miss him. Even if he manages to keep things between us nebulous still. It doesn’t change how I burn for him to be back home beside me.

I need to take a trip to Guild Headquarters tonight. All these emotions have become like waves battering the side of a beleaguered ship, leaving no peace in their wake. I need some good old-fashioned bloodshed to clear my mind and still my heart. When the last report is read and my dispatches are properly sealed and bundled for the morning, I head to my room and ready myself for the hunt. Armor and daggers in place, I head for the stairs, leaving via the window seems awkward now that I’ve become so inexorably tied to this house. Moira is overseeing some grand cleaning endeavor in the hall and I nod as I pass her only to catch a scathing look she too slowly tries to erase. I inhale sharply, and here I thought we were having a pleasant armistice. “Yes?” I snap and regret the momentary loss of control. She hesitates and I temper my tone. “Did you have something you wished to say?”

Finally, after another breath, she lets it out. “Well, the staff was just confused as to why we weren’t informed the Grand General was on his way home.”

I narrow my eyes, it can’t be. “Are you sure about this?”

Her face pales, the implications dawning on her. “Y-yes, the word is all over the city today.” Of course, I’ve been sequestered all day with damn reports. “The army turned east some time ago, engaged in a battle, and is now closing in on the Capitol.” 

“I see.” God’s how embarrassing, to be so in the dark. That must be what Rowan was meaning. I swear I’ll repay him for this oversight. “Well, now we all know.” I turn and walk away, leaving her with a word still on her lips, desperately hiding how much it stings to be forgotten. How was he so thoughtless? Nevermind, it must have been a mistake. We’ll laugh it off once he’s home. 

Even telling myself that doesn’t quiet the nagging accusations in my head, but the Guild has the cure I seek. There’s a certain diplomat who’s been acting as a second rate spy. The nerve, coming here and thinking you get away with a half-arsed espionage attempt. This is Noxus, if you’re going to spy, you had better excel at it. This is the one I’ve decided to handle personally.

Inara had laughed and asked if I was still sharp as I left, but the jab felt hollow, and I ended up rolling my eyes and walking away. One benefit of Jericho’s unexpectedly imminent return is that’s something I’ll be able to handle. As it turns out, I don’t have to worry about being sharp, my quarry is likely to provide a laughably small amount of challenge. One look through the window I’m perched at reveals a man of ridiculous girth. The only challenge will be making this somehow appear accidental.  Despite the reputation of Noxian diplomacy, the outright murder of a foreign agent, even a known spy, would be considered bad form. 

His bulk spills over the side of the chair he’s seated in, alone in a room with the lamps turned down low, pouring over some document. I try to analyze my possible approach, how I should navigate this, but with all that just transpired, my patience has run out. I slide the window open, not even trying to quiet it as it gives a keening whine, who needs a plan. I draw a dagger and I’m inside and behind him before he even reacts to the noise. “Writing a little note home?”

He’s been trying to turn to catch the noise, and he comes face to face with me. I give him a predatory smile. “M-Madame, C-Commander!” He stammers, eyes wide with dawning understanding. He opens his mouth, no doubt to scream for help. 

I silence him with a blade to his throat, freezing him in an awkward pose with his head turned toward me.  “That’s the problem with the position I find myself in. Now you all know me, and each and every one of you thinks to beg me for mercy. Well, I have none, especially not tonight.”

“Please...please.” His voice squeaks as I press the dagger harder against his throat. Another for tears and cowardice it would seem. How dull.

“What did I just say?” Forget accidents, forget political ramifications. Vision fading to red, I drag the blade across his throat; forget who I’m supposed to be. “You really should have screamed for help when you had the chance.”

I dodge the spray from his severed veins and watch him meekly make his exit from this life. There is no satisfaction though, no blissful relief from my own inner turmoil, just a hollow tiredness. Resigned, I leave him to be found, too late to cover my work.  I make my way back home, running the rooftops in yet another desperate attempt at settling myself. Below me, the city pulses with life, even at this late hour, as work and leisure never cease among the endless denizens of the Capitol. It does come, just a bit, a little serenity in the noise and motion, as leap one edge to the next, and climb every height in my path. It feels so familiar,  I almost expect my long gone stalker to appear, steps haunting mine. It’s fleeting though and vanishes all too soon. I sigh as the seriousness of what I’ve done finally catches up to me with my now clear head. This blatant murder could reverberate throughout our allies, undermining so much diplomatic work. It was reckless and rash and I should have known better. Even worse, I know he'd be disappointed. I berate myself the rest of the way home.

 I think longingly of the bottle of wine sitting on my desk, temptingly untouched. Since nothing else has managed to soothe me I could just drown it all. That’s likely to cause me further troubles though, I haven’t forgotten the disaster the night before our wedding. It’s still waiting for me when I return home, along with an eager little drake hound that demands my immediate attention with her high pitched chirps. With her scooped up in my arms, affectionately nipping my fingers, I leave my temptations behind for bed. I need to regain control, I’ve ceded so much of it to Jericho over time, and now my own emotions are spiraling dangerously. I almost laugh at the thought, embracing that lack of control has defined me for so long now. I yawn, there will be time for deep thoughts tomorrow.   

The hour is late by the time Skadi is happily tucked into her own little bed in the corner and I crawl into mine, which feels so very empty with just me in it. Painfully sober and finally admitting to myself I’m bitter at Jericho’s neglect, I fall into a fitful, brief sleep. Some nightmare haunts me, someone in the shadows hunting me, a flock of ravens, a woman’s laugh, cold and cruel. I’m ripped from the senseless cacophony by a less than impressive growl from across the room. “Go back to sleep, it’s still night.” A noise comes from Jericho’s private parlor beyond the door and with a final small growl, Skadi shoots into the darkness before emitting her tiny roar. 

“Cease that you little beast.” Oh, no. Hurriedly I leap from the bed, rushing to the other room to find a single lamp lit and Skadi with her teeth locked around Jericho’s ankle. My heart leaps into my throat, my irritation forgotten. He’s home. He glowers down at her while her too small teeth fail to pierce the leather of his boot. 

“Bad girl, stop.” I can’t help the slight laugh that escapes me as I bend down to pry her off her target. The sight of her determinedly trying to maul him is too much. With her squirming about in my grasp, I stand back up, and my laughter quickly dies in my throat at his dark expression. “Sorry about that.” My mouth feels dry.

“I thought you were supposed to be training her.” It’s not harsh or cruel, but cold and detached. He moves past us without another word, into the bedroom. 

“I am, she’s still young.” I trail behind him, elation dissolving, my heart sinking. “I wasn’t expecting you home. You didn’t write to let me know.” 

He goes about the room, turning the gas lamps on, throwing a harsh brightness over everything. “I sent word to High Command. I assumed it would be relayed to you.” His tone indicates he didn’t concern himself over it. He pulls the chair back from his desk and drapes his coat over it, again sparing no words for me as I stand there awkwardly. Even Skadi has gone still at the grim atmosphere.

“Well, it didn’t.” He sits and starts sorting through the papers stacked neatly in front of him. “I take it you’re intending to work?” The sun hasn’t yet pierced the horizon. 

He nods, not looking my way. “There is much to be done. I’ll expect a report of anything you find pertinent.” 

“Right.” I take Skadi and retreat down that narrow passage to my room, to a bed I haven’t been exiled to in so long. Fighting to breathe, cheeks burning, and eyes stinging, I lay in bed and pull her close. That was so much the Jericho of old, the cold possessive man who saw me as an asset, a tool.  It was like there was nothing there of the man who’d held me close on our wedding night and called me wife so softly. 

What did you think, foolish girl, that he cared for you? Do you never learn? He got everything he wanted from me, the Guild, my position in Intelligence, and a wife to manage his interests in his absence. He no longer needs to maintain his charade. I feel the tears threatening to spill over and I smother them. No, he’s taken everything else, he can’t have them as well. 

#swain #Katarina #swain x katarina #League of Legends #league of legends fanfction

[positivepsychologydegree1-blog]

Why Your Online Facilitation Practice Needs Positive Psychology

Teaching students is not always a matter of showing up for class, disseminating information and instructions, facilitating class discussions, and providing feedback. It is more about the instructional approach you take and its effectiveness when utilized. This is especially true for online instructors who teach in a technologically enabled environment. Your presence as the assigned instructor, or lack thereof, determines how students respond to your involvement in class and whether or not they engage with you.

More importantly, your choice of an instructional strategy will influence how well your students make progress throughout the class. Their continued development depends upon you more than your instruction. There is an additional tool you can use, one that can encourage progress, which requires only a change in your focus and choice of wording - and it is called positive psychology. It is centered on the enhanced well-being of your students and helps to renew their self-motivation.

The Importance of Online Facilitation

An online class may seem like a cold and uninviting environment; however, the involvement of an instructor can change all of that through visibility and engagement on a continual basis. It demonstrates to students that the instructor is engaged and fully invested in their class. But there is more to being present than logging into the class and checking off required duties. There must be substantive engagement and the discussion board is one of the most crucial interactive elements of an online class. This is where the instructor can work with students and provide help when needed, guide them when they are off track, and prompt their knowledge retention, critical thinking skills, and intellectual involvement.

Working with Online Students

In a traditional classroom the instructor has an upper hand in how the class proceeds because they are in control. They conduct a lecture and a lead the students according to a specified plan. With an online classroom the playing field, so to speak, is leveled. Students may cooperate and work with their instructor, or they may simply ignore them, complete the required work, and believe somehow they will pass the class. In this environment instructors must gain the cooperation of their students and nurture a productive relationship. Credibility and trust are both built through one interaction at a time. It can be easy to engage some students - especially the overachievers. But if you set high expectations for students and they aren't responsive, it means they have shut you out. click for more info Positive Psychology Coaching

Positive Psychology Basics

There are three phases commonly used to describe positive psychology and includes well-being, happiness, and optimism. Martin Seligman is generally credited with bringing positive psychology into practice and the purpose was to help individuals recover from depression through a positive perspective. As you learn more about this particular branch of psychology you will find that it is much more than positive thinking. It is a strengths-based approach to human development. When positive psychology is utilized in treatment programs, not only is there a focus on strengths - there is also attention placed on positive emotions. The goal for this type of program is to create hope and restore a sense of well-being within the patient. While this is a simplistic overview, it shows there is another approach to bringing about change within adults. This aligns with appreciative inquiry, which is also strengths-based and the focus of my work as an online educator.

Adding Positive Psychology to Instruction

As an educator you will develop a routine for how you manage a class and the many responsibilities that come along with it. For example, you develop a standard approach to how you interact with and communicate with your students - and over time you may not question or examine it. As a faculty peer reviewer I have seen patterns of facilitation and found many instructors who put time and thought into their instruction. It is evident because their communication is done with purpose and their feedback is focused on a balance between guiding and correcting students. That approach to instruction is the easiest for adding in elements of positive psychology. It would be a matter of building from students' strengths and coaching them, encouraging them, and offering resources for their developmental needs. The purpose of taking this approach is to help students create positive emotions so that they are encouraged to continue making progress.

The other pattern that I have seen as a faculty peer reviewer is that of facilitation on the fly - being reactive instead of proactive, and trying to keep up with the work while often missing some of the important instructional requirements. The feedback returned to students is generally quick and to the point, and there is minimal substance provided. For this type of instructor they will find that implementing positive psychology can be overwhelming and any attempt to use it will seem disingenuous to students. This instructor will need their own professional development before utilizing any new instructional method of this nature.

Potential Challenges and Benefits

There are many benefits to adding a positive or strengths-based approach to your facilitation. For an instructor who already demonstrates care and concern, coupled with meaningful interactions, this will be another tool and a natural fit to their instructional approach. Students will likely respond in an enthusiastic manner because it will create a sense of hope as it is tied to their continued well-being. Of course not all students will respond to it and some will keep their distance. With online learning you really do not have an opportunity to approach them in class and engage them in a conversation. You can certainly extend the courtesy of an outreach attempt but it is dependent upon their perception of what it means to them.

Overall, that is the point of this approach as students who have positive experiences in the class with their instructor will be encouraged to participate in the learning process. By taking a strengths-based approach you can teach students to develop persistence and self-confidence, as they have skills and abilities to draw upon no matter what learning activities they are required to complete. The use of a positive psychology frame of reference also creates a feeling of satisfaction for the instructor. I can state this from my own experience working with appreciative inquiry. I'm not an expert in either field but I know how it has helped the continual development of my work with students as an online educator - and it enhances the work I already enjoy doing. You can also experience this through the use of a positive facilitation instructional practice.

#Masters in applied positive psychology

[rough-n-randy-rando]

Edd and Flow: Fondle, Fight, Flight.

    It’s amazing how quickly something fantastic can settle into mundanity. The fireflies, once they’d spent their cinematic brilliance, made drunken, wafting patterns in the air, came to rest on the highest strands of the tall grass, or vanished into the sky. Now, they were Christmas lights left out too long, stray embers that never went out.

    The two teens had climbed aboard the tank, Double-Dee identifying it as an M551 Sheridan, and joined the ranks of men who somehow managed to get comfortable atop one. Fortunately for them, a prior visitor had somehow gotten a school-bus bench seat up there, level with the top of the turret, a perfect loveseat crowned and buffeted by the twisted mound of earth and metal. They’d put their jackets beneath them to protect from the general dirt and grime as well as the likely stray screw or nail.

    They sat close, both trying to seem casual about the situation without touching. Double-Dee was lamenting the fact that the new moon’s brilliance meant the stars were not visible. Kevin tried to cheer him up by pointing out a pulsing light far off in the distant sky, though Double-Dee, in short order, explained that it was likely an airliner, as stars don’t pulse or blink, nor travel perceptibly. The silence that followed wasn’t unpleasant, but it was silence.

    In the silence, Double-Dee rediscovered his shyness and uncertainty, pulling his legs in and hugging his knees.

    “This is a rather beautiful place, Kevin, very… secluded.”

    Kevin perked up and nodded, standing and taking a few shaky steps along the stubby main gun of the Tank. “Yeah, I’d heard a lot about it from kids that moved to Peach Creek from Lemon Brook, they talked about it like it was Neverland.”

    “I imagine this is an ideal spot for revelry and mischief.”

    “Why do you talk like that?”

    “How, Kevin?”

    “That, all proper.” Kevin turned and hopped back onto the turret a few inches away from Double-Dee’s feet, “It’s just you and me here, no one to impress.”

     Double-Dee raised an eyebrow, “What makes you assume my vocabulary is tied to some kind of need for praise and attention?”

    “I dunno… just always wondered.”

    “Proper speech and pronunciation is important, Kevin, it opens a lot of doors.”

    Kevin squatted so that he was nearly eye level with Double-Dee. “You’re the last person to need doors opened for them.”

    Double-Dee couldn’t meet Kevin’s eyes, and so focused his attention on a bicycle pedal sticking out of the earth near him, flicking it. “Achievement is no excuse for complacency.”

    Kevin groaned and sat back down, also drawing his knees in close. “It’s like talking to a dictionary.”

    “Well if my mannerisms bother you so, feel free to return me home.”

    “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

    Double-Dee mulled over a response. Was he hurt? No, not really. More than anything he was frustrated. The question, ‘what is this?’ came back into his mind. If it was a date, regardless of his own lack of experience, he doubted part of the itinerary was haranguing the other party over their choice of words. They’d shared a beautiful moment together just a few minutes ago, complete with an appreciative kiss and an embrace. They’d gone from a textbook romance to schoolyard teasing.

    He decided to take the initiative and shift the momentum. He let go of his knees and slid his hand into Kevin’s, squeezing it. “Let’s start over, I’m Eddward Vincent, but you can call me Double-Dee, and… I’m enjoying this date.” He’d said it, let it out into the world, into the air, for the multitudes of insects, field mice and decrepit Russian satellites passing overhead to hear.

    Kevin felt like someone’d struck the base of his spine with a cold lead pipe. There it was. Why was he surprised? Had he not just spent half a day working up the courage to even speak coherently to the boy beside him? Had he not given himself heat stroke just trying to outrun his anxiety, his fear, to be around him? They’d kissed, more than once, of his own free will. He’d even set the time and date for this… date.

    “You’re sweating.”

    “It’s hot out.”

    “You’re sweating profusely.”

    “You’re right…”

    “There’s no one here to impress.”

    Kevin turned and saw Double-Dee suppressing a laugh. He couldn’t help but grin.

    “There’s no one here period, and I still feel like I’m, I dunno, breaking the law.”

    Double-Dee watched Kevin for a moment then shifted in closer, laying his head on the other boy’s shoulder.

    “Well, other than possibly trespassing, I don’t think anything we’re doing, or have done, constitutes malfeasance.”

    “I don’t mean-”

    “I know what you mean. I admit I’m a tad trepidatious about this as well.”

    “You’re giving me a headache with all the wordsmithing.”

    Double-Dee laughed, loudly, embarrassingly, and covered his mouth.

    “What’s so funny?”

    “Wordsmithing, I’m impressed.”

    Kevin pressed his fingers into Double-Dee’s ribs, making him laugh heinously, squirming to escape his grasp.

    “Kevin, p-p-please, s-stop!”

    “Or else what?”

    Double-Dee slipped his hand under Kevin’s armpit and kneaded it, causing him to spasm and pull away. Double-Dee, however, kept up the pressure, and soon the two were practically grappling. Kevin gained the upper hand and scrambled into the dominant position, a leftover from Freshman wrestling. The two were panting, chests heaving, sweat matting hair and glistening on foreheads. It was all rather sensual.

    Kevin had Double-Dee pressed to the turret, holding him by the wrists and clasped close to the chest, laying stomach to stomach, legs entwined.

    “This is… a particularly uncomfortable… position” Double-Dee panted.

    “You give?”

    Double-Dee answered by licking the tip of Kevin’s nose and laughing, though offering no further resistance.

    Kevin couldn’t think of a witty retort, so he likewise licked Double-Dee, from the ridge of his Adam’s Apple to the underside of his chin. He felt the other teen shudder and tense under him. He then felt Double-Dee’s legs slip out and wrap around his waist. The laughter had faded, and now it was just their labored breathing. Small quakes wracked their bodies, every pleasurable neurochemical they could produce, in the unhealthy and copious levels inherent with adolescence, flowing through them.

    They kissed. Kevin released Double-Dee’s wrists and propped himself up on his elbows. Double-Dee’s hands, now freed, explored under Kevin’s shirt; slithering across his chest; around to his back; nails trailing just enough to elicit a hiss; then an exploratory delve beneath his beltline. More shuddering breaths. More sweat. More lips. More tongue.

    Voices, close and loud, cut off the journey to second base, the two laying still, listening.

    “No way.”

    “Swear to God, fifty yards.”

    “You can’t even count to fifty.”

    “Don’t need to count to throw.”

    Kevin swore under his breath, sliding off Double-Dee and tugging their jackets off of the bench.

   “I know that voice” he whispered, “Erick Monroy, certified asshole.”

    Double-Dee, still trying to collect himself from the ruins of his passion, straightened out his beanie and rolled onto his belly, mirroring Kevin’s movements.

    “You have some prior experience with him?”

    “Broke his nose, Baseball, caught him square in the face with a fastball that went wild.”

    “Wonderful, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you, especially in such a compromising situation.”

    The two rose to their hands and knees, hidden from view by the earth and metal mangle. Kevin peered over the top of it, to gauge the distance and get a look at the opposition. Erick was in the lead, six-pack in one hand, cigarette in the other. Shaved head, crooked nose, built like a brick shit house, it was him alright. In total, he had about four cohorts, all of them a full head taller than Kevin and similarly built. He didn’t have to smell them to know they’d been drinking ever since school let out for the summer; their voices loud, slurred; their steps clumsy and snaking; belches punctuated every other three-word sentence. They were about thirty yards away and closing.

    They’d never make the treeline, let alone the bike beyond. They were in the boonies, the badlands, the closest house was a mile away. The options were few, the outcomes unfavorable. Then there was Double-Dee to think about.

    “We’re gonna stand up and walk away like they’re invisible.” Kevin put on his leather jacket, Double-Dee following suit, and the two carefully clambered down.

    “I feel as though this plan has more than a few flaws.”

    “It’s the only plan, I just made it up, it’s gonna be flawed.”

    Kevin helped Double-Dee down and the two started walking towards the direction of the bike. Brisk, unhurried, unbothered. Then bother closed the distance.

    “Hey!”

    Kevin slowed his own pace but hissed at Double-Dee, “Keep walking, I’m right behind you.”

    The crash and crunch of grass being thrashed by drunken steps; throaty ‘urp’ and ‘brep’ half-burps; swears and groans as alcohol sloshed in bellies, in brains, in bottles. Bother arrived.

    “I can’t believe it, ‘Beanball Barr’, my old friend from Peach Creek.”

    They were close, but still trailing.

    “I’m talking to you, Barr!”

    “He’s talking to you, B-buh-Barr!” One of the goons loped in close, coming from the right, reaching out towards Kevin.

    “Double-Dee, run!” Kevin leaned into a shove, catching the first kid high, pitching him back headfirst. The rest of them were taken aback, buying Kevin and Double-Dee enough time to clear the distance to the trees. Bottles and insults sailed after them, but they were poor missiles, with even poorer aim. The winding path through the thicket, a slog littered with landmines of glass, jagged cans and used condoms, breezed by in the teen’s flight. Then there was a crunch, and Double-Dee cried out.

    “What’s wrong?” Kevin fumbled with the small flashlight at the end of his keychain and shined it on Double-Dee. He was leaning against a tree, blood on his hand.

    “My foot, I cut it on something.”

    Kevin crouched and inspected the other boy’s foot, grimacing when he saw the trickle of blood coming through the shredded sneaker. He clamped the light in his teeth and daintily removed the shoe. Double-Dee groaned, bracing himself on the tree.

    He spoke through the flashlight between his teeth “there’s no glass in the cut, you’re gonna need stitches… here.” He fished the bandanna Double-Dee had given him the night before from out of his pocket and fashioned a crude bandage, binding the wound. He stood and wiped the blood on his jeans. “Can you walk?”

    A bottle sailed through the air and shattered.

    “Barr, your ass is mine!”

    “Screw it.” Kevin squatted and tugged Double-Dee onto his back, then took off running.

    In the dark, on treacherous ground, with an extra 130 pounds on his back, Kevin managed a quick pace. His main advantage over the posse following him was sobriety, though they remained within shouting and throwing distance.

    “You’re a headhunter AND a Queer!?” Erick had halved the distance, a lumbering shadow among shadows. “I’m gonna enjoy this even more!” He reached out suddenly from the darkness and grabbed hold of Kevin’s hair. Immediately, his face made acquaintance with the back of Double-Dee’s hand and released his grip.

    “Swing away, Double-Dee!” Kevin slowed and scanned the area, able to discern a few shapes in the dark. Their tail had scattered, gotten lost in the pines. “Home free.”

    They emerged out onto the gravel path, discovering a beat-up sedan at the mouth near the road, likely Erick and his gang’s ride. Kevin lost a bit of his steam now that escape was just a few feet away. He set Double-Dee down at the edge of the path and retrieved the motorcycle. The pair donned their helmets and prepared to ride.

    “Wait just a moment, Kevin.” Double-Dee dismounted and limped over to the sedan, crouching near the wheel. He withdrew what looked like a lipstick tube from his fanny pack and set to work on the lug nuts, the device emitting a high-pitched whining sound.

    “Double-Dee, come on, we don’t have time for this!”

    Satisfied, he made his way back to Kevin and hopped on just as their pursuers cleared the trees. Kevin offered up a one-finger salute, and was surprised to see Double-Dee join in. They sped off, a cloud of dust and gravel in their wake.

    “What did you do to their car?”

    “A rapid removal of essential parts.”

    “Like what?”

    “Come about and you can see.”

    Kevin thought on it a moment, then throttled down, swinging the bike around in a lazy arc.

    “If they run us down, I’m blaming you.”

    “I doubt very much their anger is so great that they’d attempt murder, of all things.”

    The sedan laboriously exited the gravel path, fishtailing once it hit asphalt, and barreled down the road towards the pair. Kevin hit the throttle and swung the bike around quickly.

    “Wait, look!”

    Kevin looked over his shoulder and watched as the sedan’s left-side wheels came flying off, the car screeching to a halt in a shower of sparks that lit up the area like a signal flare.

    “No way!”

    Double-Dee slapped the side of Kevin’s helmet three times, “NOW would be the appropriate time to leave.”

       They’d rode to the boundary of the badlands, where Lemon Brook’s orchards, farmland and rails gave way to the open, unplanned, wild countryside of Peach Creek. Pukwudgie Service Station, a 50’s holdover that was a beacon of neon and blazing halogen flood-lights, sat right on the boundary line. Inside, truckers and stray motorists could get a hot meal, cold drinks, a shower, useless trinkets and, should the worst come to pass, first-aid kits.

    A sympathetic waitress in the 24-hour diner section of the stop let the two teens use the break room to treat Double-Dee’s foot. In the light of a cheap flashlight, surrounded by darkness, against weak, pale moonlight, the wound had seemed worse than it really was. Kevin’s prognosis, made in the heat of the moment and with danger at arm’s reach, was only slightly off. The cut was long, but it was shallow. Kevin washed and sterilized the wound like he had been taught in the Boy Scouts, one of the only things he cared to remember from that dismal experience. Double-Dee numbed and sutured the area quickly and efficiently; three stitches across the center and a bit of derma-bond to seal it up. Just like his mother had taught him.

    “You’re… pretty good at that.” Kevin was winding clean gauze in a figure-eight pattern over the wound.

    “Mother would make me practice on pig skin.” He noticed the apprehensive look Kevin gave him, “It’s the closest to Human…” The look didn’t improve. “Well now I just seem strange instead of impressive.”

    Kevin smiled and taped off the end of the gauze, “I’m impressed, don’t worry.”

    A knock came at the door, the waitress, Laura, poked her head in.

    “Hey kids, the next shift is due in about a half hour, you’re more than welcome to rest up in a booth, but if they catch you back here it’ll be on me.”

    She closed the door behind her, and the two sat in silence. Double-Dee spoke first.

    “I don’t know how your prior dates have gone…” They both laughed. It was a good laugh. An honest laugh. A tired laugh. “But I have to say that this is the best I’ve ever been on.”

    Kevin took it all in. He had just finished dressing a wound sustained while fleeing a rival with a vendetta against him. They’d sabotaged a vehicle, possibly endangering the lives of the occupants. They were sitting in the breakroom of a diner in the middle of nowhere, covered in a bit of blood, a bit of dirt, a bit of sweat.

    “This is the strangest date I’ve ever been on, for sure.”

    “I look forward to the next one.” Double-Dee extended his hand, Kevin taking it.

    “So do I.”

       An hour later, they pulled into the cul de sac, the loudest thing for miles around. Kevin pulled into his driveway and dismounted stiffly, helping Double-Dee off. The two walked arm and arm across the street to the Vincent house, a bit of the romance gone as Double-Dee hobbled along with difficulty. They came to the door and the two stood a foot or so apart, feeling eyes that weren’t there upon them. Double-Dee moved to return the leather jacket, but Kevin waved him off.

    “Hang onto it, and the helmet, save me the trouble of remembering to bring it along next time.”

    “Next time, yes.” A pause. Always a pause. “How about in two days, five, and we can leave from here.”

    “Uh, yeah… cool.”

    “Very.”

    Before the dreaded pause could reassert itself, Double-Dee pecked Kevin on the cheek and went inside.

    Kevin stood at the doorstep for a moment, smiling, then walked back across the street towards his house. He noticed the lights were on and braced himself for what his father would say. Irresponsible, unaccountable, don’t you know there are drunk drivers out, and no call, who’s blood is that, why are you covered in dirt? Inside, though, he found his father passed out on the couch, still dressed as he had been when he’d left, surrounded by paperwork, a half-drunk beer on the coffee table. The TV was on, the news, it was about the war, the forever war, but only briefly, they don’t want people too upset or they’ll change the channel.

    He draped a thin blanket from the hall closet over his father, turned off the TV and switched off all the lights. In his room, he stripped everything off and collapsed, dirt and all, onto his bed. Sleep was coming, deep sleep, well-earned sleep, and so he said the magic words before he was lost to REM cycle.

    “I look forward to the next one.”

Read the full story in Sequence HERE

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