#feels vaguely sort of maybe far away in the same general area vaguely could be adsjghj

[my-soul-sings]

kiss the girl | ch 1

Fandom: Tears of Themis Characters: Artem x Reader 

Summary: Armed with a trusty book, Artem Wing attempts to win the woman of his dreams.

A/N: Artem’s personal story cracked me up so much that I had to write a fic about him with a less dense MC to troll him. :) 

***

It’s no secret that Artem is a genius. As the youngest person in Stellis to become a senior attorney, the firm has attracted hordes of clients seeking his services despite his higher-than-average hourly billing rates. Themis Law Firm may be a relatively new firm and much smaller compared to the bigger, reputable and more established ones in Stellis, but Artem’s presence has made it a force to be reckoned with in this industry. 

And yet, despite being perhaps one of the finest lawyers of his time, the Artem you know is quite something else altogether. You don’t really know how to explain it. Sure, he’s your boss and you admire his work ethic, intelligence, wit, charisma… the list could go on and on. But over the past few weeks it’s become evident that even geniuses like Artem lack in some ways. 

In Artem’s case, the area of lack is painfully obvious.

“So what kind of man are you into? We’ve all shared, it’s your turn now.” Celestine is sitting on the edge of your desk, a playful smirk on her lips as she sips her coffee. 

“Well… I don’t know…” Your words trail off as your eyes dart towards the pantry, where you spot the familiar back of your boss who’s trying very hard to blend into the side of the fridge at the moment. Needless to say, he’s not doing a very good job. He’s been stirring that cup of coffee for the past ten minutes now—yes, you’ve been keeping track ever since you noticed him come to the pantry for coffee despite having a coffee machine in his own office—and you’ve already spotted him glancing over in your direction at least twice when he thought you weren’t looking.

It’s been like this for the past few weeks. You didn’t really pick up on the signs at first: Artem leaving work almost always at the same time that you do, your conversations about work almost always ending with personal questions to get to know your likes and dislikes, and the unusual number of times he would walk out of his office a day to pay a visit to the pantry, only to leave empty-handed. 

But one incident became two, two became four, and it didn’t take much brainpower to figure out that he was oddly interested in matters involving you. It doesn’t matter if it’s about work or about your personal life, he seems to want to know everything, but especially about your love life and love interests. 

If the fact that he’s been not-so-subtly eavesdropping on your conversations with Kiki and Celestine in the office isn’t clear enough, then nothing will be.

You could just clear the air with him directly, although there’s that lingering fear of, “What if he isn’t actually interested?” It’s not like you can read his mind; maybe he’s just doing this shoddy spywork in an attempt to know his employees better. Something about employee welfare and morale building maybe—you wouldn’t put it past him. 

But then you think about it deeper and realise it can’t be, especially not when Celestine isn’t that subtle either with her pointed glances in your direction before staring straight at Artem with a smirk on her lips. She obviously knows what Artem is up to and is in on it somehow, which might be why lately she’s been asking you all sorts of questions relating to your love life whenever Artem happens to stroll into the pantry yet again. 

Just like that three weeks have passed, and you still haven’t gotten around to talking to Artem about it. It’s not for a lack of guts; really, it’s not. It’s just… it’s quite amusing to see Artem Wing, the youngest senior attorney in Stellis, a brilliant mind who usually has the answers to every legal problem, at a complete and utter loss. 

“The kind of guy I like… I think I’ll know when I meet him...” The answer is deliberately vague, which makes Kiki groan and Celestine click her tongue in dissatisfaction. Your attention, however, is focused on the back figure of your boss whose head is now drooping like a wilted flower. 

“...and I think I’ve found one.” 

In that instant, his head perks up, as do Kiki’s and Celestine’s. They begin to badger you for details, but your stubborn lips won’t budge. When you hear footsteps coming from the pantry, you allow your eyes to dart upwards only once, and you see Artem’s usual cool demeanour and straight face as he returns to his office. 

Your lips curl into a tiny smirk when you notice that the mug of cold coffee is still sitting on the pantry counter. 

***

She found one… 

The sentence she just said is playing over like a broken record in his head, much like when he’s mulling over a witness’ statement when preparing for a cross-examination. 

Does that mean she’s met someone who might be her type? Or is she already dating someone?

No wait, it can’t be the latter. She just told Celestine last week that she wasn’t seeing anyone because she’s “married to work”. 

A chuckle spills past his lips before he realises it—that’s the kind of thing he tells his relatives when they pester him about not having a girlfriend at his age. 

His smile quickly fades however, when he remembers the dilemma he’s in. Her answer left no room for him to guess what kind of guy she likes, let alone whether he fits into that box. And the fact that she’s found someone who’s her type… Does that mean he’s already lost the battle before he could even try? 

A knock on his office door jolts him out of his reverie, and he barely has time to clear his throat and fix his tie before Celestine enters the room. There’s only one reason she comes into his office when he doesn’t call her in, and it’s written all over her amused face. 

“I think she noticed you in the pantry this time. You stood there for way too long—even Kiki was starting to notice.” 

Artem groans, leaning back in his seat and turning away so Celestine won’t have to see him crumble internally and wallow in shame. First, she has a type, and now she’s noticed him needlessly hanging around the pantry, suspecting that he’s been eavesdropping on her conversations (which he has). She must think poorly of him now. 

“Don’t look so down, I think you still have a shot.” 

“What shot?” he asks with a sigh, fumbling with the knot of his tie to loosen it. “She’s already found someone who’s her type.”

“She never said she was dating him. She could just be, you know...” Celestine waves her hand in a gesture that Artem can’t understand, “...making a general statement of some sort. Point is, you can still try. Don’t give up.” 

“As a lawyer, shouldn’t you be advising your client to give up if there are better alternative modes of settlement?” 

His know-it-all response is not appreciated, and Celestine folds her arms across her chest, glowering at him. “Artem. She’s not a case that you need to solve. This is about love! Romance! The heart! Read a book about it, will you?” 

“I have, but nothing has worked so far. The advice in the book is at best ineffective, at worst a hoax.” He glares at the book on his desk, and Celestine follows his gaze to it before she recognises it as the book she’d given him a few weeks back. 

For the first time since coming in, her gaze turns into something more sympathetic. Artem isn’t sure he appreciates the sentiment. 

“Trust me on this, Artem. Don’t give up yet. I really think you still have a chance.”

“I do?” He perks up at that, raising a brow. “Did she say something about me?” 

“Not exactly…” Celestine grimaces when he starts sulking again. “But it’s a woman’s intuition. Trust me. I know her better than you do.” 

At his prolonged silence, she adds, “We both know my intuition is way more reliable than your gut feelings when it comes to relationship advice.”

The silence lingers on for a few more minutes, before Artem finally relents with a sigh. He doesn’t say anything however, merely fixing his tie and picking up the book from his desk to put in his drawer. 

“...You really should get back to work now.”

“Got it, boss.” Her tone is patronising as always, and she throws what’s probably meant to be an encouraging smile his way before she finally leaves him alone to his thoughts, although Artem can’t help but wonder if she’s still laughing at him internally.

In his now quiet office, his breathing is the only thing that can be heard. He picks up his pen and flips open the case file he was reading earlier before he left to visit the pantry. 

But then not even a minute passes before his office is filled with the repeated sound of a pen clicking, a dejected sigh... and then the sound of his drawer opening once more. 

#tears of themis #tears of themis artem #artem wing #artem #tears of themis fanfiction #tears of themis fanfic #artem fanfiction #artem wing fanfiction #artem fanfic #he cracks me up so much #my writing #kiss the girl

[kiame-sama]

What if Killua were to find out Illumi is out to get the big sister Reader either trying to be with her or kill her? Also how would Gon react as well? Side note imagine both Hisoka and Illumi going after big sister Reader and Gon and Killua shielding her away from them idk I just find that being adorable ^_^

This evolved far more than I had expected it to. I honestly was just trying to make a cute little scenario and it turned into this. Someone stop my sinful hands.

Warnings; Overprotective little bros, stalking, Hisoka's general behavior, Illumi never blinks, 12-13 year olds are not good at keeping secrets, surprise guest appearance!

"We should go."

"Hm? But we just got here."

You glanced down at Killua, seeing him gazing somewhere away from the three of you. Both you and Gon wore confused expressions, as Killua was the one who wanted to go the forest to train in the first place. Now he was saying he wanted to leave.

"We shouldn't stay. Let's go."

Killua gripped your hand and pulled you with him, quickly walking away from the area and refusing to look back. Gon followed and kept pace as the three of you moved to a more populated area in the city you had stopped in. Gon heard something about a powerful Nen user and wanting to see them.

Naturally, you and Killua were alright with going anywhere Gon chose, seeing as usually Gon took the initiative on most things. Training was just a typical thing for you three even though none of you honestly needed to train. You couldn't train your nen due to the fact your nen abilities were the kind that could only be cataclysmic or laughably weak with no inbetweens.

If anything, you just accompanied the boys to keep them from making their usual poor decisions. Seeing who can survive going down a massive waterfall is not typically a good idea, but one they've tried several times prior. You were basically an unpaid nanny and elder sibling to the boys.

Recently, they had been acting more suspicious than usual. They would randomly leave places while dragging you with them, checking over their shoulders, constantly trying to direct your attention, and all sorts of other things. It was like they were trying to keep a secret from you, but doing it poorly.

A good part of you wanted to go off on your own to see what on Earth had the two boys so stirred up, but they were insistent on keeping you with them. You wondered if they were just messing with you by playing some kind of game, or if there really was something they were trying to keep from you. At this point, you were tempted to just flat out ask what their deal was.

~~~~~~~~

"Wait, Illumi too!?"

"Shh! Keep it down! Someone's gonna hear you."

"But why is your brother after (y/n) too?"

"Probably wants to get to me or something by using her."

"Wait, does he want to hurt her or not?"

"Don't know. Don't want to find out. What about Hisoka? Figured out what his deal is?"

"Well, he likes fighting people who are strong, right?"

"But wasn't he talking like a pervert when he asked about her?"

"I guess... But I think that's just how he is all the time."

Killua frowned, looking over at the hotel bed (y/n) was sleeping in. Apparently the both of them have a common goal, keeping (y/n) safe. Killua hadn't known Hisoka was after her, but he knew Illumi was. He knew how Illumi usually approached his targets, but Illumi was acting more obvious than usual. Like he wanted to be noticed.

Gon knew Hisoka had been following them for a while, and that he had an interest in (y/n) after she used one of her nen attacks to create a distraction during a fight not too long ago. He was aware with how closely Hisoka was following them, and he was trying to keep (y/n) far away from the homicidal man. It seemed he and Killua were both doing their damndest to protect the woman they saw as a big sister.

"So we have to keep both of them away from her?"

"Might be a good idea."

"Should we tell her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Killua just sighed, knowing no matter how he explained it, Gon would not take it as an answer and would just ask more questions. Even as he glanced out the hotel window, he kept lookout for any sign of either of the two men. He would not let Illumi or Hisoka hurt (y/n) no matter what.

~~~~~~~~

"Well, look who's here~♠"

"What do you want, Hisoka?"

"So cold! If you must know, I'm here for that lovely creature Killua and Gon travel with."

"... She's mine."

"Oh~? Finally have an interest in someone? Looks like I'll just have to steal her away then."

The black-haired assassin simply stared back at his red-haired associate, feeling a vague level of irritation bubble up inside of him. He had been following the makeshift family group for a good while now and had recently made his decision on what to do with the woman that traveled with his younger brother. He had been considering simply killing her just to get her out of the way while also weakening Killua, but his father had come up with a better solution to the problem.

From what he had been told, (Y/n) had interesting and impressive nen that his father and grandfather had been witness to when they had gone to retrieve Killua. Apparently she had an impressive level of control over natural disasters and could bring them about with her nen. Tornados, tsunamis, earthquakes, volcanos, even meteor showers should the timing be right.

That in and of itself was impressive, but standing up against his father and grandfather was simply amazing. It would be seen as foolish for anyone to face the two alone, but she had only been distracting them long enough to allow Killua time to flee before doing the same. Granted, the two had not been out to kill her specifically, but they weren't against it either.

There was also the fact that she shielded Killua from being injured and put her life on the line to keep him safe. All of these things made it rather clear she was a prime choice to be Illumi's wife.

"She has Killua's trust and can control him better than most. That paired with her nen abilities, she would make an ideal wife."

"Not if I steal her away first. Oh, I can just imagine how delicious the battle will be~ And the added bonus of fucking her once our battle is done~!"

"She doesn't even know who you are."

"... What?"

"She has never actually met you, right? You've only seen one example of her strength and she wasn't even focusing on you."

"Fine. Does she know you?"

"... She knows my family, which is more than you can say."

Hisoka couldn't stop the tisk of annoyance that came from him or the way his grin fell. Illumi was right on that, at least. His lovely (y/n) didn't know who he was or have any contact with those who knew him other than Gon. And if Gon's behavior was anything to go by, he would have a tough time getting close to the woman.

Hisoka turned to continue prodding at Illumi before a smooth and silky voice interrupted him, sounding out from the shadows.

"It seems I have you both beat."

~~~~~~~~

"What do you mean? We've not been acting weird!"

You couldn't help the way that your face reflected just how little you believed the boy standing in front of you. Killua could lie well enough, Gon couldn't tell a convincing lie to save his life, and you already knew both well enough to tell when they were lying. Being fed up with their behavior, you were ready to set in on a full scolding session if they didn't tell you what you wanted to know.

Both boys were doing their best to avoid your gaze and search for a way out of the situation they found themselves in. Killua refused to make eye-contact and a nervous little blush took over his fair cheeks. Gon had that awkward grin and laugh as he tried to weasel his way out of your questioning.

"Boys, for fuck's sake-"

"It's certainly been a while since we last had the chance to meet, (y/n)."

You quickly turned on your heel, guarding the two boys unconsciously from the newcomer. To your surprise, however, you had no reason to worry the moment you saw the mysterious man standing before you. You knew that fur-trimmed coat anywhere and you could already feel the smile pulling up the corner of your lips.

"Chrollo!"

The man smirked slightly at your happy tone as you greeted him, not noticing your additional two observers or the dumbfounded expressions on the faces of everyone other than yourself and Chrollo. Killua was the first to break the silence, clearly stirred up by the sudden turn of events that had taken place.

"Wait, you know him!?"

You chuckled softly, turning back to the white-haired boy with a relaxed smile on your face. The incredulous tone he had taken did not deter or bother you, having actually expected something similar to occur.

"Know him? I grew up with him! He's a childhood friend, of mine. My big brother is one of the original members of the troupe! Of course I know Chrollo."

"But, wait, they call him 'boss'! They never use his name!"

"Yeah, there's no way I'm calling him 'boss' or anything other than his name. Maybe 'friend' but that almost seems too generic."

You hummed in thought, turning away from the gobsmacked boys and back to those familiar eyes, which had yet to leave your figure.

"It seems we've both grown up quite a bit since we last spoke. Though it seemed impossible, you're somehow more beautiful than ever."

"Chrollo..."

A deep flustered blush make your cheeks burn under his relaxed gaze, feeling a kind of giddy excitement in response to his words. You had to admit, you may have been harboring a slight crush for Chrollo since your childhood days and his flattering words were just icing on the cake. A cake you desperately wanted to have a piece of.

"That's cheating!"

The sudden upset voice pulled your attention away from the handsome man to your previously ignored audience. A man with bloody red hair and clown-like face-paint seemed to be more than a little frustrated as he stared at Chrollo. Next to him stood a man with long black hair and emotionless eyes, like a doll's or a shark's, deep pits of nothingness.

Judging from the first man's response, something more seemed to be going on and you wanted answers.

"Okay, just what in the hell is happening?"

You huffed indignantly, hands on your hips as you scanned over the five males who stood around you. Surprisingly, the man with doll eyes was the first to break the silence.

"It would seem a competition to earn your affections has begun."

"Wait, Illumi, you're not trying to kill (y/n)??"

"I was, at first. But more recently I have been attempting to split her away from you and approach her."

"What? Why in the hell do you want to do that?"

"She is the ideal wife for me. Father, Grandfather, Mother, and Great-Grandfather all agree that I should wed her as soon as possible."

"... You... YOU WANT TO MARRY (Y/N)??"

"I believe I have already stated that."

You were caught off guard by the nonchalant way the man spoke, as if he were discussing something as simple as going to the store instead of talking about marrying you. The red-head seemed to be increasingly frustrated and had yet to move his irritated gaze away from you and Chrollo.

"I'd love to fight her first, but I'm not against tying her down to keep as my personal little toy~"

"I won't let you kill (y/n)!"

"Oh, Gon~ Don't look at me like that. I'm not going to kill her. Well, not completely, at least~ I plan on enjoying my fight with her and then enjoying her body even if she's within an inch of death. Is that so bad?"

You suddenly felt rather unsafe near the two men who had just openly admitted to lusting after you and potentially following you during your travels. Not to mention the red-head basically plainly stated he wanted to badly hurt you and beat you before having sex with you. You then turned your gaze to Chrollo, hoping beyond all belief he wasn't playing the same game as the other two.

"My intentions haven't changed for quite a while. I've always found you attractive. I simply refused to let these two scuffle over you when I've had my eyes on you for a while."

"..."

You almost felt like the world was spinning or that you had been punched several times without realizing it. Your childhood friend and crush just openly stated his interest in you, which left you floored with emotions. A clown just spoke about wanting to use you for his pleasure in a fight and during sex. And a living doll basically proposed to you without proposing.

What?

"Wait- Kill, Gon- you two know them?"

"Yeah. We met Hisoka during the Hunter's exam, and Illumi is my eldest brother. There was a big fight between Kurapika and the Phantom Troupe and we got kidnapped so we met Chrollo and the other phantoms."

"... What-? Wait, so that means your father and grandfather- who I have fought against- somehow decided from that fight that I would be a good wife for their eldest son??"

"I guess so. You are super strong and your nen is powerful as all hell. Besides, fighting in my family is a normal thing. That's probably the quickest way to become a friend of the family, actually. Fight well against someone strong in the family, don't die while fighting, and you may as well be an unofficial family member."

"..."

"... You okay, big sis?"

"..."

"Um..? (Y/n)?"

"..."

"Did you go into shock or something?"

Killua cocked his head to the side, watching you stand unblinking as you tried to process everything that happened. It was kinda like you just became a statue after being told everything, which didn't bode well for the two boys. Gon and Killua exchanged a glance, as if trying to confirm what had happened.

"Gon, what do we do?"

"... Run?"

"I'm good with that. I'll grab (y/n), you get us out of here?"

"Yeah!"

Despite the fact that you could hear and see everything still, it felt as if your body had fully shut down. Had you been more in control, you probably would have scolded the boys for making their plan out-loud, but at least their plan involved keeping you safe. Even as you found yourself being carried by the same boy you watched over, you couldn't help but question what you were going to do now.

#x reader #yandere #female reader #yandere x reader #fem reader #reader insert #yandere adult trio x reader #yandere hisoka x reader #yandere illumi x reader #platonic gon x reader x killua #tw yandere

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part VIII

First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

They left the next day just after the sunrise broke watery through the clouds still lingering overhead, not wanting to overstay their welcome. The walk back to the nearby village was an easy one, the air still cool from the recent rain. The innkeeper hadn’t given their pre-paid room away to other guests despite the fact that they hadn’t used it for anything more than storage, which was a surprise. It was noon by the time they made it back, and they were easily able to secure the room for another evening so early in the day. Jaskier agreed to play at dinner, so they even managed to get a slightly reduced rate.

When they made it up to the room, Jaskier flopped immediately down on the bed, throwing an arm over his face. “Melitele, I could sleep for a week,” he groaned, slightly muffled. “I haven’t been this sore in years.”

“Good for you to finally get some exercise,” Geralt smirked as he checked on their belongings. Everything was where they’d left it, luckily. Geralt let out a breath of relief to see his potions all secure in their bag, the oathstone nestled amongst them.

Jaskier lifted his arm enough to glare at him. “As if walking day in and day out at your side isn’t work enough.”

“You’ve ridden Roach more than I have over the last week,” Geralt pointed out.

Jaskier put his arm down, head tilted to the side to look in Geralt’s direction. His hair spilled messily across the pale sheets. “I suppose I have,” he said, a small furrow appearing in his brow. The easy energy he’d had since they’d woken this morning was gone; now he seemed tense. His eyes lost their focus, his mind clearly going elsewhere.

Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m going to go and see if they have any contracts for me. We won’t be stopping much over the next few weeks.”

At this Jaskier refocused, curious. “Where are we going next? We have all the pieces for the ritual, right?”

Geralt nodded. “The last piece is a location. We’re going back to Posada.”

*

The journey from the Brokilon to the Blue Mountains was one of weeks, rather than days. At this time of year the River Sodden and her many roads were wide open, and they were able to easily pass south under the Mohakams. This far south, spring was already giving way to summer, the warm vestiges of the Nilfgaardian desert winds finding their way to the pockets and hills of Angren and Rivia.

It should have been a pleasant journey. It was one they’d taken many times before, once Nilfgaard was no longer an issue, and they were both well familiar with the area. They kept the river to their south and traveled during the cooler parts of the day, stopping often. The wide river offered a constant source of beauty and convenience, and they were able to wash and fish regularly. Rivia, though not Geralt’s home by any stretch of the imagination, was friendly and offered plenty of places for them to stop and rest at the halfway point.

It should have been downright delightful, but instead it was… tense. Jaskier was quiet and contemplative much of the time, reserved in a way Geralt had rarely known him to be. He barely touched his lute, to the point where Geralt asked after it, only receiving a vague and unconvincing answer about saving the strings from the humidity. He spent the evening hours scribbling away in his journal, or simply lying and staring up at the stars. Sometimes, disconcertingly, he watched Geralt, especially when he seemed to think Geralt wasn’t paying attention. The furrow between his brow had grown to be near constant, and his shoulders had lost their easy swoop. When they spoke, something about Jaskier’s words felt needling, as if he was testing the waters for something. What, Geralt couldn’t even begin to guess.

He wanted to ask about it, but he found himself unable to find the words to do so. Jaskier didn’t seem mad at him—he knew what that looked like well enough, and this wasn’t it. He wanted to ask, but if he did it seemed possible, probably even likely, that Jaskier would admit that he’d figured out that Geralt was hiding something from him. He might even have realized the extent of Geralt’s feelings, or what the ritual really meant. Maybe Silvandrel had said too much, or Geralt had been too expressive, or too generous. Whatever it was, Jaskier was smart, maybe the smartest man Geralt had ever known; it wouldn’t take much for him to put two and two together. As he found Jaskier’s eyes lingering on him more and more frequently, it seemed also more and more likely that Jaskier was just trying to find a way to let him down easily.

Still, it wasn’t unbearable. Traveling with Jaskier in a mood was still better than traveling alone, and as always Geralt relished the chance to spend such uninterrupted time together. It was the best in the evenings, when their camp was already set up and the heat of the day had dispersed, and they had nothing better to do than sit and talk before both of them grew too tired to stay awake.

“What’s it like?” Jaskier asked one evening, lying on his bedroll with his ankle propped up on one raised knee. His lute was in his hands, a rare thing nowadays, but he wasn’t really playing it, just plucking a tune here or there. Testing the waters, it seemed.

Geralt was sitting with his back propped against a ragged tree stump, charred at the top where lightning had once struck. He looked up from where he was examining Roach’s tack, taking too long to reply as he was caught up in the image of Jaskier in the firelight. “What?”

Jaskier swiveled his head to look over at him, looking uncharacteristically pensive. “Being immortal. Or—not mortal. What do you even call a witcher, anyways. Semi-mortal? How long do you usually live? I’ve never gotten a straight answer about it.”

Geralt shrugged, the bridle dangling between his knees as he set his elbows to rest on them. “No one really knows,” he admitted. “Vesemir is… three hundred? We’re not sure, that’s based on references he makes, but Lambert swears sometimes he says things just to throw us off. Witchers don’t really… die of old age.”

“Surely some of you must retire,” Jaskier insisted. “Maybe not lately, but in years past…”

Geralt shook his head. “If they did, I haven’t heard of them. The Path is our life; we meet our end while on it. I know we can live for several human lifetimes, at least. I was older than you are now when we met.”

Jaskier’s mouth twisted in a smile that ached with bitter nostalgia. “I must have looked like a child to you.”

“You were a child,” Geralt laughed.

Jaskier threw something at him, and it bounced harmlessly off his knee. An acorn; the entire area was thick with oak trees. Clearing the ground beneath their bedrolls had been a pain. “Ass,” Jaskier chidded, but he was chuckling too. “I suppose we must all seem rather young to people like you though. Yennefer is the worst, she shouldn’t be allowed to poke fun at my very dignified salt and pepper and then turn around and call me an infant the next moment.”

Young man, Silvandrel had said, with that odd patronization that came only to those who would outlive most people they met. “It’s… not exactly like that,” Geralt allowed, studying Jaskier’s profile painted in orange and gold and dark dusky blue shadows. “Age isn’t the same as experience. There are eighty year olds who have done less in their lives than you had at twenty-three.” Jaskier looked over at him again, with a distinct expression of surprise and awe that Geralt was beginning to recognize as his reaction to Geralt giving him a compliment. He pushed on, turning his own gaze back to the tack in his hands. “I just mean, you don’t seem young, or inexperienced—at least not anymore,” he added, unable to resist throwing Jaskier a quick smirk.

“So Yennefer just calls me a toddler for her own enjoyment,” Jaskier said, squinting at him.

“Well, yes,” Geralt snorted. “But, it’s—you’ll understand. After. It’s not that you all seem young, necessarily, it’s just that you all seem sort of… I don’t know.” He shrugged. It was difficult to articulate the strange sense of fragility and youth that he associated with all humans, no matter their age.

“Temporary?” Jaskier offered, and Geralt grunted an affirmation. Of course Jaskier would be able to identify the feeling without ever experiencing it himself. Jaskier hummed in acknowledgement, and was quiet for a few moments, as if mulling that over. His fingers played over his lute strings, picking out a melancholy tune. After a while, he said, “It sounds a bit lonely. Knowing that almost everyone you meet will die a hundred years before you do. That they’ll never understand the way you view the world.” His eyebrows were knotted together as he contemplated the night sky.

Geralt bit his lip. “It… can be. Even amongst ourselves, we never know who’ll make it back after a year on the Path.”

Jaskier’s foot tapped the empty air where it hung over his knee. “Everyone I know, went to school with, taught with in Oxenfurt. They’ll all be gone before I will, if this works.”

Geralt felt dread unfurl within him, but this wasn’t something that he could deny Jaskier. This was the reality of Geralt’s offer, of what he was asking Jaskier to do. “Yes,” he said. But you’ll have me, he didn’t say, even though it burned at the tip of his tongue. You’ll have my brothers, and Ciri, and even Yennefer, and you’ll have me, always. That’s the point.

Jaskier looked over at him, eyes bright. He looked like he could hear Geralt’s thoughts, like maybe he was thinking the same thing. And then he grinned brightly and said, “I’ll outlast Valdo Marx by a century.”

Geralt couldn’t help the startled bark of laughter that left his throat. Jaskier launched into an excited diatribe against Valdo Marx, something about destroying his legacy after death, and Geralt allowed the babble to wash over him as he went back to fixing Roach’s tack.

After a while the conversation turned to other things, and they spent the rest of the evening in relative quiet. Eventually it was time to bed down for the night, and they banked the fire and crawled into their respective bedrolls. Just as Geralt was on the edge of sleep, Jaskier’s voice slipped through the quiet darkness around them.

“I don’t think I’m going to be.”

Geralt shook himself, turning to squint at Jaskier’s grey form, two aching feet away from him. His entire body itched to roll closer, but he focused instead on Jaskier’s words. “Hmm? You won’t be what?”

Jaskier let out a deep breath into the night air, soft like a secret. “Lonely.”

*

Posada was much the same.

Geralt didn’t know how long it had been since he’d been back. He knew he had been here post-Filavandrel incident, and he suspected Jaskier had as well, but they’d not returned together to the little valley at the edge of the world since the beginning. It had to have been at least ten years since he’d last been here on his own, but the small town was relatively familiar looking still. It had grown a bit since the war, likely as refugees from the south settled in the area, and there were new houses clustered around the outskirts. Still, the bones of it remained unchanged, and the inn was right where they’d left it.

They said nothing as they made their way into the town and headed in that direction. There was, so far as Geralt knew, no other place to find rooms for the night, so they didn’t have much of a choice. Stepping inside the small downstairs tavern should have been just like stepping into any other of the thousands like it that he’d been in, but it wasn’t. Things had been rearranged, of course; the furniture had been shuffled, and now a long table sat on the far side of the room before the fire. The small, cleared out space that Jaskier had stood in to sing was gone, filled with a cluster of tables and chairs. But the lone table in the back corner was, somehow, unmoved.

Geralt turned to Jaskier and found him staring at the spot as if entranced. He brushed his fingers against Jaskier’s forearm, and the bard blinked at him, startled back into the moment. “We should get a room,” Geralt said by way of explanation, and Jaskier nodded.

The man who arranged for their stay was not the one who had done so the first time, or the time after that, but his features were similar, so perhaps this was a son. He was amiable enough, and though Jaskier didn’t make any commitment to playing he offered them a fair rate.

Jaskier did end up playing, after they’d sat and eaten a quiet meal, avoiding the table in the corner in silent agreement. His fingers had worried at the edge of his lute case for a long moment, his eyes unfocused, and then something determined had steeled over his face and he’d stood.

There was a decent crowd this time around, bigger than the last time—the first time—that Jaskier had played here. Geralt remembered the stumbling notes, the ridiculous stories that spilled from the bard’s lips, unrefined. The way that the patrons of the bar had heckled him until he dipped sheepishly off the stage. He could understand why Jaskier might be nervous about playing here; even if no one remembered him, this had obviously been one of Jaskier’s first real performances for an honest audience.

It was like night and day. Jaskier had the entire room eating out of the palm of his hand in moments, as he always did, and his voice was clear and strong. Geralt recognized most of the songs, and almost all of them were about him, though he didn’t think any of the patrons put two and two together. Whereas Jaskier normally poked and prodded at Geralt throughout a performance to let everyone know that his muse was present, tonight he was subdued, letting Geralt watch quietly from a side table without dragging him into the proceedings. He might have thought that Jaskier had forgotten his presence entirely, if not for the occasional glance he caught Jaskier throwing his way, stealing his breath each time.

When he was finally done with his set and bowed his way out to the cheers of the audience, he made his way back to Geralt with his lute tucked under his arm. Jaskier leaned against the table in the space next to him, their knees just barely touching where Geralt’s was thrust out away from the chair. Jaskier looked down at him with almost a sheepish expression, giving him a quirked smile. “So. Three words or less?”

There were so many things he could say to that. So many things he wanted to say. You’re so beautiful, he thought, his eyes catching on the way Jaskier’s fingers wrapped around the neck of the lute, how his eyes shone in the low light of the inn. I loved it. Don’t leave me. I love you.

Instead, he said, a bit hoarsely, “Definitely more accurate.”

Jaskier laughed, some of that tension he’d been carrying for weeks breaking, and Geralt felt sweet relief at the sound. “Well I’d certainly hope so, after nearly thirty years of tailing you. At the very least I know my drowners from my nekkers.”

“At least there’s that,” Geralt chuckled, passing Jaskier a tankard of ale as he sat. “Glad to see you got something out of it.”

Jaskier took a sip of his drink, leaning his cheek on his fist. His eyes were bright when he looked at Geralt, and his expression was one Geralt recognized—he was bothered about something, but trying to keep his demeanor jovial. On anyone else, Geralt expected it would be an immaculate deception, but Geralt knew him. He wasn’t fooled by Jaskier’s court masks.

“Was it worth it?” Jaskier asked, taking another sip of his ale. His eyes left Geralt’s, flitting around the room.

Geralt frowned at him. “Was what worth it?”

Jaskier looked back at him, expression unreadable. “Letting an ambitious and no doubt obnoxious bard leave this tavern with you all those years ago.”

Geralt couldn’t help it; before he could think to stop himself, he had reached out to set his hand over Jaskier’s where it still held the handle of his cup. Jaskier jerked a bit at the touch, a drop of ale sliding down over their layered hands. “Of course it was,” Geralt said vehemently, not bothering to keep the earnestness out of his tone. Jaskier had to know. Even if he already suspected that something was afoot, even if this was some sort of test, Geralt couldn’t risk letting Jaskier think that he regretted a single moment of it. “You’re… Jask, you’re one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

Geralt could hear the sharp intake of breath at that, could see the way Jaskier looked down at their overlapped fingers and blinked rapidly. A small smile stole across his face, though there was a twist to it that seemed almost sad. “I’m glad, Geralt. Truly.”

Geralt wanted to ask, And for you? Was it worth it? But the tavern goers were quickly heading out now that Jaskier’s set was finished, and it was obvious that they would soon be the last ones remaining. And he found himself afraid, as he so often was nowadays, of the possibility that Jaskier would say no, that he should have spent the last thirty years playing in noble houses and courting beautiful women, rather than trekking endlessly after a surly witcher. He knew that it would make sense for Jaskier to have regrets, but he found that he didn’t think he was strong enough to hear them spoken aloud.

So instead he transferred his touch to Jaskier’s wrist, giving it a light tug. “We should head up,” he said, and Jaskier nodded. They pulled apart, and Jaskier finished his drink, and collected his lute. As they both turned to walk up the stairs, Geralt found his eyes catching once again on the little table in the corner. It had sat empty the entire night, as if waiting for something—or someone—to fill its seats once again.

~

Almost done folks! Just two more parts, and tomorrow’s includes the last piece of art for this story! 

tags: @whereismymonsterlover 

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraltxjaskier #geralt/jaskier #the witcher #witcher #big bang #fic #fanfic #writing #my work #me lamh #geraskierbigbang #multichapter

[salmonid-ink]

Let’s talk about Salmonid intelligence!

There seems to be a wide misconception that Salmonids aren’t intelligent, or at the very least, aren’t as smart as Octolings or Inklings. This idea couldn’t be farther from the truth! And because I’m the Resident Salmonid Fanatic™ it’s my job to talk about this. 

In hopes to make people consider and think of Salmonids in a better light, and NOT as pets, I’m going to do my best to pull evidence from in-game, as well as interviews, that imply or outright confirm that Salmonids are sapient, much like our beloved Octolings and Inklings. 

To start, I’d like to touch on their interactions with other creatures, namely their trade deal with the Octarians. It’s hard to argue for Salmonids not being intelligent when you consider the confirmed fact that they actively trade with other creatures to benefit the both of them.

They exchange their useful Power Eggs (and perhaps vegetables and fruits) to the Octarians for mechanical blueprints, weapons, and machine parts (and potentially tentacle cuts for food). We can wager this trade deal has been going on for a long time, as the Salmonids are fitted to the gills with machinery, and you can make the argument that the Octomaw was inspired by Maws!

While the Salmonids could easily take these blueprints and make the machines exactly as the Octarians planned them, these fish take it one step beyond and put their own twist on things! With their intellect, they’ve customized traditional weapons to suit them better, and the examples can be seen in just about every boss you encounter. 

Ink Storm + Brella -> Drizzler

Sting Ray -> Stinger

Ink Jet + Tenta Missiles -> Flyfish

Splash Wall -> Steel Eel

Baller/Splashdown   -> Steelhead

Shielded Octotrooper + Roller  -> Scrapper

Octocopter -> Chinook

Flooder -> Griller

Octo Seeker -> Mothership

Additionally, they are INSANELY resourceful, able to use any scrap of metal or machinery to make their contraptions, and make them decently reliable. Not to mention the fact that Scrappers are able to repair their cars! On the fly! All while under fire! That takes dedication AND smarts!!

Not to mention the fact that Smallfry, who could very well be babies (and I will argue that they are, as there is no benefit to stunting the growth of ANY creature), are able to pilot Flyfish. They were raised just right in the best environment, and now they’re super smart!

Also, Salmonids are crazy creative, with how they’ve incorporated their cookware into their weaponry. They take their aesthetic to the next level, man.

Next, lest talk about their homes!

It’s vastly clear that they have their own society. At the very least, we can take a glimpse of it with their houses. The Lost Outpost (known as the Colony at Sea in Japan) is a great example of this!

While these houses look like they were cobbled together with recycled parts, which falls in line with Salmonid resourcefulness, they are clearly stable living spaces that were built by he Salmonids themselves with ocean living and fishing in mind. 

Additionally, towards the back of the stage, we can see another house with a city on the horizon. While this is purely speculation, I don’t think it’s too much of a stretch to believe that this city is Salmonid-owned. The areas you go to are claimed to be restricted ocean zones, and given that you’re so far out that you need a house-sized radio dish just to communicate, it’s hard to believe that the city would be owned by anyone else. 

I think these city-based homes would be owned by Salmonids that work with machinery, such as repairmen and mechanics. This could also include artisans! Farmers would obviously live in more rural areas, where they can plant and grow their crops. 

We can also glean a similar idea from the Spawning Grounds (called the Salmonid Dam in many other languages): 

I will argue until the day I die that the dam found in the Spawning Grounds, as well as the adjacent city, belongs to the Salmonids, as evidence by its proximity to the stage, the green water pouring from the dam, and the very clear Salmonid mark on it.

Whether this city was built by them, or it’s one they took ahold of and built upon during one of their past migrations is yet to be determined, seeing my speculations are even true. Either way, it’s clear that the Salmonids are capable of building structures and homes with ease!

If we talk about their homes, even if this is much more on the speculative end, we’ve also GOT to talk about the factory we can see at Marooner’s Bay:

Again, given the proximity to Salmonid territory, as well as the various Salmonid-themed items around the stage, we can speculate that these factories are Salmonid owned, and perhaps where they work on many of their machines and devices.

Things such as Scrapper Cars, Steel Eels, Flyfish jets, Grillers, and Motherships could be constructed here, or this place could be used for processing water or chemicals! It’s a rather vague factory, so again, this is all theoretical. I haven’t a clue what they do here. 

Next let’s talk about their art. The existence of art alone should be enough of an indicator that they have minds to think and feel with! Especially when their designs are as intricate as these:

The most of these can be seen around the Lost Outpost and Spawning Grounds, but every single stage has a few of these markings floating around. I don’t currently have many in-stage caps on hand, but if you take the time to look around, you’ll find a few on the ground and walls!

While a lot of these are very clearly graffiti markings, the intricate designs may have some meaning. While we haven’t a clue what exactly they mean, or what they represent, I think they’re extremely fascinating, and give us a peek into what culture Salmonids have. 

They’re likely made with stencils, but all the same, they were designed carefully, and must hold SOME significance.

I have a theory that these designs are primarily to mark specific territories. Perhaps certain marks mean different schools and families! Or some of them could be warnings, such as to indicate Grizz activity (such as with the bear icon, which appears in a few stages). 

I believe in part, these are a form of expression, ESPECIALLY if they indicate schools. There are so many unique fish-shaped designs, it’d be cool to see how these correlate to individual groups!

They could also be a visual indicator for Inklings and Cephalopods that, yes, this is Salmonid territory, so you’d best stay away! Because while it’d be easy for a Salmonid to tell what area belongs to who by smell alone, Inklings certainly don’t have that luxury!

At any rate, I’d love to see what personal art looks like for Salmonids. What kind of crafts do they make? What sort of things do they love to paint? We don’t really know, and we can only speculate...

One thing we know for certain is that Salmonids appreciate music. It even seems as though they’re inspired by it, given the descriptions that the Salmon Run songs have.

I feel like this is worth stating, even if their existence is fairly common knowledge: ω-3. A band. That plays complex instruments. And does all their own mixing. 

Pretty freakin’ smart, I must say!

Additionally, each of the members have VASTLY different styles. The Cellist is stern and stubborn, and won’t accept anything but the best, be it in passion or in radical works. The timpanist is soulful, passionate, and is straight to the point. The DJ is reckless and disrespectful, yet puts forth his best effort.

All three of them are so unalike to one another in style and personality. They may not even get along that well, but at the end of the day, they value working together SO MUCH that they make amazing, unique, and great-sounding songs that stir and inspire their people. 

It’d be amazing to see what other types of music that Salmonids like, because this can’t be the only kind. However the style of  ω-3 certainly goes hand-in-hand with the chaotic, resourceful, and determined nature of the Salmonids. 

We should also touch up on the fact that Salmonids are stated to have tradition. Aside from their 70-year migration, they’re also stated to pass cookware from generation to generation in Sunken Scroll #19.

"Salmonids are known to keep their weapons in tip-top shape. The frying pans they wield have often been passed down from generation to generation. You can see the unwavering pride of these fierce warriors in their (somewhat crazed) eyes."

I like to think that they also pass things like recipes and other tools down to their offspring and kin. Family and schools on the whole appear to be very important to them, which ties directly into their drive to work together as a unit, rather than separately as a makeshift team.

For some conventional evidence, look at this one bit from the Merry Fishmas piece, posted by official Splatoon sources: 

I LOVE this image, and there are so many tiny details that you can make out in this. Such as these two:

THEY ARE PLAYING CARDS, and this ain’t no dogs playing poker bit, either! It looks like the other one is losing really bad... Or going into a food coma. One way or another, the other Salmonid is trying to check up on them, haha. Or maybe they’re trying to sneak a peek at the other’s cards? Who knows! That sly grin tells a story.

Also, there’s this Goldie, who is fishing:

These are all pretty human-like characteristics, which makes me think, all the more, that they’re on par with Inklings intelligence wise. I REALLY want to see more interactions like this someday, it fills my heart with delight and joy.

Phew.. Well, thank you so much for sticking with me through this whole thing. I hope this helps people get more perspective on Salmonids, and what little we know about their community and culture. 

#Salmonid #Salmon Run #Splatoon #Splatoon 2 #Other Headcanons #mod stinky

[phoenixyfriend]

I’ve been trying to figure out the best obi wan ship. They all have one slightly problematic thing this way or that. I’ve landed on the idea of obi wan and an equal is pretty top tier. But then I saw a picture of Coran from voltron. Coran and Obiwan might be a disaster but also both are dad shaped, both are bad ass, both are ginger, both have an accent. I think it could work. But another part of me is like Coran is just obi and jarjar mashed together. At the very least they hooked up.

Hey I just had restaurant ramen and Starbucks and actually feel like a human being so let's do something unnecessary but funny. I'm taking this as a challenge, anon.

Also IMO Coran has more in common with C3P0 than with JarJar

So obviously, both of these happen in Big Space, but the difference appears to be density. We see about the same complexity of culture and species interactions, but Voltron covers more galaxies. It's vaguely implied that Earth, at least, is the only planet with sapient life in the Milky Way.

I think the way I want to play this out, culturally, is that the Voltron area of the universe covers a much wider, but much more sparsely populated area, while the SW-verse is just the one very densely populated (in part because apparently humans just went Literally Everywhere) galaxy, where they didn't necessarily bother with developing the tech to go to other galaxies (except Rishi, which only sort of counts) because they haven't really even charted out their own yet. It was never contacted by the Voltron side of things because [checks notecards full of excuses] it's really far away from Altea and all that, and the Force shielded the galaxy from Galra interests because Reasons.

All this to say that the two franchises didn't interact until after the Voltron plotline was already over. We'll say it went mostly canon, except Allura survived because uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh fuck that.

We'll say that this is mid-TCW, you know, before Obi-Wan is a bundle of repressed traumas and bad coping mechanisms that's lost almost everyone he's ever loved to the dark side through death or corruption. He's still (mostly) okay! Anakin's not dark (or at least, not as dark as he could be; Obi-Wan doesn't know about the Tuskens), and Ahsoka's still in good standing and most people are alive and--and okay the army is a massive ethical violation he hates with his very soul and he misses Qui-Gon and Anakin's keeping secrets and pulling away from him every day but He's Fine, Guys.

He's Fine.

In comes a ship from not Wild Space, but beyond that. Intergalactic visitors, from the direction of the deeply concerning Force bullshit they felt a few years ago. Translation tech is decent enough on both sides that they get to talking pretty quickly. The explorer is actually a member of the Blade of Marmora, who gets the absolute most basic info (approximately this many inhabited planets, approximately this many trillions of sapients in the recorded galaxy, basic structure of the government for the past however many years, most recent conflict, etc.)

BoM person is like "cool, okay so you guys are really well set-up so I'm just gonna head back and kick this up a few rungs of the coalition ladder because this is way above my paygrade, I'll make sure you get some diplomats who can maybe help out with the whole galactic civil war situation as neutral parties."

The Voltron Coalition does send a diplomat! They, uh, also send Coran, who isn't technically a diplomat, but he's high-level.

The thing is, okay, that Coran is mostly just... passably competent at things. He's a jack of all trades, master of none type. He knows a lot of things, actually, but his practical knowledge in high pressure situations tends to be up in the air. He knows how to fix the Castle Ship and various technologies, but all of that info is ten thousand years out of date. He was a competent fighter at one point but these days his back gives out. He's very knowledgeable regarding intergalactic politics but, again, that information is ten thousand years out of date. He's also a little prone to social gaffs in dicey situations (e.g. the inciting incident in the Voltron Show episode where he misses the single day with clear skies), but puts in so much goddamn effort to make things happen.

In this manner, he's like a warped mirror of what Obi-Wan is and could be.

THAT SAID

Coran is actually really good with teenagers, and specifically with training them.

And Obi-Wan... isn't.

Obi-Wan's snarky and snippy and sassy, and he's decent enough at teaching and he's great at being a jokey friend and all, but he's not necessarily very good at emotions. And unfortunately for Obi-Wan, the teenagers he spends the most time with are Really Full Of Emotions. He tries, bless him, but he's just... he doesn't respond well to emotional conversations at the best of times.

His son-figure saying "You're like a father to me" leads to a response of... radio silence. Guys. That's not the mark of a man who knows how to talk about his feelings with the people he cares about.

In swans Coran with the various other diplomatic envoys of the visiting extragalactic community. The entire situation is really leading to a lull in the war because nobody wants to risk pissing off this clearly well-funded, well-powered third party. As a result, many of the High Generals can interact with the envoys, even if they spend quite a bit of time eyeing the Separatist representatives on the other side of the room, because clearly Everyone Needs A Seat At This Table.

It's a very tense situation.

Obviously, Coran is exactly the weird uncle that goes around telling plausibly-exaggerated stories about Weblums and Yalmors and Balmeras. I'm going to say at least one former Paladin is there, maybe Hunk. Hunk's fun, and also very willing to help Coran make friends and seem Amicable instead of Distant by correcting some of the exaggerations. There's a nice, calm atmosphere in a bubble around Coran and his nonsense, and it's a weird situation but arguably just... you know. It's good. He's good at making people feel safe around him.

Cue the hissed argument between Skywalker and Kenobi. The actual cause of said argument isn't important, just the fact that, in a dark corner where they're less likely to cause a PR issue, Anakin and Obi-Wan are having it out. Anakin's maybe twenty, still a lanky ragebaby, all that fun stuff. Obi-Wan is a the endpoint of every too-young brotherdad. He's thirty-six but feels like he's sixty-three. He's tired, but trying so damn hard to still connect with Anakin and just--just--

Obi-Wan gives himself a few minutes to calm down before following Anakin. He doesn't even remember what they were arguing about, really, but he has to mend the bridge before it frays even more than it already has. If Anakin goes to Palpatine for advice again, he's going to... do something. Obi-Wan isn't sure what, but he just has to fix this.

What he finds is... well, Anakin did end up going to vent to a man of an earlier generation who acts like a slightly eccentric older relative, but it's not Palpatine for once.

The goofy, slightly abrasive but mostly charming, brightly-colored representative of the Voltron Coalition is standing in the little balcony that Anakin's made it to, listening as Obi-Wan's recently-knighted padawan vents. The man nods and makes noises at the appropriate times, and then asks questions that are... maybe a little too accurate.

"You said that you view him as a father, that he raised you after you left your mother."

"Well, yeah, but he doesn't think I'm ready, or--"

"No parent ever does."

"...my mom thought I was ready to become a Jedi."

"I can't speak for your mother," the representative says, "but the princess of my people, Allura... I half-raised that girl from the beginning, and after the destruction of Altea, we were all the other had left. I watched her lead battles and bring life to planets, trying to rebuild a universe out of the ashes of what we'd left behind... I saw the evidence with my own eyes, and I still, every time, I worried for her."

"Why?"

"I worried that she'd be hurt, that she wasn't ready, that she'd make a decision she regretted. Often, she did, and I had to help her back up, and while she's always come back, stronger than before... she is the closest thing I have ever had to a daughter, and I will always worry for her. Every parent does. Do you think, perhaps, that your own Jedi Master, that you consider a father, may worry because he looks at you like a son? That it's not that he doesn't trust you, but that he doesn't trust the world around you?"

Obi-Wan feels his heart in his throat.

The conversation continues in that vein. While Obi-Wan can't say he likes the fact that this stranger is putting words in his mouth, if only as hypotheticals, he can't deny that there's a part of him that relaxes as Anakin does, as every frustrated fresh-knight question gets a measured elderly-steward response that's angled to consider the interpretation that favors Anakin and Obi-Wan in equal measure. Every word encourages Anakin to talk things out and lay boundaries and express his frustrations to Obi-Wan in the plainest words possible.

There's a story in there, more than one. The representative tends to go off on tangents, ones that Anakin sometimes finds interesting and sometimes just resigns himself to. Mostly, though, it goes well, and Obi-Wan... well, he's always been 'a nosy little bastard,' according to quite a few people.

(In his defense, the terms they'd used about Quinlan's 'investigative personality' had been quite a bit stronger.)

He eavesdrops to the end, and Anakin doesn't notice at all. Obi-Wan's not sure if he should try to address Anakin's lack of awareness of the world around him. He's not technically Anakin's master anymore. The comment may be taken as a criticism of his worth and capability, rather than a sincere desire to see his padawan not die.

He approaches the representative instead. He intends to introduce himself. Instead, the first words that tumble out of his mouth are:

"How do you do it?"

The man--older than he looks from a distance, more wrinkles than the bright hair would suggest, but not quite elderly yet--turns and lifts a brow. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry, I'm--" Obi-Wan grimaces. "I'm Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. The young man you were just talking to is my former padawan, er, my former apprentice. I've been finding it harder and harder to speak with him over the past few years, and it seems that every interaction we have leads to an argument. How do you... manage that? I can't get him to listen to me at all."

"Ah, teenagers," the man sighs.

"He's twenty."

The representative pauses, and turns to him. "Are you the one he says raised him? The father?"

"Well... yes, I suppose that's one way to phrase it," Obi-Wan says, eyes darting to the side. He doesn't know how to explain the whole attachment situation to someone who barely knows what a Jedi is. He has even less of an idea of how to explain his own broken ability to speak of emotion, the parts of his mind that Bant clucks over and attributes to his own complicated relationship with Qui-Gon. "I had custody as his primary guardian from ages nine to nineteen and was the primary individual for handling his schooling, health, and general upbringing."

"That sounds to me like a very convoluted way of saying you were his father in all but name."

Obi-Wan grimaces. "I'm not exactly old enough to be his father, and I wasn't exactly the person he was supposed to learn from; I was the... back-up option."

"It seems he cares for you very much."

"He didn't have much of a choice," Obi-Wan says, with the kind of helpless smile and awkward shrug he's long gotten used to sharing with people when they ask. "And I assure you he'd have been happier with the man that was meant to teach him."

"I'd say that the 'would have' in this situation is much less important than what is," the representative says. Obi-Wan probably should have paid more attention to his name. "I wasn't in a position to define my relation to Allura or her father in the way that truly suited our situation, by... oh, tradition, social norms, public relations, take your pick. I was a very well-regarded official, of course, but I wasn't royalty, not even nobility, and I certainly wasn't wasn't legally or publicly part of the family. But for all the limitations there, I was still able to find ways to tell her and her family what they meant to me, and they in return. Your apprentice cares for you very much, and I'm sure you care back, but I'd hazard quite the guess that you've no idea how to tell him that."

"I... I shouldn't," Obi-Wan says. "I'm fond of him, of course, but I've no wish to smother him, and to simply say it would be undignified. I imagine he'd laugh in my face."

The representative raises one eyebrow and takes a sip of his drink.

"Master Kenobi," he says carefully. "Might I suggest you go find your young man, tell him you love him, and perhaps give him a hug?"

Obi-Wan's face flares red. It's been years since anyone short of Yoda has spoken to him like that.

"I'm not a child," he sniffs, trying to angle enough away that the blush isn't as noticeable. He's damnably prone to such things. "You're not that much older than me."

The man laughs, and Obi-Wan lifts his glass to his lips in a futile attempt to hid the embarrassment a little more. "Oh, not counting the stasis, I've well reached the age of six hundred and twenty-four, my boy!"

Obi-Wan chokes on his drink.

The man laughs a little more, but thumps him on the back until he's breathing normally again.

"Yes, most of the humans I've told have had quite the reaction!" the representative assures him. "But yes, even with the times adjusted to what any given local year is, I am significantly longer-lived than most species."

"No kidding," Obi-Wan manages. He wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand and looks over at the representative. He takes in the wrinkles and bright eyes, and says, "Well, I must say you look very well for a near-human of such an age. I can only name one person in that category that has managed better, and I haven't seen her since I was a child."

"I shall take that as the compliment it's intended to be," the representative says, twisting the edge of his mustache and beaming.

The man is... well, goofy, really, and quite a bit older than Obi-Wan had thought, but he's quite the charmer. Obi-Wan faintly compares him to a few different people in the back of his mind, but nothing quite fits. For all that the man is quite the jokester and--going by some things he'd seen from the corner of his eye in the main party--a master of physical comedy, the representative is actually more competent than he looks, and for all his visible age, not bad to look at. He is also, seemingly, an expert in dealing with teenagers and young adults, something Obi-Wan himself is... decidedly not.

He really should go speak with Anakin.

And there's a war to fight.

He doesn't really have much time, even with the recent lull.

He's in no place to be looking at the clean-shaven jaw and wondering what it would feel like under his lips, or to let himself consider whether this man would be the kind to have an hours-long discussion as to the narrative forms common in other galaxies, and whether they have anything paralleled to those in Obi-Wan's own, or if this man would show the same enthusiasm over teas that he'd shown over the hors d'oeuvres inside.

He should... really go find Anakin.

"I suppose it's time to find my padawan," he says, more to fill the air than anything. "Er... thank you, both for speaking with him, and for speaking with me."

"Not a problem at all, Master Kenobi!" the representative says, and Obi-Wan realizes that there's one last thing he may have... forgotten.

"This is terribly embarrassing, but I don't believe I caught your name?" Obi-Wan says.

"Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, at your service!" the man says, with a sweeping bow. "As you can imagine, most simply call me Coran."

"Then I insist you call me Obi-Wan," he says, and before he can stop himself, "Might I bother you with an invitation to a shared tea time? You seem a knowledgeable fellow, and I'd appreciate the chance to... eh, pick your brain, shall we say."

It's not the smoothest come on he's ever put out there, or the most easily interpreted, but... well. Perhaps it's for the best. He's rather often found his tastes going in irresponsible directions, and it'll be much easier to brush this off without diplomatic incident if there's room for Coran to politely ignore the less platonic options.

Obi-Wan hopes he doesn't.

It's very selfish of him, but a dalliance with an older gentleman... well. He does, perhaps, make such irresponsible decisions, even now.

"I do believe I'd enjoy such a thing!" Coran enthuses, grabbing Obi-Wan's hand and shaking it in large, effusive movements.

Oh, this is a terrible idea, Obi-Wan thinks, even as he exchanges comm numbers and says goodbye.

Still.

He likes the idea of having at least a little fun, sedate or less so, while they have some time to themselves.

#Obi Wan Kenobi #Coran Smythe #Coran #coran hieronymus wimbleton smythe #anakin skywalker #Star Wars #Voltron #crossovers #Phoenix Posts #Phoenix Answers Asks #parenting

[five-rivers]

Pep Talks 12

I think this might be the longest chapter of Pep Talks so far...

(AO3)

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When Clockwork first took Danny on as an apprentice, he’d laid out some ground rules for when he unexpectedly found himself in an unknown timeline. As Apprentice of Time, Danny was more likely to attract anomalies like natural portals and the like, and when that was combined with his innate bad luck regarding portals, well… winding up in weird places wasn’t quite a weekly occurrence, but saying it was wouldn’t have been a huge exaggeration.

That’s all to say, Danny appreciated the rules. He didn’t want to wind up never having been born again, or, worse, making it so that one of his friends had never been born. Or causing an apocalypse. Or wrecking the future. Or—

There were just a lot of problems that he could, and had, caused.

If Clockwork were able to pick Danny up right away every time, most of the rules probably would have been unnecessary. But he wasn’t. Mostly because of physics-shaped problems involving paradoxes and how too many time portals in the same general area could screw things up, but also because of Observant- and politics-shaped problems. And, Clockwork had admitted to Danny, sometime Clockwork left him somewhere because he was supposed to be there.

The first rule was to lay low. Avoid people when possible, except to acquire basic necessities. Avoid major events, crowds, protests, and cameras. Avoid important-looking buildings.

Do not offer help unless asked first, or unless the person is a ghost. There was, evidently, a loophole that made it okay for Danny to interact with ghosts even in places where it wasn’t okay for him to do the same to humans. Clockwork had said ghosts fell under Danny’s ‘jurisdiction,’ a term that seemed just a bit too weighty with meaning for Danny. As for being allowed to help when asked… Well, Clockwork knew that Danny was incapable of not helping. Although he did ask that Danny be subtle and indirect about it.

He was also not supposed to fight anyone unless he himself was directly attacked, for similar reasons.

The fourth rule was to stay within the accepted rules of the world he found himself in, where possible. In other words, if people generally didn’t believe in ghosts or the supernatural, don’t challenge that belief by using his powers in public, but if superpowers were common, it was okay to use them.

The fifth was that, if he found himself in the past, leave civilized areas. With the threat of unpersoning himself hanging over his head, Danny took that one very seriously.

The sixth, the one that made Danny feel like a little kid despite his real age, was, if the previous rule didn’t apply, try to stay in the same general area he first found himself in.

There were others, of course, and special ones for special circumstances. For example, if he was captured by law enforcement, or injured, or actively in danger, or if he didn’t know what time period he was in. Different sets of rules prevailed if he was actually on a mission.

Clockwork had also told him that the rules no loner applied if it took him more than two weeks to find Danny. That, if he’d been waiting for that long, something had gone wrong, or Clockwork was unable to find him or pull him out.

It had been just under half that time, and Danny was starting to get worried. More worried.

He pulled his legs up, closer to himself. He didn’t need to conserve warmth, being what he was, but the action was comforting and the abandoned warehouse he was in was weird and creepy.

This whole timeline was weird and creepy. Also, semi-apocalyptic. They were going through some serious societal upheaval. Danny wasn’t entirely sure why, having only been here for six days, but he was pretty sure it had to do with the nascent ghosts partially overshadowing people and giving them power.

At least, that’s what it felt like. Danny wasn’t sure. The next nearest thing to this he’d ever encountered was a warlock, and that had been just one person. Ghosts were under his jurisdiction, but, like the warlock, the people with powers here didn’t quite feel like ghosts, and he wasn’t sure how trustworthy news sources saying that metahumans were all soulless degenerates were…

Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to find out. Hopefully, Clockwork would pick him up before another week went by.

He didn’t think the government here could actually catch him, but some of the things they apparently did to metahumans made his core ache. It was a very X-Men-like situation. Except, well, set in Japan.

Why Japan?

But! Eight more days. Tops. Clockwork would get him.

Before he’d finished the thought, something blew the door of the warehouse in and a ropelike appendage hurtled towards Danny’s corner.

He reacted. Rules were, if someone attacked him, he could respond in kind, and if superpowers were common knowledge, he could use his.

There were at least a dozen of them, all of them displaying an eclectic array of superpowers, some reminiscent of Danny’s ghostly enemies, others entirely novel to him. A fair few also had guns. One man even used multiple powers. Needless to say, the battle was incredibly one sided.

In Danny’s favor.

Hey, he’d been doing this for years, and he was very comfortable with his abilities. Most of these guys weren’t. Most. The multiple-power guy had been challenging.

Danny examined his captives. He should probably just knock them out, then go find a new hideout somewhere else, but he wanted to know why he was attacked, first.

“So,” he said, deciding that the curly-haired man with multiple powers was probably the leader, given the way the battle had been structured, “why did you and your goons attack me?”

“I heard you were like me,” growled the man, attempting to escape Danny’s telekinetic hold. “I’m looking for a power that can help my brother.”

Danny twitched slightly at the word help. “What do you mean, like you?”

“You can take powers, too,” said the man, staring up at Danny with desperate, hungry, red eyes.

Danny blinked, frowned. “You thought I could help you, or your brother, so you attacked me?” His frown became deeper. “Or did you attack me to, what, steal my powers?”

The man squirmed.

It was. That was such a ridiculous villain cliché, although the brother thing was a twist. People could get desperate about their families and do terrible things.

Including Danny. As had been proven many, many times.

His heart and stance both softened. This counted as a request for help, right? And the guy was sort of ghostly. On the other hand… Transplanting whatever it was giving these people powers willy-nilly couldn’t be healthy, especially if it was related to ghosts.

(Multiple ghosts in one body… It reminded him of his dark future self, which was never good.)

“Okay,” he said, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright. What exactly does your brother need help with?”

The man clearly hadn’t expected Danny to ask this question. “He’s sick,” he said. His eyes gleamed at the edge of tears. “His body is tearing itself apart, DNA molecule by DNA molecule. If I could just find the right ability, I could save him,” the man’s voice broke, “I knowit.”

Molecule by molecule, huh?

Actually… that was something Danny could help with. Crud. People had powers here, right? He was being asked for help, wasn’t he? He was staying within the rules. Especially seeing as these guys were like warlocks. He was only doing warlock stuff.

“If I help you with this—if,” he stressed when the man perked up. “If I help you with this, I need two things from you. Well, three, really. Actually, no, four.”

“Name them,” declared the man.

“Yeah, I was about to,” said Danny. “Anyway, first, you need to ask your brother if he wants this. If he doesn’t, you have to come back here and return it. Asap. As in, tomorrow.” He was pretty sure he could get Clockwork to give him a day, even if he came to pick Danny up right now.

“Those are your first two conditions, then?”

Danny nodded. “Yeah. Third one is, you have to stop taking powers from people who don’t give you permission. The end of that road isn’t pretty.” At least, he was pretty sure it wasn’t. All those little maybe-ghosts, slammed together… Even if it didn’t have any immediate effect on this guy’s personality, the resulting ghost could wind up possessing him. If the ghost vaguely wanted to go with him, that might change things. Maybe. At least, it’d slow things down.

If this worked the way he thought it did.

The man scowled. “And you know this, how?”

Danny rolled his eyes. “Look, you’rethe one who said I was like you, not me. Too much of these powers can mess you up.”

“If the number is the problem, it shouldn’t matter how I take them.”

“Do you ever get bad dreams?”

The man stilled completely. “What do you know about that?”

Danny shrugged. “Enough,” he said. “Do you want to be overwhelmed by your powers? Do you want to explode? It could happen.” Actually, Danny had no idea if it could happen or not. But it sounded good. “More importantly, do you want to help your brother or not?”

“Of course I do!”

“Great!” said Danny, clapping his hands together. “Let’s finish this up somewhere privately, okay?” He grabbed the man’s shoulder and phased them through the floor into the basement, which he lit with a ball of ectoplasm. “Okay,” he said. “Fourth thing.”

The man was staring at the ectoplasm with undisguised curiosity. “What is it? Money? A new identity? Passage out of the country?”

“Uh, no,” said Danny. What would he do with any of that, after all? “I need to know the full story behind you and your brother.”

“What? Why? Don’t you know enough?”

“So that I can be sure that I can help, first off. Also, the way I’d be doing it involved me giving you something rather personal, so…” He trailed off with a gesture that indicated he expected the man to talk.

He sighed. “My name is Shigaraki Hisashi. My brother’s name is Kazuki, and he’s been sick since we were children…”

Danny let him give a summary of his life up until this point. He had the vague feeling that he wasn’t being told everything of importance, but, then, not everything about a person’s life could be condensed into an hour or so of storytelling.

Apparently Hisashi had basically raised Kazuki, and once Hisashi’s meta power had come in as a young adult, they’d been completely abandoned by their parents. Hisashi had put together a group of freedom fighters (Danny skeptically recalled the guns, but also forced himself to remember the hints that there might be something like concentration camps for power users) to defend himself, his brother, and others with power. But Kazuki’s illness made him incredibly vulnerable, and as he was Hisashi’s one major weakness…

The feeling that he was living through an ‘X-Men Japan’ comic intensified. He felt so sorry for this guy. Danny knew what this kind of life was like.

“Alright,” he said, softly, finally, “I can help. And, this probably doesn’t mean anything coming from me, but that better world you were talking about? Where people with powers and people without can coexist? I think you’ll be able to make it happen. Just don’t let anyone stop you.”

“I don’t intend to.”

Danny nodded. “I can give you something to help your brother. A power,” he clarified. “But I need you to know, it could change him.”

“Change him?”

“His personality.”

“You were saying something about that before. Forgive me if I don’t agree with you. These powers are tools.”

“Okay, sure, but even just having more options can influence how a person behaves. Just warn him before you give it to him, okay?”

“Of course. I’m a man of my word, after all.”

“Right,” said Danny. “Give me your hand.”

“A handshake?” asked Hisashi.

“Not exactly.”

Danny let a minuscule, almost microscopic, piece of his core break free from the whole. It hurt like a knife to the chest, and some of his physical and mental abilities would be impaired for a while, but he had done it before, and it would heal before long. A fragment this size would give a power on par with those he’d seen so far in this world. It would also grow, of course, but it was unlikely for any human to live long enough for that to become a problem.

He let it pass into Hisashi, and the man shivered.

“That should strengthen his body without being too much of a burden on him,” said Danny.

“What kind of power is it?” asked Hisashi, reclaiming his hand and flexing his fingers.

“Uh,” said Danny, casting about for something vague that would fit. “A gradual stockpile of power. That enhances the user’s body.” That should be close enough. “Remember, ask first.”

“I will, I will,” assured Hisashi one more time. “And you can be sure I’ll be returning regardless, to thank you.”

“Uh huh.”

It took a while for Hisashi and his men to clear out. Longer still for Danny to find a new place to sleep. But he did.

He woke to a time medallion around his neck and Clockwork’s exasperated expression. “Daniel,” he said, “what did you do?”

.

Toshinori and Izuku stared at Danny with open mouths.

“You’re the original stockpile user?” yelled Izuku, pointing.

Danny smiled sheepishly. “Surprise?”

#danny phantom #bnha #dp/bnha #dp/bnha crossover #pep talks

[pandawriterstuff]

Pinehallow Summary & Character List

This is my main WIP, if I'm complaining about characters doing whatever they want, this is them.

Pinehallow Summary-Monty, an eleven year old boy who has spent most of his life traveling from place to place with his in-demand lawyer mother, Irene, is sent to live at his uncle's horse ranch because she thinks he needs roots. Used to nearly everyone but his mother not being around long enough to get to know, Monty is more than a bit uncertain about this. But in scrambling to find his place in a town different to anything he's ever known, he finds friends, both human and animal, makes discoveries, and even manages to foil a plot against Pinehallow Ranch itself.

Character List

Monty (Montgomery) Cade Waller- Main character, 11, white. Monty is curious, bright, and more than a little awkward. He has a tendency to state the obvious, which can be endearing or annoying depending on your perspective. Big vocabulary and grown-up way of speaking because he’s spent more time around grown-ups than other kids. He’s quietly stubborn, particularly when it comes to being told he’s wrong when he knows he’s right. Insecure about socializing and friendships because of constant moving and traveling. Can’t hold a grudge for the life of him, even when he likely should. He likes bugs, birds and turtles, would rather read nonfiction than a story. Fills lonely afternoons with sketching, nature sketching on the ranch.

Irene Waller- Monty’s mother, 36, white. Irene is a powerful corporate lawyer, either full of energy or exhausted, never in between. She loves using words to sway minds and deciphering documents to find exactly what the opposition doesn’t want her to find. Sometimes Irene wishes she was using her skills in more meaningful ways, but also really likes the money, the traveling, and the competition. Has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of show tunes from musicals. She has a hard time letting people get close. Would stab someone for her baby, but knows it’s better to teach him to stab for himself. Only partially joking. Dolly Parton is her hero, and as much as she loves her music, it’s Dolly the business woman and Dolly the philanthropist that she strives to emulate.

Keith Waller- Monty’s uncle, 34, white. Horse Rancher. Keith loves working hard and getting dirty, and if he’s not exhausted at the end of the day he’ll be looking for something else to push him there. Otherwise he gets antsy. Loves animals and absolutely will not tolerate anyone mistreating any of the animals on his ranch-ordinarily he’s very careful of his size and strength, in that situation, all bets are off. Times that by about ten for any of the ‘barn rats’ that help around the ranch for riding lessons/time. Loves romantic comedies and telanovas and doesn’t care who knows it. Keith doesn’t read a lot, it never came easy to him, but if he’s taking a long trip he’ll always check an audio book or two out of the library instead of just relying on the radio.

Juniper - Keith’s goddaughter, 15, white. She has a calm, confident personality with a smile for most everyone she meets. If she doesn’t have a smile for you and it isn’t because her head is in the clouds over a girl, you’ve probably earned her scorn and will be ignored as much as possible. Juniper raises rabbits and it’s taught her patience, and a lot about unfairness when a kit doesn’t make it. She helps out with riding lessons at the ranch in exchange for riding time of her own, and has become a fixture, spending more time there than she does at home, and when she can get away with it, school. Loves sunflowers and her sunflower comforter is probably her most prized possession.

Nell - Caretaker/cook for the ranch house(would cooking lunch for the workers still be a thing on a modern ranch?). 38, white(?). Not about to put up with nonsense. Will make you cookies if she doesn’t have to put up with nonsense. Please. At one point she wanted to be a chef and has a year of culinary school under her belt, but quickly decided the super fast paced and competitive environment wasn’t for her. Anything that was making her hate one of her favorite things that fast could not be good for a person. She intends to live a long, long life and that kind of stress can just walk right out of the door. Loves to go on long walks, often into the hills (BLM land) behind the ranch. (maybe she was taught/took a class on foraging, and teaches Monty to find wild onions and stuff? But this would mean *I* have to learn about foraging in Idaho.) This leads to a contented, if often silent, companionship between her and Monty, who desperately wants to explore/record/sketch everything about the natural world of his new home, particularly the parts that are off limits to him without an adult along.

Ray- Family Friend/Co-Owner of R & M General (designed to feel vintage, but shiny. Bit of a tourist stop now, they decided to lean into it.), 50, Black. He uses his background in chemistry to make amazing looking candies and chocolates, using that to deal with a time he used it in less pleasant ways when he was in the military. He never expected anybody outside of his small town, or maybe the folks at the county fair to make so much fuss over them. This might embarrass him, if he weren’t so delighted. A cheerful man with a dreamer’s heart, a magazine once referred to him as a small town Willy Wonka. He dotes on his wife, often making and gifting her small surprises. An amputee in honor of my Grandpa (missing left leg at the knee, possibly missing one arm as well, but I’m not sure how that would affect candy making.). Has certain parts of his past he just doesn’t talk about.

Mavis- Co-Owner of ____ with Ray, 48, Black. Fierce and kind in equal measures, Mavis believes in protecting what’s hers, and as far as she’s concerned the entire town of (oh my god, it needs a name) is included in that. Mavis is very selective about the battles she fights, but when she chooses one she throws herself in whole-heartedly. On several committees around town, she’d be on more, but then she wouldn’t have enough time to really get into the work of the ones she loves. She knits in her limited free time, often while listening to the news, but sometimes opera. Has started knitting stuffies in the shapes of the more unusual candies Ray makes, it’s silly, but fun, and tourists and the local kids love it. Still head over heels for Ray, even though his often dreaming about things for ages instead of just doing them is also still baffling to her.

Leanna - Juniper’s sort-of girlfriend, 15, Vietnamese. Quiet, a little cynical, but very empathetic. She avoids the news because it’s that or be mad and want to cry all the time-until she hears about something she can’t not research, and goes on a 24 hour google search and learns far more than is probably good for her about a species going extinct due to logging in prohibited areas, or genocide being covered up by claims of violent uprisings. She loves manga and comics. Leanna sometimes tries for a cottagecore* type aesthetic, but mostly thinks it's too much work. She’s starting to worry about what she’s going to do with her future, and people telling her that she’s only 15 and doesn’t have to worry about it yet is NOT HELPING.

*even though cottagecore isn’t a thing in the early-mid 2000s this is maybe/vaguely set in. Shh, let me have this. Anne of Green Gablesesque maybe?

Winnie - Leanna’s mom, 45, Vietnamese. Widow? A little ditzy, but a lot loving. Everyone in town is convinced she’s the stoner type of hippy, but no one minds as she’s someone who truly wants to know how you’re doing when she asks and strangely almost always has very spot on advice. She’s rarely on time anywhere, but that’s because she’ll have stopped to talk, and often to help, whoever she’s run into. Leanna and her bicker over this when she’s late picking her up. Always wears bright colors. Loves Agatha Christie books. Calls everyone, even people 50 years older than her, hon.

Logan - Juniper’s stepdad, 40, white. Kind of a jerk, but most of the jerky things he says are actually jokes that fall flat or have simply gotten old. Tries really hard, like *really* hard, but has a tendency to get annoyed if people don’t appreciate his efforts right away-more in his personal life than professional, possibly because of his profession. A contractor, hard worker, loyal, has worked for the same company since he was twenty even though they don’t often treat him right. Sometimes tries to buy people’s affections. Wants to have better communication with Juniper, but it’s gotten really hard the last few years and he’s never quite sure why.

Candice - Juniper’s Mom, 39, white, works at a nursery that sells seedlings and baby fruit trees, has a cheerful, calm personality, but a lot softer and more lowkey than Juniper’s version. Very house proud, but has a ‘maximalist’ approach to decorating-everything is in its place, but there are places for lots of things. Loves spending time outdoors, but would rather spend it tending her garden than hiking or riding, preferably with a cup of tea by her side. On the weekends, a fruity beer or wine instead. Wants to go on one of those train rides where you get to drink wine, eat canapes and try to solve a mystery, thinks Winnie might be a good candidate for someone to go with her.

Ura - a ‘barn rat’, 12 and a half, white(maybe a Czech immigrant? 2nd generation?) . A cheerful, rough and tumble boy who is always climbing things, and often being told to stop when he gets too high for other people's comfort. Ura is fearless when it comes to physical feats, but has a fear of ‘slimy’ things like worms and frogs. He has a thick layer of pudge and a big appetite, but is athletic and strong enough that anyone bullying him over it would be doing it at their own peril. Not that he’s the type to start fights, or even finish them most of the time. Doesn’t feel he quite fits in with his family, who are all more serious, reserved people. Redwood is his favorite of the horses, and Keith has all but given up on telling him that sitting on the floor of Red’s stall to talk to the horse isn’t exactly safe.

Elliot - Ray and Mavis’s son, Black, 19 and a college student-maybe/probably at U of I. Lives on campus, but comes home at least a couple weekends a month. Has an older car that he and Ray fixed up together, that is his pride and joy. Quiet, with an irreverent sense of humor that he unleashes somewhat at random. Interested in robotics, engines and mechanics and generally has some project he’s working on, a piece of which may or may not be in his pocket. Often has oil, grease, or ink on his hands, either from working on or designing a new project. A bit of an overachiever, he can spread himself thin trying to live up to all his responsibilities at once. He’s best friends with Randy, a friendship his parents want to disapprove of, because the few times Elliot’s gotten into trouble not only was Randy there, but 99% of the time whatever it was is Randy’s idea, but never quite manage too.

Randy - Handyman at the ranch, mixed race Hispanic and white, 21. Technically head handyman, because the old head retired six months ago, and is a little young/inexperienced for the job, but he’s not the type to back away from a challenge and has risen to the occasion beautifully. Loves rock and metal music, and spends a lot of his free weekends at concerts, the ones crammed into little venues and bars where people are practically on top of each other and the beat is so loud and solid it throbs through you, connecting you to everyone even before you hit the mosh pit, are his preference. He’s been working at the ranch since he was 16, and feels like he has a claim on it, not afraid to speak up if he thinks a decision Keith is making isn’t right or that he isn’t taking something important into consideration. Can be a bit wild when he’s not being the responsible one, definitely doesn’t always think before he acts.

Alma - Local artist/worker at R & M’s, Hispanic, 25. Alma is a painter and poet, a confident young woman who’s figured out that half of surviving as an artist is being your own agent/a salesperson as well, and in addition to several shelves at the R & M that hold postcard prints of many of her pieces, both the coffee shop and cafe have some of her larger paintings displayed, and she always has a booth at the Saturday market, though the majority of her sales come from her website. Alma is cheerful, and likes to tease, and growing up the middle child of four brothers, is very able to hold her own in verbal sparring. She’s close with her family, still living with her parents, and while at first her father was dismayed at her choice of career, he now hands out her business card to basically everyone he talks to.

Miriam - Nell’s Mom, white, 71, a little deaf, speaks loudly, partially because of the deafness, partially because she spent too long letting other people push her around and when she hit about 50 decided she was going to be the one talking over people now. She’s earned it. Age has made her more delicate than she likes, bruising and scraping easily, but she’s determined to do most things for herself. Those that are beyond her she has no problem loudly ordering someone else to take care of. Volunteers a lot, often fosters kittens for the local animal shelter. Used to chain smoke, quit when Nell was a teenager because she kept leaving pictures of diseased lungs everywhere. Still uses the candy ones as a substitute.

Places

Unnamed Town- Somewhere in Latah County, Idaho, where there is not already a town in the way. Around 200 years old and has grown and shrunk and grown again, and currently has a population of about 12,000. Having grown out from a traditional mainstreet, _______ no longer has the western style boardwalk seen in old pictures, but it does have a large cluster of local businesses and ‘hot spots’ still along that old main street, a coffee shop, a diner, a combination bookshop and independent library, a hardware store, a bar, a few places I haven’t thought of yet, and of course R & M General. There is a historical barn half a mile or so away from mainstreet that has been converted into a theater/meeting hall/dance hall, and a community center was added onto it in the early 90’s. During the summer there is a farmer’s market on the property every Saturday. The elementary school and junior high are all on one property, several miles out of town, because the majority of families live on farms, ranches or small rural properties rather than in one of the neighborhood clusters in the town itself. The junior high is 7th, 8th and 9th graders, in a newer two story building, and the elementary school is divided into lower and upper elementary with the bracket shaped building basically being cut in half, K-3 on one side and 4-6 on the other. The high school is outside of town on the other side by several miles, and actually serves kids from another town(s) as well. There is also a trailer park with about forty units, not exactly sure where it is yet, but Miriam(Nell’s Mom) lives there. There is also an animal shelter, a vet’s office, a cemetery, and a couple churches, and I’m sure more things to come.

R & M General (working title?)- Ray and Mavis’s store, a general store with a candy focused twist. A vintage Pepsi sign, neon still bright, and a charming green glass juke-box filled with hits from the 1940’s onward grace the front porch of the R & M, along with a long bench that locals are encouraged to use for a spell or to listen to a couple songs, provided they can behave themselves (teenagers arguing over who their favorite member of the rat pack is might be amusing, considering they were already ‘mom and dad’, or at least older brother and sister, music by the time Mavis and Ray were teenagers, but when they get loud it also gets annoying.). The store itself still has the original wooden counter up front and built-in shelves along the walls, but all refinished and polished to a high shine. A mixture of display types going down the middle of the store, barrels and baskets filled with skeins of colorful yarn and cloth or Mavis’s knitted stuffies(and during winter sometimes socks and mittens), other sewing and craft supplies, display racks with local arts, postcards and carvings, sometimes wind up toys made by Elliot, and of course many, many displays of candies and chocolates. They also have a lot of dry goods, and some of the simpler candy types have little instruction booklets and the ingredients it takes to try out making them yourself stocked in the same display, drink coolers, and sometimes have local produce available. Basically, they have a bit of everything, except for building equipment/home repair supplies, and that’s because of the hardware store across the street.

Pinehallow Ranch-A sprawling 100 acre ranch in Latah County, Idaho where the Waller family has been doing something or other with horses for four generations now. Originally it was a horse breeding ranch, but Keith and Irene’s grandfather felt the money was in training horses, and offered boarding as well, and Keith has continued to build that up, offering lessons for a variety of styles, ages, and skill levels. Butting up against BLM land that allows additional grazing and trail riding, the ranch has four pastures, a large corral, a medium sized indoor arena and two horse barns, one for boarded horses and one for the ranch's own stock, and an equipment barn, an old bunkhouse that is mostly used to store feed-though Randy has slept there when in between places, mostly unbeknownst to Keith-and some smaller equipment sheds, placed where they’re needed. The main house is an L-shaped ranch house with a porch that goes around the entire long front of the house with a large herb/kitchen and rock garden arranged around that. There are treed pockets scattered here and there, left alone as the rest of the ranch was developed, but the creek Monty and Juniper sometimes hang out at is on BLM land, as is most of the forested area around the ranch.

Pinehallow Taglist @sleepysera @enchanted-lightning-aes @odysseywritings @thegreatobsesso @writing-is-a-martial-art and @hiitsolivia If anyone else wants to be added just interact with the post :) (My more advanced tumblr knowledge has led me to believe this is better than asking people to reblog/comment to be added, but if I'm wrong just let me know.)

#character list #oc list #someday I'll do a proper series introduction #and an introduction for me #but today is not that day #pinehallow ranch #original writing #I tend to build my world around the characters #backwards I know

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Randall “Pink” Floyd

(Excuse the shit gif)(Requested by anonymous)

(Fun fact: I had no idea Jason London had a twin and literally just found that out)

- You and Pink met for the first time after you missed your bus. He’d just finished talking with his friends and was heading out to his car when he noticed you stressing over the payphone, trying to fish quarters out of your bag so that you could possibly get a friend to pick you up.

- You were just about ready to walk home when he tapped you on the shoulder and asked if you were alright. Sighing, you gave him a quick rundown and he immediately offered to give you a ride. You were a tad hesitant, mostly because you didn’t want to be a bother to someone you barely knew but he insisted, telling you that it was no problem.

- A wave of relief washed over you and you gratefully thanked him, following him as he led you to his car. To be clear, you did know of him. You vaguely recalled your friends telling you about him and how nice he was, and of course you’d seen a few of his football games so it wasn’t like you were just hopping into a total strangers car.

- The thing about Pink is that he’s pretty much friends with everybody. No matter who you are, where you come from, or what clique you’re in; he’s down to chat and he’s pretty damn good at it. You’d expected at least a little discomfort and awkwardness during your car ride but there really wasn’t any. He was as sweet as could be and you found yourself actually really enjoying the conversation he’d started.

- Once you arrived at your house, you thanked him profusely to which he only laughed and assured you that it was no trouble at all. Before he left, he gave you a smile and said he’d see you around school. As he pulled away, you realized that you might have unwillingly developed a crush on the boy. ...Little did you know he felt the same.

- When you went to school the next day you hadn’t really expected anything to happen. You figured that he’d given you a ride and that would be that but as you were putting your things in your locker you felt a familiar tap on your shoulder. You turned a bit and there he was, standing behind you with a smile that made you melt.

- He greeted you and asked if he could walk you to class to which you obviously agreed. This sort of thing continued on for nearly a week before he stopped you outside of your classroom and asked if you’d like to come hang out with him and his friends after school. You weren’t about to pass up an offer made by a boy you were really starting to crush on so you said yes. He smiled and told you he’d meet you by your locker after the final bell.

- You spent the entire day anticipating the moment school let out. The instant the bell rang it took everything you had in you not to shoot out of your seat and run down the halls. You took a second to relax, checking yourself over before you started the short trip to your locker.

- By the time you made it there, Pink was already leaned against the lockers beside yours waiting for you. You got your things and the two of you headed out to his car, driving over to where his friends were meeting.

- Once you got there, he introduced you to everyone and excused himself to talk with the guys for a few minutes. You spoke to some of the girls in your grade before he came over and stole you away, leading you to a more secluded area where the two of you could chat in private.

- Prior to this, you only ever really had short conversations so you were more than happy to finally start getting to know each other better. As the two of you sat down, he jokingly proposed that you play twenty questions. You responded “ask me anything” and so the game began.

- For a while, you were both just asking whatever came to mind: what’s your favorite color, favorite food, favorite subject, favorite band, etc. Then you got to the good stuff, the questions that prompted jokes and stories which had you laughing till you nearly cried. It was after one of these stories that he got to ask the question he’d been saving all week.

“When’s the last time someone took you out for dinner?”

“Hmmm,” you laughed, tapping your chin as you pretended to think. “I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“How about tonight?” You nearly choked on your drink.

“Tonight?” You questioned, wanting to make sure he was saying what you thought he was saying.

“Or now or whenever....” he added, shrugging his shoulders as he attempted to appear nonchalant.

“Yeah, sure. I’d really like that.”

A smile spread across his face as you agreed. “Great,” he told you. “So I’ll pick you up at six?”

- Later that day, he took you to the drive-in and bought you that dinner he’d promised. The two of you went bowling afterwards and you ended the night with a long kiss in the parking lot.

- After a few more dates the two of you became official and you were both as happy as could be.

- There’s not a ton of pda in your relationship but he makes sure everyone knows you’re together. 

- Hanging out on the moon tower. 

- He’s always ready to defend you when things suddenly go south. 

- He’s constantly subtly looking out for you. He always has you walk in front of him so he knows where you are, asks a bunch of people if they’ve seen you when you disappear somewhere, walks on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street, etc.

- It’s the little things that show you he cares. 

- He can cuddle any which way you want but he’s a pretty big fan of laying his head on your chest while you thread your fingers through his hair. He’s a big baby but you’re the only one allowed to know that.

- When you want to be cuddled he pulls you into his side and traces patterns down your hips and thighs. 

- Goodbye kisses. 

- Handholding.

- Handshakes. 

- Sitting on the back of his car with him.

- Getting him to think more rationally and stop overreacting about the sign up sheet or whatever else is bothering him. 

- Inside jokes.

- Playing with his necklace.

- Constantly swapping cars throughout the night. 

- It was the 70′s, everybody smoked weed, and he has a pretty good dealer so if you want to try a little bit of the devils grass then he’s down to supply you with it. 

- Concert dates.

- Late night cruising.

- Sometimes he’ll stumble through your window late at night or really early in the morning, a little drunk and wanting to cuddle... or fuck. 

- Early, early morning drives where the two of you are still a little buzzed but also tired. 

- Cheering him on at his games even though he isn’t fond of playing. 

- Hanging out on the football field. 

- Ruffling his hair.

- Doing a lot of stupid, reckless shit together. 

- Making out a lot. 

- He’s a horny boy, especially when drunk, so be prepared to be felt up every once and a while, or at least for him to attempt to. 

- Let’s not forget that Pink cheated in his girlfriend, alright? Scummy move, obviously, but I feel like their relationship wasn’t the greatest to begin with? Like he really did not seem into her at all 90% of the time and she seemed like she knew exactly what was up whenever he was doing something. So I feel like under different circumstances he wouldn’t cheat on his girlfriend. 

- He flirts and teases you a lot. He loves getting you all shy and flustered. 

- Hearing about all the crazy shit him and his friends get up to, he just scratches the back of his neck and shoots you shy smiles when you look over at him.

- Laying your head in his lap. 

- Sitting on his lap, he sits really far back in his seat in general so you’re always able to gently plop yourself down without any fuss. 

- Since Pink is a bit of an overreacter I can imagine he gets quite jealous. When he does, he doesn’t say anything but he noticeably watches you and the guy until you come over to him. 

- When you’re fighting, he gets super passive aggressive and annoying so you tend to just sigh and give up after a while. Give him some time  to himself and hope for the best, that’s all I can say. 

- He really can’t stand seeing you cry. He hates when you’re upset, he always gets super uncomfortable and just tries his best to cheer you up as quickly as possible. 

- Whenever you have a test, he always tells you not to worry and that you’ll do great. He likes being able to calm you down and be the reason you feel better. 

- Constantly being introduced to new people since he makes friends every other minute. 

- Hanging out at the emporium.

- Going to parties with him. 

- Double dates with Michelle and Pickford. 

- He has a habit of holding/pulling you by the belt/belt loops. 

- Watching him and Dons little comedy routines. 

- Being gently rough with each other, like he’ll “tackle” you down and start making out with you or you’ll slap each others hands away to keep each other from something. 

- Letting him rant when he needs to, even if you think what he’s getting upset over is a little silly. 

- Spending entire nights together. 

- Jamming out to rock albums and going to the record store together. 

- Playing pool and Foosball together. 

- He’s really good at charming your parents and other relatives. Leave it to him, he’ll make them fall in love with him in the span of a barbecue. 

- He loves when you gently touch him. Brushing something off his cheek, pulling something from his hair, things like that. He has and will always melt when you do. 

- Letting him copy off your homework and notes when he ditches class. 

- He says “I love you” sparingly so it always means a lot when he does say it. 

- You don’t really talk about the future but he’s convinced it’s going to be much better than high school... maybe because you’ll be married?

#dazed and confused x reader #dazed and confused imagine #dazed and confused headcanon #dazed and confused headcanons #dazed and confused #90s movie #90s movie headcanons #90s movie imagine #90s movie headcanon #pink headcanons #pink headcanon #pink imagine #randall pink floyd #randall pink floyd headcanons #randall pink floyd headcanon #randall pink floyd imagine #randy pink floyd headcanons #randy pink floyd headcanon #randy pink floyd imagine

[thechangeling]

Enough.

So a while ago I made a headcannon post about Ty's sexuality and the autistic exploration of sex and sexual desire. I have now written a fic about it. This ones for Alex @bedspells my very own Alyssa. Also side note I want to make it clear that yes, I still ship kitty 100%. But I've seen plenty of people write fics and headcannons about Kit exploring things with other people. There's no reason why Ty can't do the same.

Edit: Ok a long time ago this fic actually got a hate comment on Ao3 saying that I was erasing Ty's sexuality by having him hook up with a girl because he was cannonly gay due to a tweet CC made in 2013. Now I don't even have twitter and I wasn't a part of the fandom back then. Despite all of that I actually don't really consider that to be the basis of canon? And in the books he doesn't really express interest in anyone except for Kit. So as far as I'm concerned this was fair game. Not to mention gay people sometimes experiment before they realize they're gay. Especially autistic people!! And that was actually kind of the point of this fic. So maybe just keep that in mind going forward. Thanks!

Tw for mentions and discussions of sex.

Ty could count the instances he hadn't been bothered by another person's touch on one hand. This was certainly one of them. It was so late into the night it could certainly be considered the next morning. Anush, Ty and Alyssa had been doing research on Livvy and the effect she seemed to be having on a serge of demonic activity in the area.

Ty was fairly stressed about the possibility to say the least. It felt like everything was spilling away from him. Livvy, his family, his career.

Kit.

He really didn't want to think about Kit but it was difficult. It was like trying to ignore a bleeding wound that everyone kept referring to as a paper cut.

The shining lights in all of this were Anush and Alyssa. Befriending both of them had been the best part of coming to the scholomance.

Especially Alyssa.

Meeting someone who shared some of his thoughts, feelings and experiences was more then refreshing. It was liberating. Talking, laughing and crying with Alyssa about the things that no one else would understand was like a balm for Ty's soul.

At a certain point Anush had announced that he was retiring to bed and they should both probably do the same. Livvy was still floating around the room observing their work. But as time went on Ty had stopped paying as much attention to her. Now he was resting against Alyssa with his head in her lap. She was sitting on the couch in the library, carefully running her fingers through his hair and rambling on about something, Ty wasn't exactly sure what.

Ty reached up to wrap a lock of her long dark hair around his finger, then watched it spring back into place again. Alyssa's hair was wavy but not curly like- like some peoples. So it didn't spring and bounce very well. That was the interesting thing about Ali in general. So many parts of her dress and appearance were so neat and polished and well put together that Ty almost wondered what it would be like to see her more disheveled. What would it be like to grab and twist and pull until she was left with something that wasn't glossy perfect waves.

Ty panicked a little at that thought. Where exactly had that come from? He was now more then ever painfully aware of the fact that he was lying in an attractive person's lap. And his sister was still in the same room.

Ty looked up to search for Livvy but realized that she was gone. Guiltily he realized she could have been gone for awhile now. But he hadn't noticed. Lately he had been feeling further and further away from his twin and he hated it.

"Do you think stars have feelings?" Alyssa asked wistfully. Ty laughed joyfully, feeling so light and and so far away from every bad thing that had happened three years ago.

"Because I was just thinking," she continued. "Like, what if they're lonley you know?" Ty had to smile at the Alyssa charm of it all. Also the autistic perspective might have had something to do with it.

"I don't know," Ty said, sitting up. "Maybe they're like us. Maybe they like being alone." Alyssa pondered this for awhile.

"Well no one can be alone forever," she pointed out, then laughed, rolling her eyes. "God how did we get here? Remember when we were supposed to be doing actual work Ty?"

"Well we were stupid to think that would last," Ty announced matter of factly. Alyssa shrugged and leaned back against the sofa.

"Probably. Once the neurotypical left it was all downhill from there."

"I disagree, Ty said softly, meeting her gaze. "I enjoy spending time with you." Alyssa instantly smiled, the kind of beautiful, honest, heartfelt smile that allistic people wrote poetry about.

Instantly Ty was reminded of someone else, another brilliant smile.

He shook it off.

"Me too," Alyssa finally answered. Then she shook her head. "Ugh feelings. Gross."

Ty rolled his eyes at her and laughed.

Then Alyssa sat up again as she seemed to remember something. "Oh yeah I meant to ask you about Anush. Do you like him?"

Ty shrugged. "Yeah he's really nice. He's become a good friend."

Alyssa shook her head. "No, no Ty, I mean-" She paused. "I mean do you like him like you wanna date him? Or do you have romantic feelings for him?" She asked.

Ty paused. He honestly wasn't sure. He had been trying to avoid thoughts of those types of feelings for a very specific reason. A Herondale reason. But the truth was he did like really like Anush. He enjoyed being around him. Ty just wasn't sure what that meant.

"I'm not sure," he answered honestly. "Maybe." Alyssa fiddled with her hair, rubbing it between her fingers.

"Hmm. Well do you even like boys?" She asked. "I just realised I've known you for five months now and I dont really know what your deal is," she said contemplating. "Like sexual orientation wise. I mean not that it matters, it totally doesn't," she stammered.

Ty shrugged. "It was never really relevant before. But I'm not really sure. I guess I'm fine with whatever." Alyssa beamed.

"So I guess that means you're kinda like me huh? She said happily. "I'm pansexual. Women are so beautiful and angelic and soft and squishy and awesome, but men can be good too," she mused. "I mean men are......men, but some of them aren't so bad. I mean look at you!" Alyssa tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

"Thanks," Ty responded dryly.

"Anyways you know what I mean," Alyssa waved her hand. "So are you attracted to him at least?" Ty sighed.

"Yeah I am," he admitted. "But I don't- I don't want a relationship Ali. I just can't."

Alyssa studied him for a moment. "Does this have anything to do with the Herondale pendent you wear that you always tell me never to ask questions about?"

Ty scowled. "Yes, but I don't want to talk about it." Alyssa rolled her eyes and put her hands up in surrender.

"Fucking shit fuck! Fine!" She complained. "Anyways, my point is you dont need to date him neccesarily. Just have sex with him and see how you feel?"

Ty sat up and faced her. "What?"

Alyssa laughed. "You heard me. There's nothing wrong with causal sex between consenting adults. I mean, if you want to."

Ty felt the urge to stand up to try and aliviate some of the anxiety he was feeling, but he stayed sitting.

"I've never done it before," he admitted. Ty was 19, he knew most of the people his age had already had some sort of sexual experience. But he had always been too afraid. Too afraid of people touching him and demanding things from him with harsh vague bullshit. In Ty's mind it was just another social interaction that he could screw up and then pay the price for it.

Alyssa shrugged. "It's no big deal. Virginity is just a social construct anyways." Alyssa was playing with her hair casually and biting her lip slightly, to indicate that she was mulling something over.

Ty shook his head trying to explain it. "No, it's- I mean see, you say that, but, one of the things I've learned about this world is that social constructs kind of matter to a lot of people." Ty was taping his fingers against his leg and trying to stop himself from shaking. Alyssa noticed this.

"Because people tell you that's it's no big deal and not to worry, and then other people make it into a big deal like it means something, and then everyone's telling you to do something different," Ty explained with a panicked, rushed voice. "I don't know who you listen to, or what to do!" He was moving his hands frantically while he spoke to emphasize his points.

"Hey it's ok," she cooed, inching towards him. "Trust yourself. Or if you feel like you can't, then trust me." Ty felt a pang in his chest. A cacophony of conflicting emotions erupted within him. But mostly he found that despite his better judgement he actually believed her.

They had created something different between the two of them. Something that almost transcended labels or rules or traditional allistic boundaries. Alyssa was like the armor he put on every morning, with the strength and confidence that he wasn't alone in this world. In the midst of all of their jokes and late night heartbreaking conversations. In the midst of this fragile peace they had created, there was something there. Something indescribable.

Something like the sound of the page being turned in one of his Sherlock novels, or the sound of their favourite songs. A connection. A lifeline.

Ty looked over at Alyssa's concerned face and smiled softly. "I trust you," he promised. "I don't really trust many people, but I've always trusted you," he admitted. Alyssa inhaled sharply. She made an interesting facial expression that might have been a facial stim and then gaped for awhile before finally closing her mouth and avoiding Ty's gaze.

"Yeah that's cool. I trust you too," she said casually. She had gone back to pulling at her poor hair which was shedding everywhere. Anush always joked that he could always tell where Alyssa was by following the trail of hair.

"So, about the whole sex thing," she continued rather unceremoniously. Ty had to laugh a little. "Do you think it's something you're actually interested in? Or do you just feel like you have to?" She asked.

Ty pondered this for a moment. "I think I might want to. I just want to be with someone that I trust. Someone who will be considerate of my boundries, you know?" Ty did a quick glance around the room to make sure Livvy was still gone.

"Wait she's not here right?" Alyssa asked anxiously, catching on. Ty shook his head.

Alyssa paused for a moment, looking lost in thought. She was flicking her fingernails against each other and continuing to murder her bottom lip by chewing on it. Finally she looked up at him, looking rather amused.

"Ok. This might just be the exhaustion talking, or the autism, or a combination of both. So if you feel uncomfortable with what I'm about to say, then afterwards we can just forget it ok?" Alyssa sounded serious. Ty just nodded, trying not to be concerned.

Alyssa gave him an interesting look, one that he was pretty sure he had never recieved before. Her eyes scanned him up and down, then she smirked.

"I could potentially offer my services," she said innocently. Ty blinked a few times, then continued to stare at her. She stared back unflinching.

Wait. What?

Ty shook his head in confusion. "Hold on. Wait. You mean-?" He cut himself off. Alyssa nodded with that same smirk. "Yeah I mean why not right?" She shrugged, relaxing back against the sofa. "But if you dont want to then that's totally fine."

"Wait." Ty attempted to clear his head and stay focused. He stayed frozen for awhile, thinking. Then he folded his arms around himself, applying pressure. "Why exactly?"

Alyssa shrugged again. "Well why not? You're hot. I'm hot, and besides you know me," she pointed out. She paused, and then giggled.

"Four hours into investigating the paranormal phenomenon of his dead twin sister and chill, then she offers to take his virginity," she cackled. "I so enjoy our quality time together."

"The way your mind works really concerns me sometimes, you know that?" He asked playfully. Alyssa rolled her eyes at him and shoved him gently.

"Hey you don't have to, it was just an idea," she said, raising her hands in defense. Ty was silent. He was still thinking about it.

"Most people don't really do stuff like this right?" He asked warily. "Like most friends don't just randomly hook up and then laugh it off later."

Alyssa shook her head slowly. "Honey do you see me laughing?"

Ty was conflicted. There was something in him, a new, complicated feeling. A burning desire that nagged at the back of his mind everytime Alyssa bit her lip or pouted.

If he was really honest with himself. Ty could remember another time when he felt this way. But that was different, that was-.

He shook his head. No. Ty wasn't thinking about that anymore. He needed a distraction.

"God I can practically hear you thinking over here Ty," Alyssa teased. "Listen. If it freaks you out to much then we can forget about it. But-." She paused and reached towards him. Their fingertips met and she slowly dragged her fingertips down the top of Ty's hand.

"I want to do this for you because I care about you," she said solemnly. "I want make you feel good. Because you're special, and I dont mean that in the bullshit ableist way. I mean I think that you're special because you have such a big heart and you care so much," she said with a laugh.

Ty felt like he was about to cry. He was taking in long deep breaths trying not to get overwhelmed. He didnt know how to respond to this, this kind of attention and praise. His heart felt warm and tight absorbed in so much fondness and melancholy and regret all at once.

He knew this wasn't anything like what had happened that day on the beach. This wasn't that kind of love that he was feeling for Alyssa and that was a good thing. Romantic love, he decided, was too complicated.

"You deserve good things and good experiences. You deserve to have your first time be somewhere familiar. Somewhere you feel safe, and with someone who loves you." Alyssa wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

"God sorry for getting all emotional like that," she joked.

Ty couldn't speak, so he just squeezed her hand. He hoped she would understand.

I love you too.

Ty took a breath, then nodded. "Yeah," he admitted. "Yeah I want that. I want you."

Alyssa exhaled, then grinned. "Ok then. Great. I'll see if I can pencil you in sometime this week," she joked. Ty cocked his head to the side in confusion.

"Oh," he murmered, suprised with how disappointed he felt. "You mean later?" Alyssa laughed.

"Well yeah, I mean aren't you tired?"

"Are you?" Ty countered.

Alyssa shrugged. "Hey you know how it is, autistic sleep cycle. I'm gonna be up for awhile. I just figured you might want some time to think."

Ty shook his head. "No I don't want to think anymore. I'm tired of thinking Ali. I'm tired of worrying and overanalyzing everything." His eyes met hers, she seemed a little worried.

She moved closer to him so that she was practically in his lap. "You need a distraction," she said matter of factly. "It's ok." She moved her hands from his arms to grasp his waist.

"Is this good?"

Ty flinched. "More pressure," he replied in a tone that was hopefully not too demanding. Alyssa pressed her fingertips down harder into his skin. A soothing feeling washed over him.

"Good?" She asked, scratching his skin with her fingernails. Ty just nodded, feeling slightly dazed.

Alyssa smiled, lowering herself gracefully into his lap. Everything she did was with precision and grace. Alyssa was a dancer. It was one of her special interests. She had stopped taking lessons a long time ago though because she found it challenging to dance in a group.

She could never copy what everyone else was doing exactly on count when she was supposed to. She was always going off and improvising on her own. There was probably a metaphor in there somewhere.

Alyssa's weight against him was comforting. She was moving her hands up and down his back underneath his shirt while still applying pressure. Ty felt heat beginning to pool in the base of his stomach. He stared at her curiously, taking in her soft curves and her smooth golden skin.

"Can I touch you?" Ty asked, feeling his fingers twitch.

Alyssa moved her hands to his chest. "Sure." She said softly. "Just be careful. Remember pressure and all of that, and try to avoid my stomach area. For some reason it's really sensitive." Ty nodded, instantly reaching for her long wavy dark hair and twisting his fingers around it, pulling slightly. She laughed.

This drew Ty's attention to her mouth. Her lips were cracked and rough looking from Alyssa constantly biting them, but Ty still wanted to kiss her. He had never kissed anyone before. He needed to know what it felt like.

He moved his hands to her shoulders and then to her sides, pulling Alyssa even closer. "Can you teach me how to kiss?" He asked looking her in the eye briefly. She snorted.

"I don't think you'll like it very much," she murmered. "It's not really a good sensory experience. At least not for me. Allistic people seem to like it though."

Ty nodded. "Exactly that's my point," he said, using one hand to cradle the side of her neck. "I need to learn for other people later on." He absentmindedly pressed his thumb into one of the divots in her neck, just to fill the space. Alyssa sighed and dug her fingernails into his chest.

"Ok fine but you're gonna hate the tounge thing," she breathed. She leaned down very slowly and then carefully pressed her lips to Ty's, kissing him softly.

It was a weird sensation but not entirely unpleasant. Ty happily slid his hands back into her hair and began to fiddle with a few thick pieces. Alyssa moved her own hands up his chest to cradle her face, applying pressure with thumbs against his cheekbones.

Alyssa deepened the kiss and slid her tounge into his mouth. Instantly Ty winced and felt every cell in his body seize up. But he didn't stop. He was determined to figure this out. If he wanted to kiss someone who wasn't autistic in the future then he would need to. Ty relaxed his body and kissed her back forcefully, making out with Alyssa until the uncomfortable noise in his head was too much and he broke the kiss.

Ty shook his head and Ali laughed, stroking his hair. "I fucking told you so," she exclaimed. Ty shut his eyes and allowed his breathing to return to normal.

"Ok so that's something we can forget about for now, thank god. The beauty of this whole situation is that we dont have to follow any allistic script for this sort of thing." Ty opened his eyes. Alyssa was watching him carefully, still only centimeters away from his face.

"So is there anything you want to do?" She asked him. "Just tell me and I'll see if we can make it happen."

Ty saw no need to maintain any sort of filter. "Well there are a lot of things actually, but for some reason I really want to bite you," he said pointedly, glancing down at her neck. Alyssa burst out laughing, nearly falling over.

Ty glared at her. "I'm sorry," she gasped breathlessly. "I'm sorry it's just,-," she regained her composure, shaking her head. "I just love how we all used to be the weird kids who growled and hissed at people on the playground if they bothered us and now as adults we're just super kinky. Like it's kind of poetic in a way," she laughed.

Ty rolled his eyes. There was no need to ask what she meant by we. When Alyssa said we, it only referred to one thing.

"I'm sure it's not absolutely every autistic person," he protested. "Also we should move, on account of the fact that this is still a public setting." Alysza's eyes widened as if she had just remembered that.

"Oh right. Shit, as if these people needed any more reasons to hate me. Let's go!" She rolled off of Ty and stood in front if him, holding out her hand. "We can use my room." Ty stayed sitting, taking a moment to fully absorb it all.

He couldn't help but feel the weight of the Herondale pendent against his chest as a heavy reminder. He willed himself not to get distracted. Alyssa smiled at him slightly, almost as if she knew.

"Enough," she said softly.

Ty didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't even sure if their was anything he wanted say. Then finally he understood.

"Enough," he echoed back.

He took her outstretched hand and let her take him away.

@ti-bae-rius @eutony-in-whisper @dianasarrow @dianasarrow @stxr-thxif @talia-lightwood @doitforthecarstairs @thelandunderthehilll @zfoxdraws @waterlillies

#tda #the dark artifices #tsc #twp #the wicked powers #ty blackthorn #Alyssa Reyes #autistic representation #Fae's oc

[ranmanjuu]

hi! can you do a gen z mc who got injured at the protests and have them elaborate on what the protests were about to the oda forces? i got tear gassed at a protest so your writing is actually helping me feel better!

tw : injuries from police br*tality, heavy r*cism

first of all i hope you’re okay!! i’m so sorry for taking so long i hope you’re still here reading this ehhh,,. i personally don’t know much of ‘getting injured in protests’ other than rubber bullets and tear gassing—and for anyone out there protesting (also considering recent things that have happened in my country,,,), please be safe out there!

ᅠᅠ

—nobunaga:

the first encounter you had, he didn’t really notice it. he had a lot of things on his plate, mostly about his assassination attempt, you know, the usual. 

it’s only when he invites you to his tenshu to know more about his most interesting chatelaine. after all, the moment his life was out of danger, the immediate groan out of you raised a brow.

in your defense, going back from a protest then just sent back 500 years in the past did put you in a pissy mood. the injustice was enough bullshit, you didn’t want to deal with this right after.

and,,, your response was probably too snarky for a man in power like him. but that’s what compelled him to bring you to the castle. maybe it was spite, or just dangerous curiosity. no one’s spoken to him in such,,, rude manners before.

being all past the whole, chasing-you-down-just-for-you-to-come-to-my-sickass-castle, the dragged-500-years-into-the-warring-states-period, constant-wars-everywhere, and everything in between, you’ve managed to,, calm down decently, at least. you’re just really confused as to why he called you in. 

through your slippery tounge, you accidentally let it slip that you’re from the future; great job! mission one from sasuke already failed. but—you’ve dug your grave, now you have to lie in it.

upon listening to the rest of your explanation, naturally, nobunaga starts asking questions.

after a series of them, mostly about general stuff like technology, etc., he hits you with a curveball. “what is that?” he asks, observing the small patch of reddened skin.

you’ve been shot by a rubber bullet prior to the time traveling. you wager that they were aiming for the neck—a highly fatal area to hit, even with a rubber bullet, mind you—but you were lucky enough to only be hit near the collar bone. still—to say it’s inexcusable is an understatement.

“huh—?” you follow his eyes, then trail your fingers on the edge as you show more of your injury, “. . .got injured a while back. asshole cops think they can just. . .fuckin’. . .”

your sentence turns too faint for him to hear clearly, he only knows that you feel anger from your tone. all he does is gaze passively as the steam comes out of your, slowly.

“what happened exactly?”

and with that one question, he’s in for quite the story. you start off in the beginning; what triggered it all. the injustice brought by those who are said to protect the people, the same ones that shed blood because they knew they could get away with it. then, the protests done by the ones who wanted justice, equality, something that should just be the norm at this point.

and then, the horrible attacks the cops’ve done to hose who protested,,, the mere thought gets your blood boiling, really. no one poised any kind of harm, it was a peaceful protest—and yet they still hurted, perhaps even killed. and they get away with it.

“. . .and i sure as hell ain’t gonna die to some bullshit system. i’ll keep on going at it until people can stop dying so. . .needlessly like that.”

he pauses after hearing you. his eyes have a vague sense of scrutinize, but certainly not at you. "and you still continue to go, even if it results in injuries for you?”

you look back at him, determination burning like a passion, “as long as less people will die of discrimination; as long as our cause is heard in the end—i’ll sacrifice anything for it. for equality.”

the silence rings for minutes.

but the hand on your shoulder quickly strays your mind back to him. to your surprise, a daring smile, almost a smirk, pulled his lips, “you are braver than many men that i’ve met. fiery and passionate also. i do believe you’ll be quite the addition here.”

and while you raise an eyebrow to that, your heart settles as he ends it with one final thing, “you’ve earned my utmost respect.”

ᅠᅠ

—hideyoshi:

he would have been highly alerted in your presence—had it not been the fact that your eye was bruised and injured. it was fresh, the patch of skin having not turn purple or black yet, but it was enough to signal that it could be a fatal wound.

medics were sent your way by his command, and given the opportunity, he checked in on you frequently. the culprit of the attempted assassination was yet to be found—so he just assumed that you were a poor civilian caught in the crossfire.

you were rather crude to him, but he brushed it all off. you must’ve been some sort of stressed out after just saving his lord, so he gave you space and went to do other things.

it’s when they reconvene under nobunaga’s order did he find out about the decision for your fate.

“my lord, are you sure we should bring them back to azuchi? perhaps they have a place in a town around here.”

“—not really.” hideyoshi’s eyes filled with surprise and concern as a small response came out of you, with eyes looking away from everyone in the tent with lips bitten anxiously and brows stitched together.

so it ended on you going to azuchi along with them. because really, even if you didn’t want to, what were you to do? you had no place in the sengoku, and you’ve forgotten all about your scouts lessons back in middle school to survive in the forest.

and while you insist on working rather than just be royalty basically, hideyoshi is the one who persuades you to at least rest first. with a sigh, you agree.

from then on, you find him visiting you quite often between his breaks. most of the time, asking how you’ve been, making light conversations over tea, and sometimes fussing over the smallest things. it’s a gradual change you’ll get used to—from the failed assassination to the weird, home-y feeling he brings.

it didn’t take long for his curiosity to push him. one day, with the usual cup of tea, the silence passes for quite the moment until he spoke up, “if i may ask, where exactly,,, did you get that?”

he doesn’t quite point to it, but you know what he’s talking about. half your vision is covered now, from ieyasu’s work on trying to make it better. you stare in the cup, swishing the tea around, “. . .my town had, uhhh, ‘problems’.”

he listened intently as you reworded the current real life events. just change the cops to guard, the bullets to blunt sticks(?), etc. the core of it you kept the same, the discrimination, the unruly deaths and wounds of the innocent.

all the while, hideyoshi looks at you with slightly parted lips and eyes that spell a bit of disbelief. such compassion don’t exist in a lot of people—much less a majority of civillians from a town. he thought he’d’ve heard about it, but you did say it was quite the small one, far away.

as you finish your long explanation, your face was scrunched up in a scowl, remembering the scene at the time. the cops came, a highly dangerous situation; but you weren’t leaving just like that. not until you got hit by a bullet did you go back home—and look where you are now.

“—.” hideyoshi calls out your name, snapping you to reality. you dart your attention to him, his face filled with concern, worry—but also slight anger and a distant sense of fondness.

“. . .when nobunaga unites the country, we’ll be sure to aid you. we’ll stop them from hurting anyone else. so until then, please stay with us.”

the sentiment brought warmth to your heart, but you knew the truth. he wouldn’t be able to, the wormhole was a big separation in that. even so, you shook your head, “i don’t,,, uhh, think i can stay for that long.”

his brows stitch together in confusion, “and why is that?”

“. . .i want to go back as soon as i can. and—i only have one chance to do such a thing, and never again.” upon your answer, his eyes widened a bit. no further questions were asked about that, as your own expression said you didn’t want to talk about it.

“but—you could be in danger if you go back.”

“i don’t care.” the tea is cold as you set it down, “. . .i don’t wanna,,, just escape and turn a blind eye to it, i think. it may be safer for me here, but—i still want to help back there. whether or not i’m injured is,,, a means to an end, for me.”

that’s when every suspicion he could’ve had about you dissolved. the determination and righteousness that burned so brightly in your voice was irreplaceable. along with that, was a very deep respect for you. he serves nobunaga because he believed in equality among everyone, and it seems so do you. even if you’re willing to sacrifice yourself—to see a better world where everyone is happy.

a beat passes. two. with a sigh, hideyoshi’s hardened gaze relents back into the strange warmness, hid hand reaching out to ruffle your hair. “well, i don’t think i agree with you diving into potential danger, but just so you know. if you ever need help, you can always reach to us, alright?”

you breath out a chuckle, “. . .of course.”

ᅠᅠ

—mitsuhide:

your whole entire body was sore even before the wormhole sent you back. not to mention, just after that, you had to carry a full-armored man out of a burning building with someone trying to kill said man.

so to say you were disoriented was quite an understatement.

you didn’t even feel it until days have passed. and at this point, you’ve gone under mitsuhide’s tutoring. being sat down for a long time made it painfully obvious that your body was still healing—but you’ve sang this song a million times before. in which the soreness lingered for a while, and then it’d disappear. you can bear with it.

that is, until he started training you in battle.

the tanegashima practice was fine, if a bit triggering by the gunshots. but you saw it the same as archery. however, sparring on the other hand,,,

yeah. the first break you took, you already felt every single part of you reeling. mitsuhide wasn’t ruthless with you, but you figure he wasn’t being soft either.

in truth, prior to arriving in the sengoku period, your body had taken a hit in a protest. you didn’t get caught in the tear-gassing crossfire, or got shot by a rubber bullet. rather, a police car had arrived at the scene and begun to drive forward into the crowd. it didn’t become a car crash site, no deaths occurred to your knowledge (thankfully).

but you were one of the ones in the front row seats, you fell to the ground and took some damage in a number of places. they were more of inconveniences than anything.

still—forcing your body to fight a trained swordsman was not a good idea.

and the fox has an eye for these things, sensing when his enemies are weak. at least it proves to be a disadvantage if you really are dangerous. his eyes linger on you as you rub your sore spots with the occasional groan. 

“the little mouse seems to be wounded.” he says. it’s clear he’s trying to extract some kind of information about the person who just popped out one day, “pray tell, what might be the cause of such?”

“i got, uhhh,” you can’t say car, those don’t exist yet— “knocked down by a horse.” admittedly, a horse is probably more dangerous than a car—but you deal with what you have.

“is that so.” with the smile and narrowed eyes of his, you knew that he didn’t buy it. but to your defense, your state clearly proves it in some way—so he deduced that you weren’t telling the complete truth.

and he welcomes it. it’d be his absolute pleasure to unravel the mystery.

eventually, he does. in promise to keep your secret away from others, you keep his. 

“so, little mouse,” the night has yet to pass, but you wish it did. your stuff was spilled in front of you, all evidence of you coming from the future, “was that cover-up story about the horse a lie?”

it’s a rhetorical question; he knew the answer already. still, you roll your eyes, “of course, we rarely use those in the future. a police car hit a crowd, and i was caught in it.”

promptly realizing he doesn’t know anything, a lengthy explanation ensued.

“oh my. and you said this, ‘car’ drove into a crowd? that’s highly dangerous, is it not?”

“it is!” your calm words slowly dissolve, your hands now waving in gestures, “and guess what, it’s the cops that do it! uhh—guards in old terms, i guess. y’know the people who’re said to supposedly protect us? yeah, hit us with a car.”

mitsuhide isn’t the most curious about the future. but he is a bit confused about the context.

and so you continue, explaining everything. from the start, to where you were, along with what your thoughts are on the whole situation

through all that, he stays silent, not commenting until you were thoroughly finished. you can’t read his expression—so you stare at him, waiting for even a word.

suddenly, he smiles, “well, looks like our little mouse is quite the something, aren’t you?” before you could respond with anything, he pats you on the head with a strange sense of softness, “pureness and ideals like you are rare in this world.”

in truth, he agrees. he’s someone who’s faced discrimination head on from being in the lower class—and he fights for a world that his lord would like to see. even if he’ll remain in the dark, for his stained, dark hands would only corrupt the purity. at least, so he thinks.

you look back with pursed lips and a slight frown, “then i’ll help make it more common. if it results in people being treated as people, i’ll do it.”

you don’t hear it, but he draws in a sharp breath. his eyes are muddled—with what, you don’t know—but you drop the thought as he lifts the hand off of your head with a chuckle, “i will say, i didn’t quite expect this.” 

they say eyes are the window of the soul. while he had his closed most of the time—you managed to peek in a small bit of warmth and fondness in them.

ᅠᅠ

—masamune:

you came to the sengoku period with a sprained ankle. which, in a time where war was rampant, probably wasn’t a good thing to have. especially when you’re being dragged into battle just for the fun of it.

although you admit you made yourself seem tougher than you were (with you being used to injuries like this before, so you’ve grown used to gritting your teeth), you still curse masamune to hell and back. no, you do not care if you’re on a horse or just in camp, your foot hurt like shit either way.

naturally, you wouldn’t take that for long.

thus the next time he planned to take you along (you could already see the glint in his eye), you snapped at him. well—much less ‘snap’ and more of ‘telling him off rather harshly ft. a sprinkle of swearing’.

“listen, assfart, my ankle’s been killing me, and if i’m going by that analogy, you’re practically desecrating it’s corpse and grave. so for the love of god, stop dragging me into battles!”

an expression of surprise went on his face for a moment, before it morphed to his usual grin, “is that so? seems like out kitten likes to run around and ended up hurting themselves.”

“not my fault they shot me in the fuckin’ ankle. . .” you mutter without a second thought under your breath, which he, unfortunately, heard.

“they shot you, lass?”

seeing his ever so slightly widened eye, you pursed your lips, “yeah. nothing too serious.”

even so, you see the way his eyes narrow with a glint—more so of excitement than anything else, “still though lassie, with you being under nobunaga, i doubt they’ll get away with hurtin’ ya.”

“what does that mean?”

fingers comb through your hair in a wild pat, accompanied with a fanged grin, “they won’t be alive for hurtin’ the lord’s precious lucky charm.”

your lips pursed as a frown pulls upon your brows, “i don’t want them to get away solely for me being nobunaga’s ‘lucky charm’.”

“and why is that, kitten?”

his eyes slightly lit up at your hardened and serious aura as you closed your eyes with a sigh. “the same people who hurt me are the same ones who’ve hurt many others, on the basis that they believe they’re above them; over a stupid thing like race. and i won’t be just letting it slide, even if i can’t fight or anything.”

the flame in your eyes are ones that masamune has grown to recognize; the anger and bitterness as you look back on a memory, only to fill up your heart with passion.

“i’ll die if it means that they’ll be punished and everyone is treated the same.”

silence rings past, the wind slowly becomes a solid aura in the air. stunned, he leaves a small chuckle and pats your head,

“the lord made a wonderful decision to bring ya here, lass.”

—ieyasu:

going by his usual self, he didn’t care much when you arrived, other than you were someone nobunaga picked up from his failed assassination. however, him being an expert in things health related, some things didn’t go by with him.

first of all, your eyes were a slight fade of red. at first he figured it was a leftover from honno-ji’s smokes, but as the days tick by, its persistence is now rather worrying. they should’ve faded away by now, so he thought.

and it became more and more painfully obvious, at least to him. the way you rubbed your eyes sometimes, them tearing up at random intervals—and even you squinting at rare occasions that, unless you had an eye problem like mitsunari, shouldn’t be there.

a seed of worry was planted, although he never expressed it. after all, you were being dragged into battle, where dust and more smoke can easily go into your already bugged eyes.

therefore one day, wordlessly, he took you to his workplace. at first, you were confused; ieyasu hasn’t exactly talked to you a lot.

he picks up a small bottle, along with a cup-like lid, “use this, and wash your eyes with it. and by that i mean just tilt it up and blink when it goes into your eyes.”

you just blinked a few times, stunned more than anything. “,,,, why?”

“you think i don’t notice?” he scoffs, “you’ve been rubbing your eyes like crazy, and it’s past the point where your eyes should even be red since the honno-ji incident. either your eyes have been having problems way before, or you’re just dumber and clumsier than i thought.”

“hey! it’s not my fault, for any of the incidents!”

“so there are multiple instances?”

the judgemental look sent your way was something that your stubborn mind won’t back out from, even if it mean having to somewhat explain your situation.

“w, well, there have been several uhm.... arson crimes in my town, i can’t help but be in the vicinity.”

if arson crimes translated to tear gassings, yes, there were many.

“arson crimes? your town is,,, jeez.”

“it’s not the citizens’ fault, look to the fuckin’ guards of our village for that.” the tone had immediately shifted from a kind of flustered banter, to immediate bitter undertones.

immediately, the silence rang on. ieyasu sat there, looking into you as much as he could, with his bare bones knowledge of you. the pieces were there, and it wasn’t hard to put them together. for a moment, he wondered if you were more than the unfortunate one to be pulled into this mess. but if your town was as much a mess as that. . . perhaps it was for the better.

“. . .then you’re planning to stay here, right?” he had his own opinions and thoughts of someone taking advantage of a high-powered lord taking them in, but eh, he thinks, people will do what they have to do to survive—

“not really. assuming nobunaga would even let me go in the first place.”

ieyasu stood there, stunned, “. . .you’re planning to go back to your own town? even from all the danger there?”

“yeah.” you look at him with a slight imbalanced expression, “i don’t have anywhere else to go, other than there, so. . .”

“but why not stay here? it’s safer, you do know that right?”

“of course,” you sigh, “but it’s still my home, all things considered. yeah, there’s a whole lot of corrupt things going on but, they’re still humans, the people i live with. i don’t wanna run away from it, i’d just. . .i’d like to try and help them also.:

ieyasu stays silent as you lean back to the wall, looking out the door with a fond and melancholic gaze, “the,,, guards in my town are doing this just cause of their stupid beliefs and whatever. superiority complex and whatnot. and people are dying because of it, only for things that they can’t control and. . . it’s just so bullshit.”

you turn back to him, with a strong light blaring in your eyes; filled with hope and determination, “wouldn’t you want to go back and help them? even if i get injured, as long as people will be treated the same and won’t face death for something miniscule, i consider it worth it.”

you’ve never seen him surprised at you; at least not in this sense. usually it’d be surprise at some mistake you did, making an offhand crude comment to it but here. . .here it’s partnered with the smallest bit of sparkle. like a hidden respect for you behind his uncaring persona.

you only look as he slowly stands up, his shadow befalling on you. with the same, yet subtle, amount of shine in his eyes as in yours, he sighs softly and takes your hand,

“at least if you’re gonna go into that kind of battlefield, let me teach your ditzy self how to take care of injuries first.”

—mitsunari:

your sudden arrival already aroused questions, as you’d appeared before nobunaga sporting a bloodied cut on your cheek. at the time, they took the assumption that the assassin did it to you.

and although it was fussed for a bit, it was quickly covered up with some cloth fitting for the period. and then, everything went as normal.

taking up job as mitsunari’s personal caretaker wasn’t one you’d reject, because really, how bad could it be? but the man himself kept insisting that you don’t, added that not only were you a special charm of nobunaga’s, you were also injured from the night of honno-ji. he couldn’t do that to you; not after such a stressful night.

and yet you were stubborn as well. with the final decision being up to nobunaga, which you accepted wholeheartedly, of course, you now had the role to take care of mitsunari.

although his. . .clumsy nature was one that you should be worried for, you find it that he often checks up on you, apologizing each time he could’ve potentially hurt you. and each time, you waved it off and assured him that yes, you were fine.

but you can see it in his eyes, the tint of guilt and worry that lingers on before he succumbs to his reading trance. truth is, the injury is just a mild inconvinience of pain, so there really wasn’t much to fuss over.

in his eyes, your degree has gotten much higher than before. whether your wound would’ve affected your job didn’t matter to him; it was the fact that you were hurt in the first place. you shouldn’t have to take care of him when you needed to take care of yourself! or so is what he thinks to himself.

and so he tries to make it up to you. you need reading lessons? he’ll try to squeeze it in his schedule! or maybe it’s time for a break, he’ll tour you around in the bustling city of azuchi. it feels like whenever you need something, he’s always there next to you, and you can’t help but feel charmed by it.

mitsunari isn’t one to notice details about a person if it isn’t in a situation like in battle. but he’s gotten very sharp at seeing the slight reactions and how you’re doing; and here’s what he’s picked up on:

other than the wound on your cheek, your stomach area seems to be bruised or something close to that. you might’ve not told anyone about it, cause he hasn’t heard a peep of that anywhere, not even when he kept asking politely (or bugging, in the man’s eyes) for ieyasu’s information.

so fuck it, he just decides to ask you one day.

“why do you have an injury on your stomach area?”

it was a lesson hour, you didn’t expect him to throw,,,that curveball. maybe more of, what does this character mean? or how do you write this word? but. . .

“uhm—an incident that happened before the whole honno-ji thing.”

“and you never told anyone, even lord ieyasu?”

“n, no, kinda.”

he’s serious than before, and yet there’s something in his eyes that’s very inviting, inviting you to tell your feelings and story, inviting you to a hug of warmth and safety.

and you succumb.

“. . . things have been happening in my town before i came here.” then what was once a lesson sessioin, turned into you explaining what you and the world was going through before coming to the sengoku, with many phrasings replaced of course.

“is that so. . .” he mutters, “i haven’t heard a case like this, although i don’t doubt there aren’t any. . .i should do some reasearches.. .”

“i-it’s fine, really. . .!”

you managed to convince him that it’s fiiine, he shouldn’t read up on it and just focus on his works (since it would render your story false pretty quickly,,).

“but you still haven’t explained how you got the injury.”

“oh yeah. i got kicked down by one of the guards and then i got this as a result.” you pointed at the covered up wound, now probably just a scar, on your cheek. mitsunari goes silent, then a slow and silent hum resonates in him.

you’ve never quite seen the look in his eyes as you did. they were sharper, even if you weren’t situated in a battlefield, and you could see the gears turn in his brain. for what, you’re not quite sure.

“mitsu,,,?”

and with just your voice, his clouded eyes clear up, and he sends his angelic smile your way, “it’s fine now, lady—” his voice rings gently like bells, “you’re now safer. .even if you want to go back there. but i’ll be here by your side to protect you always, so please remember.”

“. . .heh, alright. of course i will.”

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #cyikemen #ikesen nobunaga #ikesen hideyoshi #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen masamune #ikesen ieyasu #ikesen mitsunari #oda forces #ikesen oda forces #ikesen hc #*requests #HOOOLLYYYYYY SHITTTTTT #this took so long #anon i'm so sorry i took so long hsalf #the topic was heavy in the first place and i wanted it to be more like #yk #than others #but yeah i kind of am active question mark #not really but #i am Occasionally trying #and Nothing else #i still have more it's just #dear lorddddd this took me so long #also if you see that one character has way more words than the others no you didn't <3 #sighhh i finished the first half in a bit #and then took like months for the second half lol #exxageration probably but #hhnnnnnnh

[eirabach]

beneath the lightning and the moon

With apologies to Coleridge, the Navy Hymn and the Submarine Service, a very quick Halloween story.

“Sea monsters.” Scott pinches the bridge of his nose. “Actual sea monsters."

“I know it sounds pretty crazy but --”

Buddy twists, his hologram beckoning out to someone out of frame, and Scott takes the opportunity to roll his eyes in Virgil’s vague direction. His actual view of his brother is blocked partially by the Pendergasts, but mostly by Gordon who’s leaning forward like an over excited pup facing the prospect of a particularly juicy bone.

“Ellie!”

“Hey, Gordo!” She waves. “Buddy filled you in?”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah, about that.” Scott holds a hand out, palm up, to keep Gordon from jumping right out of his seat. Just like puppy training. Kinda. “Thunderbird Five’s been scanning the area since you called it in, we can’t find anything untoward.”

“I know what I heard.” Buddy shakes his head. “Ellie took a recording, didn’t you love?”

“Sure did, hold on.” She taps at her tab, and Scott calls up John.

“This again?” he mutters, side eyeing the Pendergasts who are pressing their heads together over the tab. “I’ve run every scan --”

“Ah ha! Here, listen to this!”

Gordon practically falls off the sofa in his eagerness, Virgil catching at his belt loops to hold him in place. John is already turning away, his concentration already caught by something far more interesting than Buddy Pendergast’s --

“Report. Report.”

“Crikey! Did you hear that? What in the --”

The roar that echoes round the villa has Gordon flying back in his seat, brings Alan to the top of the stairs with his fingers in his ears. It’s a deep, awful sort of sound, muffled by water and distance, but there’s a sharpness  to it that reminds Scott of sheering, screaming metal. Of blood and flame and dust. It is not the sort of sound the Pendergasts ought to have been party to in a bathyscope. Sea monsters or not.

“Lion?” Alan yells. “‘S new!”

“Not a lio --!” Scott bellows back, but then the sound cuts off as sudden and as awful as it had begun. On the recording the only sound is the panicked panting of the Pendergasts, the gentle, steady beep of the sonar, and;

“Report. Report. Report.”

“Ya hear that?” Buddy shakes his head, and Ellie pats his arm. “I’ve heard some things in my time -- the cry of the Ozarks Howler, a Yowie party but this --” His eyes drop. “Was something else.”

Ellie’s arm wraps around his shoulders, and she turns a pleading expression on Scott.

“There’s something out there, you heard it.”

“Most of New Zealand heard it,” grumbles Alan, dropping down to sit next to Scott. “But -- I don’t get it. If you’re looking for sea monsters -- maybe you found one?”

John scoffs, but Buddy’s already shaking his head again, his gaze fixed to his feet.

“That’s not the issue,” Ellie insists. “Could be a Kraken, could be a Pleido -- either way --”

“I’m sorry.” It’s Virgil’s turn to interrupt, though at least he's more polite about it than John’s likely to be. “If you’re not calling us about the Sea Monster --”

“Either way,” Ellie continues, eyebrows pulling together. “Since when do sea monsters ask you to report?”

---

“You there yet, mate?”

“I think he means status, Thunderbird Four?”

“No drama, status Gordo?”

Gordon grins down at the twin holograms. John’s arms are tightly folded across his chest, but Buddy’s bouncing on his toes, his eyes bright.

“I’m good, coming up within range now. No sea monsters yet.” Buddy deflates slightly. John rolls his eyes. "Anything on the scans, John?”

“Clean as a whistle, I might find you some nervous clams if you’re --”

“MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY KWLF034 KWLF034 KWLF034 POSITION 32.27.46.S 177.38.13.W.”

The words come again in a steady, heavy monotone. Male, probably. Human, anyway, and John’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline, his hand flying over his equipment as Gordon grabs for the comm. 

“Kilo Whiskey Lima Foxtrot Zero Three Four, this is Thunderbird Four.” He glances briefly at Buddy who’s biting at the skin of his thumb. “Report.”

Static blares through the comm. John scowls. “Nothing! How can --”

“I’m nearly five kilo deep, John. Whatever’s down here is not having a fun-- shit!”

The sound is worse down here, down deep in the dark where the only thing Four’s running lights catch on are the rising peaks of underwater mountains. It’s a scream, a shriek of metal and men and the thundering roar of water where there should not be and Gordon ducks, throwing his arms over his head in a frantic attempt to protect himself from -- from --

He peers out into the blackness. Four bobs gently in the current, unbothered and untouched. 

“Report,” pleads the comm and every hair on the back of his neck stands to attention.

“Nothing’s -- What --” He hits the comm, fingers slipping slightly even through the neoprene. “Zero Three Four, state your position!”

“Report, LR5.” Definitely human, definitely scared. “LR5? Do you read me?”

Gordon’s nose crinkles, “LR -- must be interference. Hang on. John I’m gonna send a pulse you ready?”

“Might as well,” John grumbles. “Nothing else is -- Eos! Have you been rearranging the databanks again?”

“Launching Ultra Sonar.” Gordon hopes that John’s too preoccupied with whatever Eos has done to the communication array to notice the way he squeezes his eyes shut before pressing the button. He doesn’t believe in sea monsters -- not Buddy’s kind of sea monsters anyway -- not any more than he believes in mermaids. 

But there’s something out there. Something loud. Something loud and invisible to human eyes and John alike, and the last surprise the Ultra Sonar turned up had really not ended well for him at all.

Lights flare into life across the dash as the Ultra Sonar sweeps through the crevices, dips down toward the distant trench bottom, and Gordon finds himself holding his breath, waiting, waiting --

“MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY KWLF034 --”

“Roger that Zero Three Four, I am receiving you loud and clear what is your status.”

The static fizzes again, louder, more insistent, and over it, through it, the clang clang clang of what sounds like a hammer against a hull. His hull.

“Jesus fuck what is that? John!”

“I’m getting nothing from here!”

The noise grows louder, closer, and he can feel it through his seat now -- any second -- any second and it’ll be beneath his feet, right where the running lights reflect his own sheet-white face in the plexiglass.

Until they splutter, stutter. Die away to nothing and the darkness left lit only by the faint, static laden glow of the comm symbol and two pale, watching faces.

The silence is perfect.

The silence is awful.

Buddy opens his mouth; Gordon presses a finger to his lips, and he snaps it shut.

The comm symbol flickers, red to amber.

“Zero Three Four,” Gordon hisses, “God damn --”

“-- ur power evermore whose arm doth reach the ocean floor --” the voice on the comm warbles, unsteady and growing much, much higher. A boy's voice, almost. Clear of static and as pure as though the singer were sat beside him, and Gordon listens, enthralled, as the running lights flicker back into life.

Or at least, someone’s do. Someone huge and black, rising from beneath him with running lights turned green with age and a hull torn and tattered. Colours not used for a century flying from a mast that hangs limp, a looming blackflashed conn tower where someone -- someone still sings.

“Virgil! Virgil I need you now!”

A dozen someones, no, more, two dozen, a hundred, and Thunderbird Four’s engines howl in displeasure as Gordon throws himself backward, heaves himself towards the surface, sweat in his eyes and blood in his mouth and his ears -- his ears ringing with a hundred voices, clear and bright and impossible as they beg:

“-- dive with our men beneath the sea.”

---

Buddy hovers over him, generously letting him finish puking his guts up against the wall of the module before he says anything. He’s good like that. “Not sea monsters, then?”

Gordon shakes his head weakly.

"Not unless season 17 is heading in a very different direction, no."

Virgil hands him a towel.

“Deep sea pressures can lead to hallucinations, there must be some --”

“Pardon me Virgil mate, but I heard --”

“Me too.” John is quieter than usual, his grip on his arms unusually tight. “There was nothing on the scans but --”

“M-mass hysteria,” Brains concludes, popping out of Virgil’s wrist comm to tut at the state of Four’s post-dive. “It’s the simplest --”

“General quarters.” Gordon doesn’t look at any of them as he wipes his face with a shaking hand. “The hammering -- they were calling me to General Quarters.”

“I don’t know --”

“Battlestations,” he rounds on Virgil, panic curdling into anger in the last of the bile he spits onto the ground. “No one -- no one came to help them. They wanted me to help them. And I ran.”

“Gordon --” 

"You don't get it!"

"Gordon, I do, I understand but -- there's no such thing as ghosts."

Buddy and John let out similarly uncertain little noises. Brains presses the heel of his hand into his forehead. Gordon just scowls, and jabs at his comm.

“Kilo Whisky Lima Foxtrot Zero Three Four, do you copy?” The line hangs, Gordon’s fingertips white with the force of pressing it down, the balric shaking under his hand. “Repeat, do you copy? I’m sorry.” It’s a whisper, a plea. “Zero Three Four, stand down. All clear, I repeat. All clear.”

“Gordon, there’s no one --”

It’s different up here. A thin, ready warble. Distant and skittish, as though being played through some ancient radio frequency that skips with every heavy breeze, but it comes all the same. Plays through Gordon’s comm and echoes off the carbon fiber frame of Two, wraps itself around Four’s still dripping nose. 

“ -- keep them safe from peril in the deep.”

Someone -- John -- whimpers, but Gordon grits his teeth, stares out at the churning ocean and swears, "Roger that."

#thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #gordon tracy #happy Halloween!

[mimi-cee-hq]

The Dating Project - Futakuchi x Reader

Summary: In a dorm where nobody dates, Futakuchi thinks of a solution to Y/n's Dating Project.

Pairing: Futakuchi x fem!Reader, mentioned Aone x Nametsu (for plot reasons)

Genre and Themes: Fluff, Boarding school AU, Getting together (to fake date lol), Sort of dystopian? but it’s still cute?

Word Count: 1,553

Author’s Notes: Happy Birthday @writeiolite! Here's your matchup story. Out of the list of your favourite characters, of course I chose Futakuchi :P This is the first time I’ve written an AU, but I hope you like it. (Your description is at the end of the post.)

General Taglist: @dorkyama @the-black-birb @hqprotectionsquad @nagichi-kenma @moonaaluna @muffins-puffins

*****

Y/n heaved a sigh as she rested her head in the palm of her hand. “Should I just drop the Dating Project?” she asked Futakuchi.

He leaned back against the metal bench they were sitting on and placed his hands behind his head. He stared up at the glass dome ceiling of their dorm, about five floors high from them. Colourful metal beams stretched across the building. Students milled around the balconies. At his left was a wide metal stairwell, just far enough so the people strolling up and down wouldn’t hear their conversation.

“Why? You were so passionate about it when you first thought of the idea,” commented Futakuchi.

A large and soft teddy bear was the only thing separating them. Who knew his stuffed gift would remind him to keep his distance from her - not that she knew it was from him. He still hadn’t quite adjusted to being a resident of Dorm E, even though he had lived there for three years.

“Nobody wants to be a part of it,” Y/n replied, sticking out her bottom lip. They continued to face the TV, playing a movie which was apparently acceptable for them to watch.

“Well… can you blame them?” he said. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, fully aware he couldn’t reach over and place an arm around her shoulders. So instead, he rubbed his hair and sighed. “Not after they made an example out of Nametsu,” he added.

He recalled the moment when he heard the announcement through the speakers. Nametsu would no longer be a part of Dorm E. He and Y/n stared at each other, eyes wide, and ran to the balcony to see what was happening in the dorm’s foyer. Nametsu was being escorted out of the dorm.

Reasons were vague. They said her potential had decreased to the point where she was no longer a student suitable for Dorm E, a place reserved for top students. The school evaluated every student on a variety of factors including leadership skills, extra curricular activities, and academics. They wanted Dorm E to have a culture of innovation, creativity, and success. The students would be society’s future leaders.

So dating was banned.

There was no need for romantic relationships. Those were reserved for commoners. The elites of society were meant for more and shouldn’t be tied down to a relationship.

So when Nametsu was caught dating Aone, the Council decided she was unsuitable to be a future leader. Her potential was negligible.

“Ugh, what they did to Nametsu was stupid,” she told him. “But she didn’t care anymore. You should have seen her eyes when she would describe Aone: stoic but warm.” Futakuchi saw a sad smile on Y/n’s face. “And when they kicked her out, it was as if she was walking down the aisle. Like one of those women dressed in white!” Y/n longed to be able to love like that too, to give it her all like Nametsu.

When Futakuchi raised an eyebrow at her, she realized what she said and she quickly covered her mouth. “Pretend you didn’t hear that,” she said in a hushed tone.

“Pfft,” he teased. “You’re telling me to forget that you watched a banned movie when we’ve been talking about your Dating Project this whole time?” That earned him a smack from her, using the teddy bear of course.

“I know so many students here who are in love,” she continued to complain. “I’ve seen how they pine for each other.” She let out a sigh. “But nobody wants to take that first step.”

“Well… they’re still the minority,” commented Futakuchi. “Most of the students in Dorm E agree with the Council - especially people like you who’ve been here their whole lives.”

Y/n gave him a smirk. “I still don’t know how you got in,” she said, lightly jabbing him.

“I just know how to not get caught,” Futakuchi grinned with pride at her.

Y/n was about to retort, but he suddenly stopped talking, blinking a couple of times. She saw the growing smirk he was trying to hide, but she caught on right away. “I know that look!”

“What look?” Futakuchi said as he averted his eyes away from her.

“That look when you get an idea that'll piss off someone,” she said, bending over while laughing.

“No it’s not,” he snapped back.

“How would you know what you look like right now?” she snickered. He didn’t answer. “Come oooon,” Y/n whined as she continued to poke him. “Tell me!”

“Ugh!” he groaned, finally giving in. “Alright.” He opened his mouth to tell her, but stopped short of actually verbalizing his idea. Instead, a blush covered his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Y/n eyed him, grabbing his arm and saying, “What the heck? Are you going to tell me or what?”

Futakuchi let out another groan and shrugged her off. “Fine. Basically, you can do what you usually say: show don’t tell.” Y/n scrunched her brows. “You know… for the Dating Project.”

“Uhh… What?”

“Just start dating someone to encourage the other students to start dating,” he explained. “If you take the lead, others will follow.”

As Y/n scratched her head, seriously considering Futakuchi’s idea, he turned his head away from her. He started to bounce his knee, now regretting sharing his idea.

“Futakuchi…” Y/n said in a singing voice, causing him to look back at her. Y/n batted her eyes at him expectantly, knowing he would be quick to catch on.

“No,” he firmly replied. “I’m not doing it.”

“Please!!!”

“No.”

“But you’re the only one who agrees with me.”

“No I’m not.”

“Okay, you’re not,” Y/n admitted. “But you’re the only one who’s not pining after someone.”

Futakuchi grumbled as he ran his fingers through his hair. Of course she’d think that. She didn’t know he liked her - even though he did before he came to Dorm E.

Several years ago, he saw her and Nametsu through the wired fence bordering Dorms B and E. He hadn’t met anyone from Dorm E before, but he thought they were all nerds with no life, which was why Y/n peaked his interest. She danced. He watched her footwork and her swinging arms. He saw her there every Thursday afternoon, showing Nametsu the various moves she came up with and laughing at herself whenever she messed up. Little by little, his desire to see her up close grew. He even started to wonder if he had a chance to get into Dorm E. He did.

“Are you sure about dating me?” he asked. “Aren’t you worried about getting kicked out?”

“It’s worth the risk. I want to see the Dating Project happen.”

He sighed, scratching his temple. “Okay. Just on one condition,” he said in a serious tone. “Just to be clear, we are fake dating, okay? That’s the only way I’ll agree to this.”

With fake dating, they had a chance. He could weasel their way out if things got messy with the Council and they failed. There were no rules against fake dating. Even if there was just a small possibility he could keep them in Dorm E, he’d take it - even if it messed with his own feelings.

“I’m fine with that,” Y/n grinned. “Umm… but now what?”

“What do you mean? Do you seriously have no idea what to do?” replied Futakuchi.

“I’ve only watched one banned movie okay?” she replied, reminding Futakuchi she had no real life examples of people dating.

He took a deep breath, knowing he would be in for a rough one. If he was the one who needed to take the lead in this relationship, he didn’t know how he’d keep his feelings in check. But maybe he didn’t need to.

Futakuchi suddenly scooped up Y/n from the metal bench, her legs dangling across one arm and her back against his other. “Hey! What are you doing?” she complained.

He rolled his eyes and replied with a scowl, “Having fun with my fake girlfriend.” Futakuchi carried her to the large stairwell, scanning the area to make sure they were visible to most of the people in the building. As expected, some were already turning their heads.

When they got to the middle of the staircase, he put Y/n down and looked into her eyes, asking again, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Y/n nodded. As he studied her face, he admired how selfless she was, putting herself out there at the risk of being kicked out, hoping to change Dorm E. She longed for it to be a community where students would be free to date whomever they loved.

Taking her cheeks in his hands, he pulled her close and placed his lips on hers. Y/n’s eyes shot open in shock, Futakuchi seeing them after pulling away. “W-what was that?” she asked, her cheeks surprisingly red.

“A kiss you idiot!”

Looking down, she shyly asked, “Can we do that again?”

By now, Futakuchi could sense many eyes watching them. He heard mumbles and whispers around the building. But that wasn’t his current concern. He wondered how long they could keep their relationship fake.

*****

I hope you liked it. I'm a little worried you won't because this is slightly different from my usual. But I was glad I reopened my match-ups so I could write this for your birthday. lol.

Fun fact: This was inspired by a historical couple who got married to encourage others to do the same (and to provoke their opponents). I'll be surprised if anyone knows who I'm talking about. lol

I have another Futakuchi x reader fic called Anonymous Text, which is in canonverse and a cute and funny one, and a bunch of other fics too in my Masterlist.

*****

Matchup Request from @seijoh (Like usual, I didn’t use everything lol):

MATCHUP REQUESTS AYYYEEEE!! feel free to write based on anything u already know abt me plus: am a smol dancer and choreographer. i love to lead projects and come up w/new ideas. cooking/baking is lots of fun but nothing beats sitting in bed with a soft kitty, tons of blankets/stuffed animals, and just cuddled up over a tv show. or going out for food/museums!! ♡ i’m a firm believer in all or nothing, so i’m rly like that with relationships too ahdhsjjsakw. congrats on 500 again!! ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

#haikyuuwritersnet #futakuchi x reader #futakuchi kenji #aone takanobu #nametsu mai #dateko #date tech #dateko x reader #aone x nametsu #date tech x reader #datekou #datekou x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu!! fanfiction #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu imagines #futakuchi fanfiction #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #hq #hq!! #mimi's fanfiction

[deliciousliving]

Enveloped P.2 (All Might x Reader)

You do something a little reckless but your heart is in the right place. Toshinori Yagi grows rapidly over-protective. It doesn’t help that he’s attracted to you either. A bit of a prelude to the first fic of the same name.

Contains: Kidnapping, Creepy All Might

Being the number one hero meant accounting for things others might not. For example, which parts of the city had higher crime? Who was more susceptible to the dangers a villain might pose? Who was more likely to lead a life of crime and why? All Might was popular in the hearts of citizens because he truly took into account their vulnerabilities. He never expressed this aloud, didn’t bother debating his preference for patrols, and he still didn’t bring it up when the ideologies of the hero-killer Stain came up in discussion. He merely paid attention to Musutafu as a good hero should.

So naturally, he again found himself walking the streets of one of those low-income areas. As he stood on a moderately sized building, his heightened hearing picked up the sound of a scuffle and a desperate voice. “No...please!” Something about the quiver in that plea gave his instincts a greater sense of urgency, and he found himself shifting in the direction of the commotion before he fully realized his feet were hitting the ground.

A few blocks down and a just barely in the shadow of an alleyway stood a lovely little thing, your bag clutched possessively to your chest, while a taller albeit very-young villain hovered over you, a small blade in hand. Hesitantly, you spoke again, “I can give you the money just let me keep my...”

“I-I said hand over the fucking bag!” He hissed out, head swiveling around to keep aware for onlookers.

“FOR I AM HERE!” The Hero exclaimed. Leaping deftly to the front of the poorly lit alley. He turned his attention to the man with the blade, hand landing on your attacker’s shoulder, “Young Man! What are you up to?”

“I-I-I...” The attacker stammered. He stood frozen in place, his eyes large in fear. There was an underlying waver in his voice, if his quirk was folding in on himself, you’d think he’d do it. He was young, maybe even still a teenager, and had a pitiful shake to his stance. Before you fully thought it through, the words left your mouth.

“He’s my cousin!” You all but shrieked, causing both to immediately lock eyes on you. “We’re acting out a scene in a play.” Heat prickled at your cheeks as you gave a deep bow in the towering man’s direction. “I’m so so sorry to bother you, All Might, sir.”

There was an almost painful silence as both parties took in your act. The lie was obvious, sad even, but you were committed. “Uh...J-Johnny...” you began rooting through your bag, taking out a large bill -the last of your grocery money- and handed it to the young man. “Why don’t you head home? This is for helping me with my lines.” Your eyes followed All Might’s grip on his shoulder, watching it tighten then relax before he gave a brief nod at the near-thief who didn’t waste any time running off. His eyes lingered on the shrinking figure as he spoke, curiosity lacing his tone.

“Miss..You did not know that young man.”

You stiffened. Your plan had not accounted for lying to the number one hero. It was true that sometimes you saw the best in people when they were at their worst, but even you were having difficulty wrapping your head around your actions at the moment. “Well...” You started slowly, parsing out your own thoughts as you spoke. “He was just a kid. 18 at most? This area is not easy to grow up in, I should know. So... maybe...maybe he just needed a break and some pocket change?” You were fiddling with your purse strap now, feeling awkward and slightly ashamed at your lie. It didn’t help that All Might was taking his sweet time replying to you.

Toshinori knew what you had been doing, what he had trouble figuring out was why. The boy had a knife on you, ready to use it had you not been interrupted. Sure, maybe you felt some sympathy for the kid -even the worst villains were sympathetic- but to vie for him with little repercussions? That denoted a distinct lack of self-preservation and it prodded at the Hero’s protective nature. “I will be walking you home.” he stated suddenly, not giving you the option of declining. It was typical for All Might to laugh in this situation, maybe give a small scolding with some added levity as the criminal was lead away in hand-cuffs. Tonight though, he was silent, mulling over how this interaction had uncovered a part of him he had long thought was buried. Yes, he felt you were naive, but you were also candid and honest...thoughtful even. He had been bright-eyed and passionate once, when he first started saving people and didn’t have to concern himself with things like his “image” and junk journalism. No, it wasn’t usual for him to favor a single citizen, but there was an intrigue here he wasn’t ready to let go.

“Uhm...ok” you started. He had been quiet for a full minute now, you weren’t sure if he was angry or confused, but the silence was killing you. “Thank you...” you murmured.

Pulling ahead of him, you straightened up to lead the way and he followed in stride, letting you.

--

The walk home was kept in a barely comfortable silence. All Might said nothing, his gaze occasionally falling on you then drifting away. You kept your hands primly at your front, clutching your purse, each time you’d attempt to start conversation you’d sense his eyes resting on you and you would lose your nerve. You couldn’t help the wriggling idea that this felt like an awkward first date. Flustered, you gave even more attention to your bag, fingers meddling with the fibers of the fraying strap.

The hero knew the moment you came to your own attacker’s defense, you were special. In his line of work he was typically met with one of two reactions: adoration or vitriol. Survivors had a tendency to gush over him when he handled an altercation, but not you...if anything, your reaction could have been read as a critique of his heroic methods, yet, he didn’t take it that way at all. He merely took you as a young person with a kind heart. Maybe too kind.

Noticing you playing with your purse strap, he smiled down at you. “I’m not making you nervous am I?”

“No, well I...” you stammered, then paused just be direct, you’ve already lied to the man once. “...Actually I’m feeling a little out of my element. I hope you don’t think I’m being rude. I’ve never interacted with a major hero before let alone...you.” On the last word you vaguely gestured in his general direction.

At that, All Might couldn’t help himself, he let out one of his token laughs a hand landed casually on your shoulder, lingering there, you were so small. “My reputation precedes me then. Please, call me Toshinori.” He couldn’t help but test the waters.

You blushed, face turning away from the hero shyly. “That’s a bit...informal isn’t it?” You queried, simultaneously awe-struck at how close he was while also trying to squash the surmounting sense of over-familiarity. Maybe it was a hero thing, a way to build trust among the public? You would be lying if you didn’t admit you were at least a little star-struck being given attention from the greatest celebrity you’ve ever known.

His grin was wide in his reply, “What kind of hero would I be if I wasn’t a friend to everyone? Anyway, a nice young person like yourself doesn’t need to worry about formalities.” He said, chuckling and lightly thumping his hand to his chest as if doing so would beckon a more casual air between the two of you.

“Well...I suppose.” You tilted your head in thought. It was true that what you’d seen of All Might was solely through the media. It was likely his current demeanor was closer to how he normally was. It didn’t make sense to overthink it. Internally chiding yourself for judging him, you smiled. “Toshinori it is.”

What a smile it was! One that caught the hero completely off guard. He was having difficulty putting his finger on why, but the more he gleaned information from your body language, the conversation, and your general demeanor, the more he found himself wanting to know more. Yanking himself from his musings, Toshinori looked up. An apartment complex neared in view and your voice graced his ears “You don’t have to walk me to the front door...I know you must be busy.” You said politely. He frowned. Interest aside, it wouldn’t feel right leaving you on the corner of a street. There was a twinge of frustration rising in his gut at your almost business-like manner. There was no way he was going to leave things as they were.

“I insist.” The hero stated, holding up his hand as though to communicate it wasn’t up for debate. “Your safety is important.”

You blushed again, that same sense of over-familiarity prodding at the back of your mind. At least it was nice to be thought of. “I’m a few doors down from the 2nd floor.” You motioned and glanced at All Might who did little but nod solemnly. The closer you got to the complex, the less pleased he seemed.

As far as Toshinori was concerned, this was not a nice area for you to be living in. Everything about you was placid, polite, even-tempered. It contrasted with the foreboding surroundings of the area- just on the cusp of known villain territory. Someone like you was not meant to be in a place like this. His growing sense of reticence to leave you alone was bearing heavily on him, like a rock on his chest. If he let you stay in a place like this, he would have a hard time forgiving himself.

Once at your door, Toshinori took advantage of you fishing for your keys and stepped just close enough to you, inhaling your scent and observing your comparatively petite form. It was true that he met all sorts of people in his line of work, but you were certainly...titillating. It didn’t help that you were particularly pleasant company either, only serving to prompt a train of thought he rarely humored. What would you be like as a partner, he mused, helpless to resist his attentions, but you wouldn’t want to.

The door swung open, stealing his focus from you to your meager apartment. That rock weighing heavier and heavier as the hero took in your humble living space. Entirely ignorant of his inner conflict, you gave him a pleasant wave prepared to see him off “Thanks again for everything, All Might.”

“I thought I told you to call me Toshinori.”

You stared, dumbfounded and a little fearful. Was that a...demand? You weren’t sure how to reply, now taken off-guard. A moment passed and he was still there, gaze still lingering and not looking like he had any intention of leaving. You tilted your head as you stared at him, parsing out your thoughts before giving a proper response. “I didn’t mean to offend you...Toshinori.”

Just like that, his dark look softened, but instead of a reply, his hand was on your cheek, caressing it. “I forgive you...and you’ll forgive me...” He murmured.

“I’m sorry..?” You stammered back, about to step away and into your living room when the Hero’s arms suddenly engulfed you, one wrapping around your waist whilst the other clamped over your mouth, consequently covering nearly all of your face. You gave a muffled shriek as the hero bolted from the balcony of the second floor of your complex and onto the ground. The reverberation of the landing shook you to your core, and you found yourself struggling to keep your breath only to be physically jolted once more as Toshinori took his token leap into the sky, taking you with him.

#Yandere bnha #yandere fic #yandere writing #yandere blog #yandere toshinori yagi #size difference #yandere all might #yandere nighteye

[wenttworth]

5 times martin used a pet name and 1 time jon did

The first time was on the train to Scotland, hastily-packed bags at their feet and hands clasped tightly together. Jon was sitting perfectly still, eyes closed and concentrating on their surroundings, Knowing everything that he could. There was nothing suspicious, but it wasn’t like the Beholding didn’t often let him know of danger seconds before it happened. Peter Lukas might be gone, torn apart and cast… somewhere far away, but he had never been the biggest danger. He was even useful, right now. The statement of an Avatar was more nourishing than a normal human. He could push further without risking quite so quick an onset of starvation. Even if he would have risked that and more to keep Martin safe.

Martin was sleeping, a dreamless sleep that Jon hoped would dissipate the vestiges of the fog that still clung to his mind. Even out of the Lonely, he’d still been a little faded, quieter. Like he was trying to fold himself smaller. His eyes weren’t yet back to the shining brown they usually were.

Martin stirred, and Jon rubbed his thumb over his knuckles.

“Jon?” His voice was quiet. Subdued. Everything Martin shouldn’t have to be.

He let go of the Beholding. They were safe. Only Basira knew where they were, and she knew how to keep a secret. For now, they didn’t need to worry. He leant against Martin’s shoulder. “I’m here,” he reassured him.

Martin kissed the top of his head. “You should sleep, love.”

If he’d been standing, Jon was sure he would have fallen over. Love. Love, love, love. He knew that Martin loved him—Knew and knew—but such a casual affirmation. Something present and coming directly from Martin. No vague, cut off sentences or rumours. No past tense, as if he were resigning that feeling to the fog.

What could he say to that? What could he say to the one person who had always trusted and believed in him? Who had loved him so unconditionally?

He raised their entwined hands and pressed a kiss to Martin’s knuckles. Martin’s breath audibly caught in his throat at the gesture, cupping Jon’s cheek with his free hand. Jon’s pulse was pounding in his throat when he tilted up his chin. His eyes were bright, the dull grey finally gone to reveal the warm brown Jon had missed so much over the past few months.

Martin was only a hairbreadth’s away when the elderly lady sat in front of them coughed pointedly.

They pulled away hurriedly, Martin biting his lip against a smile that made Jon’s chest fill with light bubbles.

  The only food available at the cabin was instant noodles and canned vegetables, which Martin threw into a pot with a distinct look of disgust as Jon cleaned some plates he found in his hunt through the cupboards. He’d found a map of the area in one of them, and measured the distance to the nearest town—3 km by footpaths. “We probably have time to go to the supermarket today,” he said.

Martin twisted some noodles around his fork and prodded at the very English boiled vegetables. “Let’s do that.”

The sun was setting when they left, Martin easily slipping his hand into Jon’s. It was bracing, the wind through the highlands, the emptiness of their surroundings. London was always so crowded and claustrophobic.

“If it wasn’t for the vertigo I think I’d like the Vast,” he said. Thoughtlessly.

Martin flinched, and Jon squeezed his hand. “Sorry,” he said.

“No, it’s… it’s fine. I just don’t want to think about…” He sighed. “It’s just that we have a chance to leave that behind, maybe.”

Jon held his tongue. He could feel the vague hunger pulling at his mind. Still easy enough to ignore for now, but it would only get worse. He would never be able to leave it behind. Still, if Martin wanted to… leave it. To start over. Jon would be the last person to stop him. Not that he was brave enough to bring it up now. “Okay,” he said, leaning his head against Martin’s shoulder.

“It is beautiful,” Martin said. “I always missed spaces like this in London.”

The supermarket was well-stocked enough with spices and vegetables that Jon was suitably inspired. He wouldn’t be butchering his grandmother’s recipes, at least. Martin made himself… well, useful in getting things from the higher shelves that Jon had no hope in reaching, having to hide a smirk the entire time.

Jon was comparing a couple of bags of chickpeas when he asked: “How is your cooking, Jon?”

Jon blinked. “Fine? Why?”

“Well, you… you set the microwave in the staff room on fire the last time you used it.”

The only time he’d used it. He wrinkled his nose. “I’d never used a microwave before. My grandmother was…” he considered. “Traditional. She didn’t grow up with a microwave so she didn’t see why I would need one. I think my parents had one, though.”

That seemed to satisfy him. “I’ll go get some meat. Did you want any in particular?”

Jon decided on the locally sourced chickpeas, if only to see if chickpeas grown in Scotland were any different. He dropped the bag in the trolley. “Chicken. Lamb if they have any.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Martin said, dropping a kiss on the top of his head.

Jon dropped the other bag of chickpeas and stared in disbelief as the bag split and the runaway legumes covered the floor. “Oh,” he said.

At least his skin was dark enough that it was difficult to tell when he blushed.

“I’ll go get the meat,” Martin said, obviously holding back a laugh.

Jon made a vague noise of agreement and braced himself when a shop assistant approached.

  They’d settled into a sort-of routine within the week. Jon would wake before Martin, press a kiss to his forehead as he grumbled and rolled away, and be halfway through making breakfast by the time Martin joined him. It took him much longer to wake up than Jon, as he wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist and yawned against his hair. He always seemed fascinated with his shoulders, where the tops Jon stole from Martin were falling off them. He never even avoided the scars, kissing them just the same as the scant clear skin.

The kitchen smelled like home, the freshly crushed garlic, the pitta bread in the oven, the cumin, the slightly sour yoghurt. And it was even better with Martin’s arms around him, the warmth and softness pressed against his back.

“Awake?” Jon asked.

“Almost,” he said, before pulling away and rooting through the cupboard for the tea. “Could you fill the kettle, darling?” he continued.

Jon dropped the wooden spoon into the saucepan, making Martin jump with the noise.

“Are you—?”

“Okay! Good. I’m… fine,” Jon said, throwing tahini and garlic into the pot haphazardly. His grandmother would be horrified. It took another couple of seconds of Martin watching him in amusement before he remembered the kettle.

  The hunger was starting to hit him harder, and although he did his best to keep it from Martin, it was within a few days that he brought it up.

Jon had climbed onto Martin where he’d been lounging on the sofa, overcome with a fatigue that he knew wouldn’t fade until he found another statement. The TV was playing a documentary, and Jon idly corrected the information until he drifted off with Martin gently stroking his hair.

He barely remembered his dreams, but he didn’t feel any more rested when he woke up.

“I’ll call Basira and ask her to send some statements, okay?” Martin said when Jon shifted.

“Okay,” he mumbled, muffled against Martin’s chest.

“How bad is it now?”

Jon sat up. “Bearable. I can wait another couple of days before I use the one Basira managed to sneak out. Then it will give her time to send more.”

Martin’s hands had settled on his thighs, rubbing gentle circles with his thumbs. “Do you think a blindfold might help?”

“A blindfold?”

“I was thinking about the, uh… quitting method, and maybe it could help? Short-term, obviously.”

It would be vulnerable, definitely. But it was Martin. He could trust no one if he couldn’t trust Martin.

Jon leant down to kiss him, smiling at the surprised hitch in his breath. “Couldn’t hurt,” he answered. “Do you have anything I can use?”

He did, in fact, and before long he’d fetched a length of soft, black fabric. Jon was sat between his legs, and remained perfectly still as Martin gently tied it around his eyes. He was even careful of his hair, smoothing it down so it wouldn’t catch in the knot.

It was… uncomfortable, frankly. Something so foreign and against what his patron was. Everything inside him fought against it for a long moment, which peaked when Martin’s hands left him.

He jolted, fear flooding him. Fear of the unknown, urging him to rip off the blindfold, to make sure that Martin was still with him, that Martin was safe. He couldn’t lose him, not now, not ever. “Martin,” he exclaimed, and Martin immediately took hold of his shoulders. Jon pushed back, clumsily grabbing his wrists to guide his arms around him. “Don’t let go,” he insisted.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Martin repeated, pressing kiss after kiss to every part of exposed skin he could reach. He was squeezing tighter now, almost enough for Jon to be breathless.

The hunger didn’t go away. He could still… Know if he wanted. But without that constant barrage of information that came from humankind’s most important sense, it was easier to focus on something else. Like touch, the way the soft, stretchy fabric felt against his eyes, his hair tickling the exposed skin of his shoulder, and… Martin. Around him, holding him with a strength that took Jon’s breath away, the gentle but desperate way he was kissing his neck, that spot just behind his ear that always had been way too sensitive, his thighs pressed tight around Jon’s hips.

“Breathe, love,” Martin whispered against his shoulder, and Jon obeyed, letting himself sink into Martin’s chest.

He didn’t know what it was, the effect that those little endearments had on him. He’d always assumed he’d had a general hatred for being called anything except his name, still shuddered uncomfortably when he remembered the only time Georgie had called him a pet name. But with Martin, it was somehow different. Maybe it was just how absolutely he trusted Martin. Maybe everything he’d avoided with Georgie would be different with Martin. It was a trust that he’d had to purposefully choose in the beginning, of course, but now was easy as breathing.

“Okay?” Martin asked softly.

“Y-yes,” Jon replied, barely able to remember how mouths worked.

“Better?”

“Easier to focus on something else. So yes. Just… just don’t let go.”

“I won’t,” Martin vowed.

  Martin was, as Jon had discovered much too late, far from an idiot.

He was more observant than Jon, for one—Ceaseless Watcher be damned—sharp and quick to pick up on clues that others overlooked, and brilliant at weaving lies that were close enough to truth that they could barely be distinguished.

“So… we had three dogs when I was growing up, I never came out to my mother, the reason I like spiders so much is because they were the subject of the first documentary I ever watched, and I…” He bit his lip against a laugh that threatened to bubble out. “I was suspended from high school for smoking behind the bike sheds.”

Jon snorted. “Well, the last one is the most typically British high school experience, so I’m thinking that’s true.”

Martin grinned.  

“You’re not really a dog person, though,” Jon continued.

“Spider person,” Martin joked.

“Oh, don’t,” Jon said with a shudder. “So, is that the lie?”

Martin shook his head. “I never came out to my mother.”

Jon was quiet for a moment, then reached to pull the blindfold away from his eyes. “Why not?” he asked softly.

“I didn’t have to,” he answered. “She, uh… walked in on me and my first boyfriend.”

Jon blinked, before laughing. “Well that must have been a bit awkward.”

Martin’s skin, being a couple of shades lighter than Jon’s, was therefore a lot easier to tell when he was blushing. Especially with how close they were to each other. “She was not… impressed,” he said carefully.

Jon pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Okay, honey. Your turn.”

Jon had been on his knees to easier reach Martin’s mouth, and when his strength gave way he collapsed awkwardly on his side. Martin patted his cheek. “Do you… would you prefer if I didn’t call you l-like that? You always react quite…” he trailed off and pulled his hand away from Jon’s cheek.

Jon caught it, kissed the knuckles. “I don’t want you to stop,” he admitted. “I just… I’m not used to it. I’ve been… I’ve been alone for a while.”

Martin watched him, picked up one of the curls that were lying haphazardly on the bedsheets. He twisted it around his finger before lying down next to him, easily shifting to accommodate Jon as he settled more comfortably in his arms.

There was hope bubbling in his chest. He’d spent the last couple of weeks trying to quash it, surely something would go disastrously wrong today, or the next day, or the next, but he couldn’t help it. Martin’s easy optimism was rubbing off on him, that simple but powerful wish of happiness.

“We should probably start thinking of getting jobs,” Jon said. He twined their fingers together, tracing the lines on his palms. He paused at Martin’s ring finger but shook off the idea. Too soon.

“I think the library’s hiring,” Martin said. “And the supermarket is probably hiring.” He pulled a face at that but sighed, tucking his face against Jon’s neck.

It was exhilarating to plan something not about the Institute, for once. He hadn’t even tried Knowing anything for days. Maybe the Eye’s hold on him was weakening. Maybe Eli—Jonah had found someone else to torture.

“Let’s try the library first,” Jon said.

    Jon sang more, these days.

It was a small thing that Martin had noticed within the first couple of days. When Jon was relaxed, he was always singing something quietly. Everything from classic rock to whatever they were listening to on the radio. He’d sang Lacrimosa in the shower the other day. More than that, he was good. All the control and sweetness of someone who had grown up singing in a choir.

Martin tried to concentrate on the book he’d bought the day previously, but his eye was continuously drawn to the sliver of the kitchen he could see through the open door. Jon was dancing in and out of view as he rummaged around the kitchen. The kettle boiled a couple of times and his voice was louder as he fought with the noise. The smell of cumin and lemon and tahini and garlic spilled from the kitchen, a smell Martin was quickly coming to associate with home. With comfort and love and everything he’d barely let himself dream to hope for.

It wouldn’t last. But it could.

A steaming cup of tea appeared in his peripheral and Jon dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “Here you go, darling,” he said.

He’d finally been the first to wake this morning. Jon was beautiful in the early morning light falling across the bed, wearing another of Martin’s t-shirts that he’d managed to squirrel away. He’d been curled towards Martin as if even in his sleep he was seeking that warmth.

He hadn’t been able to bear pulling away or moving, in case he woke him and shattered the moment.

Martin took the tea on autopilot, and his mouth went dry when he registered Jon’s words. His eyes were welling up with tears. He never could have expected this, from Jon or anyone. Jon was always so gentle with him now. Not walking on eggshells or anything like that. Just… loving. In a way that Martin had never experienced before.

“So, there’s that new café opening up in town,” Jon started. “I thought we…” he trailed off when he saw Martin’s face. “Martin?” he asked.

That was another thing. He’d always loved how Jon had said his name, the way his voice curled around the first syllable. When they’d first met just that was enough to send shivers crawling up his spine. But now when it was said so gently, so affectionately, it was almost unbearable.

Martin gave a short laugh as Jon scrambled to get both their tea safe on the low wooden table and climb into Martin’s lap at the same time, pushing his hair back from his forehead to kiss it. “What’s wrong?” he asked desperately, brushing tears away with his thumb where they were falling over his cheeks. Miraculously none of the tea had spilled.

Martin laughed again, pressing his face into Jon’s thin chest as Jon tightened his grip around him. Like he was afraid Martin would fade away.

It had been tempting even nowadays to fade, to give up on this happiness that he wanted to deserve but couldn’t. There was still a chance it wouldn’t work, but that was life, right? Didn’t mean he couldn’t love with everything he could muster whilst it did last.

“I’m fine, I just didn’t expect it,” he explained.

Jon chuckled, worry still warm in his eyes. God, he was beautiful like this, hair loose and falling over his shoulders, still mussed from where Martin had been clutching it earlier. He pushed his hair aside so he could press a kiss there. He never wore his own clothes around the house, and it satisfied some jealous part of Martin that he didn’t like to acknowledge. Well, he’d never claimed to be perfect.

“And you thought you should stop using pet names,” Jon scolded, still stroking his hair, dotting kisses on his forehead. Generally acting like a fussy mother hen. “Hypocrite,” he continued fondly.

It just felt so good to be held, to have someone who was just as happy to take care of him as Martin was. He hadn’t realised until their first night here, Jon lying on his chest, just how much he craved someone’s touch. It had almost been uncomfortable, the way his skin tingled wherever they touched. Some parts of him had constantly been urging him to back away and put more distance between them, but Jon had looked so exhausted on their journey and in the end he couldn’t bear to wake him. Even now a hateful part in the back of his mind was encouraging him to reject Jon’s caresses. He flinched away sometimes, when Jon caught him off-guard, but it was becoming easier to accept.

“Okay?” Jon asked.

“Yes,” Martin said.

#jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #the magnus archives #tma #I didn't mean to use the 5+1 format it just happened #my writing

[kangaracharacha]

Imogen and all the OC asks

What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about? ‘sparrow’, because she turned up with hawkeye and a sparrow is a little shitty hawk and tony stark thinks he’s funny

What is the color of your OC’s eyes/hair/skin? blue, blonde, white.

How tall is your OC? not very tall. very short. probably like 5′-ish.

What is a noticeable physical attribute of your OC? there’s a long, ugly scar on the inside of her collarbone. otherwise, the general bad attitude mixed with the height is. amusing.

What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night? comfortable, practical clothing. dull colours, generic brands, doesn’t mind much what she looks like. for a special occasion, she’d dress down, but appropriate to the occasion.

What is one word you would use to describe your OC’s appearances? angry

Does your OC have any markings, such as a birthmark or a scar? scar on her collarbone.

How does your OC talk/what does your OC’s voice sound like? I’m honestly struggling here. It’s just normal. Just a normal voice. Good at shouting. Very loud. Usually angry.

What does your OC’s bedroom look like?  His/her living area? kind of messy but like, organised chaos. she’s not really a chore-doer, yknow, she’s busy doing other stuff and she mostly lives alone so it doesn’t bother her or anyone else. it’s not really out of control or anything. apart from her clothes and stuff, she doesn’t really have her own space; in new york, she lives in clint’s apartment, an old, small space in an outdated building with second-hand furniture and a bunch of clint’s crap still sitting around, and if she has a place in sokovia it’s temporary housing and doubles as an office, so in the grand scheme of things she doesn’t really have a huge impact on the spaces she occupies while she’s there.

What does your OC keep in a special drawer? as sad as it is, nothing, she doesn’t really have a lot of possessions, definitely not special ones; the only things she brought with her from SHIELD were a bag of clothes, a knife, a gun, and a toothbrush, and since then she hasn’t quite settled enough to start collecting things - and living most of her life so far without a lot of stuff is just a hard habit to break.

What is your OC’s relationship with his/her mother? the evil scientist? she’s not a huge fan. kind of resents her like, a lot. imogen doesn’t remember anything about her except what other people have told her and the things she’s found out about herself, so she’s kind of just a stranger that set her up for a lifetime of frustrations.

What is your OC’s relationship with his/her father? nevr knew him, has like one vague memory of him being kind of nice, but in the end he was evil so she’s not really searching for any way to keep his memory alive.

How many siblings does your OC and what is his/her relationship with them? hah. she has one brother. having cut herself loose of that tie, she’s recently realised that that relationship was some kinda toxic and also he wasn’t afraid to kill her when ordered to so. you could say she’s not really interested in seeing him again either.

Who is the mother and/or father figure in your OC’s life? she’s a bit over parental figures and a bit too old for that kind of bond at this point in her life, but she does have a couple of ‘mentors’, people that she can rely on to point her in the right direction. clint barton is one, of course, you always have to have a good friend who can knock you out and tell you ‘hey maybe being on team hydra isn’t like, the most morally sound decision you could make’. pepper potts is a professional rolemodel she’s found she can look up to. she lowkey thinks she could be like pepper someday but she’ll never admit that ‘CEO’ sounds like a good job to her.  and shoutout to Agent Donoghue, whose name i had to look up because he’s in sparrow for a whole five seconds but. she feels really bad about this one. Donoghue was her last chance at SHIELD, he gave her every chance to be successful in that line of work and he really was a good mentor, she just wasn’t ready to change when they knew each other. she looks back on a lot of the things he said these days and regrets not listening sooner, just like she regrets how it ended...but things had to happen the way they did for her to want to grow and become a better person.

What was your OC’s childhood like? crap, mostly. well, it was fine in a way, but. her parents died when she was five and she almost died too but that wiped most of the memory out of her head at least. she was adopted by a neighbour who was actually just a hydra agent on a longcon mission to keep an eye on her, more because she was possibly useful for information on her parents than out of any concern. this didn’t really lead to a loving household to grow up in, and her brother, who is five (or maybe seven?) years older than her didn’t spend much time around the place, and got himself admitted to the SHIELD academy as soon as he could. she didn’t really deal with this whole situation very well, so she grew up struggling in school, getting into fights, constantly grounded and yet impossible to control. eventually, her brother managed to get her an admission into the academy as well, where she found some structure at least but wasn’t particularly well liked and was typically bottom of the class, problem student, one step away from being thrown out.

What is your OC’s strongest childhood memory? Why and how as that impacted him/her? she sort of remembers the murder of her parents, sort of, but it doesn’t really hit her the way she thinks it probably should? it’s just there in the back of her brain, blurry and disjointed and she’s not sure how much of it she’s made up and how much she’s actually remembering, and it doesn’t really impact her all that much although it probably did as a young child.  otherwise, the day that her brother, will, left for the academy. she has a whole lifetime of memories of people failing her, but that was the first time that he failed her, and though she didn’t realise it at the time, it was the final straw for her as a kid; she only closed off after that, gave up on people and on school and whatever else she was dreaming about. looking back now, she realises that she should have held on to that betrayal instead of eventually forgiving him, because that was her first red flag that he wasn’t as focused on her wellbeing as she thought he was.

What is your OC’s imagination like? not very good, she’s a very impulsive and in-the-moment kind of person, and a pragmatic and logical thinker who doesn’t leave much room for fanciful dreaming or thinking very far outside the box.

How many times did your OC move as a child?  Which area was his/her favorite? she spent most of her childhood in new york, shifting house a couple of times but otherwise in the same area, attending the same school, etc. they all sucked, honestly; her favourite place was her parent’s house. or it would be if she could remember it.

What does your OC think of children- either in general or about having them? she used to have no tolerance for kids but she’s warming up to them slowly, the further she gets from being a loudmouthed, hotheaded teenager. she would have kids one day, but not for a while yet, but more because she’s just too busy and not settled in one place at all than because she doesn’t like them.

What kind of mother/father would your OC be? she’d be dedicated to being a good mother, and to settling down and living a life that is right for her kids. she wouldn’t be the perfect parent, she knows nothing about parenting and has never had one of her own in her life, but she would try her best. she might even learn patience.

Who are your OC’s closest relatives? none of her relatives are close. she doesn’t know any of her distant family, most of them are dead anyway, and her brother is the worst person ever, so she’d just like them all to stay very far away, thankyou.

Who is/are your OC’s closest friend(s)? she has a couple of good friends in sokovia, katja and sofia and vinn (but they are all ocs and so you’ll have to send me another ask to know more about them). clint and the maximoffs are her closest friends in the avengers circle of people, and i guess ruby (radford, hacker extraordinaire and Legally Dead) also counts as a close friend, if grudgingly.

Who are the people your OC surrounds him/herself with? people that challenge her, and people that have earned her respect, which she doesn’t give away freely. she likes to be pushed, whether in her skills or her wit or just as a person, and she has an acute sense of when people don’t really like her company - which is fine, she knows she has a personality that is grating to some people, but she would prefer that they just didn’t come near her if that’s the case. 

Who are the people your OC dislikes/hates? people that she feels are working against what she thinks is right. usually, this is groups of people - hydra, intel, certain rebel groups and militias in sokovia. otherwise, there are plenty of people that rub her the wrong way day to day, but she doesn’t really spend time actively hating them, she’ll just either get into a fight with them or avoid them as much as she can.

If your OC has a soulmate, who is it? (pietro, but don’t tell her)

Why does your OC and his/her soulmate work so well together? they’re both people that grew up lost and overlooked and angry at the world, and they were both manipulated by hydra and used and tossed aside by them, so they find common ground in that, even if it was on very different scales. they also tend to run in the same sort of circles as well - they find friends in the same people, their goals often align - but their personalities are different enough that they don’t just piss each other off. they share the same humour and the same brutal honesty and strong sense of right and wrong - they’re not afraid to call each other out, or argue, and they’re learning to apologise and forgive together. most importantly, they make the choice to be there for each other and to live new lives, and they stick to it. they both have an idea of who they want to be in the future, and both have the other in that vision.

What are some things your OC admires about his/her soulmate? she admires his commitment to his cause, how much he cares about his country and his friends and family and the responsibility he puts on himself to fix it. also, that he could put up with her for so long, without complaint; she’s always been used to people getting tired of her or taking off (or trying to kill her but we’re not going to talk about that), and she wasn’t really sure anyone could stand to be around her and still care about her for so long.

How did your OC and his/her soulmate meet? auntie stark playing matchmaker at a party because he was bored and he’s a meddler and they both annoy him in the same way.

What is your OC’s level of education? high school dropout and SHIELD academy dropout with no formal education, but she’s competent enough to get by in basic skills like maths and SHIELD related things like fighting and espionage.

Did your OC participate in extracurricular activities, and if so, what were they? is detention considered an extracurricular activity

What is your OC’s opinion of school?  What kind of student was s/he? school was a very negative experience. she hated every minute of it. she was that really annoying, disruptive kid that would physically square up to anyone who even looked at her funny and regularly punched people and things, yknow? bad grades, bad attitude, no friends, given up on a long time ago.

What subjects did your OC excel at? sports weren’t terrible, as long as they weren’t team sports. once she got to the academy, hand to hand combat was her best subject, except that she was used to fighting dirty and already too set against the system to sit down and learn proper technique.

What subjects interested your OC? nothing at school really interested her; all of her interests have really come to her in her 20s, when she’s free to discover them on her own.

What is your OC’s dream job and/or current profession? throughout the three fics about her, she’s a shield/hydra agent, a security officer at Stark Industries, and the director of the SRF camp in Nova Grad, Sokovia. she’s still figuring out where this is leading her, but the last two jobs have been perfect for her at that stage in her life.

How is your OC working towards his/her dream job and/or achieved his/her current profession? she’s been lucky enough to fall into each of her professions so far, which she is all too aware of and works hard to prove that she deserves it. her brother got her a place in SHIELD training, Clint helped organise the job at Stark Industries and called in a few favours so that she would get it, and she took over the SRF camp temporarily after an incident with the former director. she’s most proud of her work at the latter, and she’ll try to continue in that role until something else pulls her away.

What are your OC’s thoughts/opinions of his/her current profession? she enjoyed working at SI well enough, the job was within her skill level, the people were okay, she was comfortable. she could have easily stayed there for a lot longer if other opportunities hadn’t presented themselves. she loves running the SRF camp, it’s just the right amount of challenging and a little bit dangerous but not too dangerous, and even if it’s a lot of paperwork there’s also something new and crazy happening every day to keep it fresh.

What is your OC’s biggest dream? to find a place to fit into and live a life where she’s making her own decisions, outside of the control of other people.

How does your OC react to and handle stress? she gets short and snappy with people, doesn’t have time for stupid or time wasting, can get pretty heated but doesn’t often get overwhelmed, she’s still got a handle on the situation.

How does your OC handle anger? loudly. she will physically fight people, if she’s riled up enough, but she’s trying to curb that habit.

How does your OC handle grief? processes inwardly, and puts on a brave face outwardly. very few people would see her express grief, and it would take a few weeks for it to really hit her like that.

What is your OC’s greatest fear? losing everything she’s worked hard to get in the last few years.

What makes your OC happy? uninterrupted downtime, when she can just do what she wants. it’s a simple life. oh, and people getting what they deserve. it’s satisfying.

What kind of sense of humor does your OC have? sarcastic, dry remarks, and finding humour in other people’s misfortune.

What are some things that greatly upset your OC? being disregarded as stupid or useless or annoying, situations in which she’s helpless or too far out of her depth to catch up

What are some things that annoy your OC? people that can’t keep up with her or say dumb shit, people in general, irritating noises 

If your OC has them, what are some regrets s/he has? she regrets not trying harder in school or the academy, she feels like those years were mostly wasted and wishes they hadn’t been even though she knows it’s not something to blame herself for. she regrets killing donoghue too; in the moment, it was all she could do, and what she had to do to survive, but it goes so against her morals that she’ll always feel guilty about it.

How easily does your OC forgive? not very. she’s been let down a lot in the past, and she’s cutthroat about removing people from her life when she thinks that they’re dragging her down. 

What are some of your OC’s vices? pride, wrath, anger, impatience, unkindness, spite

If your OC experienced trauma, what was it? the death of her parents. during flicker, she struggles with the knowledge that she has killed and seriously injured people before, and with knowing that she’s done these things while trying to learn how to live a normal life. in swift, sokovia offers her a very immediate and major seachange; she has to live through bombings, violent riots, shootings, etc. I think the most rattling out of these for her is having to play dead on a street filled with the dead, not knowing if her friends are alive or if she is going to live through this. up until swift, she doesn’t really see the worst that groups like hydra can do; she sees the blood and the death and the injustice of soldiers running blindly in to die, but this incident really hits home for her that she’s putting herself in the way of bad, terrifying people, and the things they are capable of are scary.

What secrets does your OC have? she used to be a hydra agent. she’s open about it if she has to be, if someone finds this information out themselves she’s very upfront and will tell them the whole story and let them make their own decision, but she’ll keep it secret until that time, she’ll never be the one they hear it from.

What are some of your OC’s morals? usually her choices come down to just basic human decency, sadly; she believes people should be free to make their own choices and to live their own lives, safe and in peace. in the scope of swift, she wants the people of sokovia to be able to retain their country under their own control, she doesn’t believe that the invaders and the rising militia should be involved, and that they should be free to choose their own government, but she doesn’t really think that riots and bombs are the way to go about it.

What are some of your OC’s motivations? her own drive to be better than she has been in the past, to make up for the time she’d spent with hydra (even if the things she’d actively done for them were minimal), to find her way in the world and the place she’s meant to occupy.

What is the health of your OC? it’s good. lots of scars, the regular kind of aches and pains from living a very active lifestyle. as of swift, she has restricted movement in her shoulder from a bullet wound - not enough to really bother her day-to-day, but she’s given up archery since recovering.

Does your OC think with his/her head or heart? with her head

What are your OC’s thoughts on death? she hasn’t really come to terms with death yet - it’s a scary concept, and she’s young. mostly, she just tries not to think about it at all, even when it’s staring her right in the face. she could probably find peace with it when it happens, if it’s for the right cause.

What are some of your OC’s strengths? she’s willful, determined, brave, she can speak her mind when she needs to and she’s not afraid to tell people what she thinks or to fight for a change. she’s open to change herself, and she’s willing to learn, where she wasn’t in the past.

What are some of your OC’s weaknesses? she’s quick to anger and slow to forgive, she often picks a fight that she should refrain from and can easily hurt the ones she loves. she’s closed off and that turns away many people and loses her many opportunities. she has a negative mindset and low self-worth; she makes life harder for herself often.

How does your OC take criticism? not well. she’ll get angry and start an argument or storm off, and take a few hours or days to process. it depends who is offering her criticism as to whether she’ll come crawling back to apologise or if her pride will be too much to allow her to do that.

What does your OC think of him/herself? she doesn’t think very highly of herself. she’s acutely aware of her faults - that she’s too angry and hardheaded, that she doesn’t listen enough and isn’t particularly talented at anything. 

If your OC could change one thing about him/herself, what would it be? some days, she would say that she would change her whole personality, take out the anger or whatever it is that makes it so hard for her to sit down and listen, or forget her whole past. other days, she wouldn’t want to change anything at all, even though she’s a whole mess. she really wants the latter to be her answer, but she’s still learning to be okay with herself.

What is the general impression your OC gives other people? standoffish, strong personality bordering on rude, takes no shit, short-tempered, unfriendly.

How emotionally/mentally vulnerable is your OC with other people? on a scale of zero to ten, i’d give her a solid one. she’s closed off, pragmatic, and thinks she has to do everything alone. close friends might get more out of her, and she’s learning to be softer and more open, and to work with other people, but for the most part she isn’t giving anything away.

How does your OC display love? sarcasm, mostly. she doesn’t outwardly express it, really, especially in public, but she’s always there as support or to listen or offer advice, if she can. and she’s always trying to do better and to commit herself to the relationship, even if she doesn’t make a big show of it.

What are some habits your OC has picked up? clint’s coffee addiction has rubbed off on her. 

What is your OC’s favorite drink? it’s quickly becoming coffee

What is your OC’s favorite food? doritos

What is your OC’s favorite sweet? chocolate

What is your OC’s favorite season? autumn

What is your OC’s favorite kind of weather? sunny, but not too sunny

What is your OC’s favorite book? she doesn’t really read

What is your OC’s favorite movie and/or TV show? dog cops, she used to hate it but now she’s too invested to quit, shrek is her like, go-to movie when there’s nothing else which is weird and she’ll never admit it. but true.

What is your OC’s favorite kind of music (and song if there is one)? she listens to a whole bunch of different music, but her main genres would be pop, rock, rnb

What is your OC’s favorite form of entertainment? TV/movies

What is your OC’s favorite color? blue

What is your OC’s favorite scent? salty sea air on a strong breeze. it’s just so crisp.

What is your OC’s favorite animal? she wasn’t a dog person until she met clint’s dogs. now she’s totally a dog person.

What is your OC’s favorite sound? s i l e n c e on a sunday morning.

What is your OC’s favorite time of day? morning, once she’s awake.

What is your OC’s favorite kind of ice cream? chocolate

What is your OC’s favorite dinosaur? pterodactyl

#imogen oc #flicker

[writerrachelspangler]

A Hierarchy of Tops

What the actual hell, y’all? Nothing to see here, except Katherine Hepburn giving us all the look that makes our collective gay insides instantly clench up then immediately liquefy.  

What is that gut incinerating reaction? I can’t say for sure, but I have been thinking about it a lot, and I’m going to offer 3 possible suggestions:

Attraction (obviously). 

But there are many levels to attraction. There’s like a woman walks by and turns your head attraction, or A-list celebrity beautiful-person attraction, and then there’s THIS. This feeling I’m talking about goes so far beyond the “you’re attractive” sort of attraction to like “laws of physics” sort of attraction. The kind of attraction that registers not just inside your core but also psyche. 

It messes with my head in ways that have turned me around ever since I was old enough to be aware of such things, and I’ve come to sum it up as “The great queer question.”

Do I want to be with you, or do I want to be you?

It’s hard when you’re young (or even not so young) and you’re hungry for role models, but also thirsty for something else. And the whole issue gets complicated by the way those two feelings register in similar places of your body. The first time you see a woman step into full ownership of her God-given gift of giving zero fucks for conformity it lights a fire in the deepest regions of your gut. And as the warmth spreads outward from that low guttural place it can cause things to heat up in areas right below your core, too. You know the ones I mean, right? Those body parts are very close together, sometimes it’s hard to separate the two types of attraction. 

And I’ve made peace with that, the not always knowing which came first, or which takes precedent, because ultimately it doesn’t matter.  As fun as it can be (and by fun, I clearly mean disorienting) to try to figure out if I want to be with someone or be like someone, I am non-binary enough to realize the answer can be, and often is:

Attraction and aspiration are both cool, they’re both fluid, and they totally intersect. I’m comfortable with that. I’m more than comfortable with it. I dig it. 

So if there’s no great conflict around attraction, why should that photo of ole K. Hep and her butchly furrowed brow still make my tummy so. damn. squimbly? Could it be something deeper than attraction? Something more complex? Something more elemental? Something like...

Recognition. 

You see, over the last few years I’ve gotten into the concept of ancestral echoes, or the idea that memories and the knowledge that comes from them can be passed down through our DNA. That you can, on some level, know  about things you’ve never experienced for yourself, and you can recognize the same sort of knowledge in other people.

Example: Folks way back up my family tree were sea-faring explorers. It’s been like 15 generations and I am super susceptible to sea sickness, but I am still so drawn to boats and the ocean. Not just like I find them pretty, but like I’m freaking Moana or something.  There’s a pull there that goes beyond all reason and logic. I know that if I get on a sailboat there’s decent chance I am going to lose my lunch, but I can’t stay away.  Even as I go green in the gills and my stomach does summersaults a part of me is still like:

I feel the same inexplicable connection when I look at that picture of Katherine Hepburn. There is a gay DNA level kind of recognition. A big queer ancestral echo. Whatever part of me that makes me gay senses its mirror in her.

Now I don’t know what part of me that is, nor what part of her trips that recognition trigger for me. The insolent stare? The turn of the mouth? Those gay AF eyebrows? 

I’m not sure, but I feel certain it would exist even if I didn’t know the words gay or DNA. Something queer in me honors something queer in her. It’s inborn, liike gaydar on steroids boiled down to its most primal level. It runs through the generations on double helix rainbows. It vibrates across my chromosomes humming through the lowest, most animal regions of my brain. 

I know you. 

We are the same. Whatever this thing is, it builds an unbreakable bond. A shared ..something. Brotherhood is too gendered. Personhood too vague.  A queersterhood. A ... wait for it ... Listerhood?

You didn’t really think I’d make it through this gay ass therapy session without her did you?

Well I didn’t, because I can’t. I am physically incapable of looking away from this paragon of queer top perfection.  And while I get that this is exactly the point where I should be able to tie this post up neatly on some note about our  foremothers of the past living on through our legacy, that’s not going to happen.

As much as I would like to have some spiritual or academic conclusion for the things I feel when I see this, I don’t.

Nothing about my reaction is academic, or hypothetical or high minded. 

I’ve looked these photos it so many times, trying to figure out what is bigger than attraction and deeper than recognition, and there’s only one word that comes close to capturing the experience for me:

Reckoning.

Reckoning involves looking something in the eye and taking stock of it and you at the same time. It involves taking weight and measures, taking inventory of your totality, and checking receipts on the things both utterly unquantifiable and yet indisputable. 

And when I look at those women, I am forced to reckon with a fundamental truth:

They are better tops than me.

Katherine Hepburn is a better top than me.  Ann Lister (as played by Suranne Jones) is a better top than me.  There’s no way around it.

No matter how much I like to think I have some natural predication for topness, they have more. Clearly.

Sometimes you look at someone and you just know they know things. Things you are desperate to know. They possess a command and understanding you do not possess. They have skills you can only, and probably only ever will, aspire to.

I am not ashamed to admit it. It’s just the natural order of things. Did Joe DiMaggio feel shame at not being Babe Ruth? Or for you non-sportsball people, does Lizzo feel ashamed for not being Aretha Franklin? I hope not. There’s no shame in having your greatness fall just below that of divine master. Not everyone can be the GOAT. I’m okay with that. It’s not a competition. I don’t need to best anyone.

But I do need to make peace with that reckoning in other ways. Like a wolf who just met the new pack leader, or pirate captain whose ship just got overrun, there’s a new world older that must be acknowledged in those moments. There is a hierarchy of tops and topness, and it’s just been indisputably altered.

I am not the top top, not even in my own mind. I can’t ignore it, I am the one who acknowledged it in the first place. I could run from it. At least in theory. I could look away, close my eyes, or banish those understandings to vast reaches of the unfollowed internet, but I am not a coward. 

As fluid as I am, and as secure as I am in who I am, I can feel gratitude at the the opportunity to look upon greatness.  To indulge my awe. To relish my vast appreciation of the most transcendent of beings.  

And then, of course, as is only right, I feel compelled to roll over. Honestly, I don’t know how anyone could feel compelled to do anything other than roll over when they look at that picture.  That is the great tremble in my gut: it is all the scripts being flipped. 

Does that make me a lesser top? Maybe. Does that make me a bottom? Perhaps sometimes. Does that bother me?

Not at all.

Cause really, what’s the use of recognizing a hierarchy to tops, if you don’t intend to enjoy every possible aspect of your own position on that spectrum?

#tops and bottoms #pitch and catch #suranne jones #katherine hepburn #queer #gay #lesbian #wlw #wlw yearning #wlw concepts #butch #androgynous #lesbian desire #law of attraction #attraction #gentlman jack #so gay #gaydar #gay af #lesbian af #queer af #gay stuff #queer stuff #lesbian stuff #genderqueer #fluid #genderfluid #reckoning #moana #daisy ridley