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toxoiddiamond · 3 years

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T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Ryoga Zaizen Nicknames: Ryo Age: 38 Birthday: September 5th Zodiac Sign: Virgo Birthplace: Hakodate, Japan Current Location: He recently moved to Gzira, Malta, after having lived in Yokohama, Japan for nearly thirteen years. Speaks: He is fluent in both Japanese and English. He is starting to learn Maltese, but can only have a very basic conversation at this point. Dominant Hand: Right Education: He completed junior high, but opted not to continue on to high school and started working instead so he could help out his family. Occupation: Voice actor, mostly in anime and video games. Most of his voice work is in Japanese, but he occasionally does some in English as well. Every once in a great while, he does some live action acting, but it’s not his preference. Vehicle: 2018 Peugeot 5008 SUV in navy blue. Worldly Possessions: Some very nice recording equipment that allows him to do his voicework from home. A small family altar that he doesn’t actually pray to, but likes having around for nostalgic reasons. Lots of toys and things for his kids. Lots of DVDs and blu-rays of various films of all genres, with a whole shelf dedicated to family-friendly movies and shows. Pet(s): He recently got a one-year-old Shikoku Ken, partly to try and distract his kids from all the upheaval and turmoil in their lives at the moment. He wasn't too sure about having a dog at first, but now he really enjoys having a pet. The dog's name is Kotaro, meaning "small boy."

A P P E A R A N C E Height: 6'1" Hair: Ryoga enjoys trying all sorts of different colors and styles with his hair. He's had just about every color of the rainbow in his hair at some point, and when he was younger he experimented with having super long hair, mohawks, all kinds of things. Nowadays he tends to keep it cut into a more sophisticated, conservative style, but he still enjoys dyeing it various colors. Currently it is a light blue-gray. Facial Hair: He prefers to be clean-shaven. Eye Colour: Dark brown Skin Tone: He enjoys spending time outdoors, so he isn't super pale or anything; he has almost an olive undertone to his skin. Clothing: Most of the time he dresses in a fairly casual manner; his go-to look is skinny jeans paired with a graphic tee and either Vans or combat boots. But he also cleans up very nicely when the occasion arises. He has a few suits in various colors, patterns and styles and they all look amazing on him. Ryoga has a good sense of fashion and always manages to dress perfectly for any occasion. Distinguishing Marks: He has tattoos– like, so many tattoos on his arms, hands, chest, back, legs, basically everywhere except his face tbh. Face Claim: Miyavi

H E A L T H Physical Health: For the most part, his health is pretty good– he takes good care of himself, exercises, eats well, etc, especially because he wants to set a good example for his kids. However, he has had mild issues with his heart ever since he was a teenager– he has a slight arrhythmia and bradycardia (slow heart rate), but has managed both conditions fairly well throughout his life. He has had to stay in the hospital a couple of times after his heart rate slowed enough to cause him to faint, but he now tries to stay active and take his medication regularly so it (hopefully) doesn’t happen again. Physical Abilities/Limitations: He has a lot of upper body strength, partly from working out and partly from carrying his daughter around all over the place. He is also surprisingly flexible and enjoys doing yoga and tai chi as a form of gentle exercise. He’s always been good at imitating people/doing impressions and putting on different voices, which is what eventually led him to becoming a voice actor. Addictions: He used to drink a lot, but completely gave up alcohol in his mid-twenties, around the time he got married. This was partly because he wanted to try and be a more responsible person, and partly because his doctor recommended that he give up, or at least cut way back, on alcohol for the sake of his heart. Allergies: Shellfish Mental Health: Ryoga is under a lot of stress right now, so he’s not at his best. He’s had a lot of anxiety over his (very messy) divorce, then a brutal custody battle (he ended up getting sole custody), and then having to get a restraining order against his ex-wife when she kept showing up at their home and trying to get the kids to come with her, then throwing fits when Ryoga stopped her from taking them. Now that they’ve moved to a whole other country, he feels a bit better, less nervous, but he’s still constantly worried that his ex is going to show up any day. He has done his best to drill it into the kids’ heads that if their mom shows up, they are not to go with her and they need to come get him or call the police right away.

H I S T O R Y Summary: Long or Short Job History: His first job was at a small, hole-in-the-wall beef bowl shop when he was fourteen– he started as a busboy but was quickly moved into a kitchen staff position. A couple of years later, he was scouted by a modeling agent and ended up falling into the world of fashion modeling. He wasn’t super famous or anything; he mostly modeled alternative/goth/street fashion rather than anything too mainstream. This allowed him to network with a lot of people who were able to pull some strings for him and get him auditions for voice work, and within a few years, he had transitioned fully into voice acting (which he is now actually pretty famous for– in Japan, at least). Fondest Memories: Some of his childhood memories, such as family trips, or evenings when everyone was home and actually hung out together instead of going to their separate rooms. His wedding day, which is bittersweet to look back on, but at the time was one of the happiest days of his life. The births of both his children. Various anime conventions he’s gone to– he loves meeting fans and talking to them. Worst Experiences: His father losing his job– it sent the entire family into a downward spiral of anxiety and Ryoga always felt he had to walk on eggshells around them. Having to skip out on high school so he could work and earn money to help his family. His parents being more than a little angry with him when he became a model, started getting tattoos, etc., since they thought he was “ruining his life.” His parents later disowning him when he told them he was dating a man. And, of course, the slow and painful death of his marriage which resulted in a very, very messy divorce.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: It depends on the situation. If he’s working or in a more professional setting, then he is very respectful, using only polite language. When he’s with friends, he’s louder and more outspoken, and far less polite– not that he’s rude, just that he has a bit of a mouth on him. With his kids, Ryoga is very laid-back for the most part, speaking calmly to them and keeping a patient, gentle tone. Even when he scolds them, he doesn’t raise his voice much, though he can be very firm when he needs to be. Accent: Ryoga has a noticeable Japanese accent when he speaks English, but it’s not so thick that it’s hard to understand him. He speaks very clearly and enunciates well. Favorite Phrases or Words: Tends to say “Aa! Sou?” when he’s surprised about something, which just means “oh, really?” Also tends to say “ehto” instead of “um” or “uh.” Usual Curse Words: He tries to watch his language when he’s with his kids, though he does slip up on occasion (and they always call him out for it). He does have quite a mouth on him though, both in English and in Japanese, and uses whatever curse word feels most appropriate for the moment.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: INFJ-T Sense of Humor: With his kids, he’s pretty goofy and silly, always joking around with them and keeping them entertained. He does a lot of voices that make them laugh. When he’s around adults, he’s more sarcastic but still on the goofy side more than anything. Habits: He is hardly ever barefoot– he always wears socks or house slippers when he’s inside. He tends to eat rice with every meal if possible, in some form or another, or else it doesn’t feel like an actual meal to him. If he’s wearing any nail polish or anything, he tends to pick at it whenever he gets nervous or stressed out. Quirks: Ryoga really enjoys treating himself to things like spa days, mani-pedis, massages, anything along those lines. He doesn’t do it all the time, but once a month or so he gets someone to watch the kids and just takes a full day to himself to relax. He also loves taking baths and keeps various bath salts and oils around so he can take a nice, long bath at home if he’s had a rough day. Fears/Phobias: Anything happening to his kids; he worries about them constantly. His ex-wife finding him and showing up, even though he has a restraining order against her. He also tends to be a bit secretive about his sexuality, after facing some backlash/discrimination for it in Japan– he’s not exactly afraid of anyone finding out that he’s bi, but there’s a reason why he doesn’t offer that information very freely. Strengths: Something Flaws: Something Hopes/Desires: Something Wildest Fantasy: Something Self-Esteem: Something Religion: Something

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: Something Boxers or Briefs?: Something Day or Night?: Something Top or Bottom?: Something Partying or Relaxing?: Something

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: Something Relationship History: Something Sexual Partners: Something Thoughts About Sex: Something

P A R E N T S Name(s): Mom and Dad Age(s): Ages Social Standing: Blue collar, white collar, whatever Occupation(s): What they do Religion: What do they believe Quality of Relationship With His Children: Is good or bad? Living/Deceased: Maybe they dead

S I B L I N G (S) Name(s): First Last Age(s): Ages Social Standing: Blue collar, white collar, whatever Occupation(s): What they do Religion: What do they believe Quality of Relationship with Character: Is good or bad? Living/Deceased: Maybe they dead

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: Where they live

#character: ryoga zaizen #character sheet #ship: trizen

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oh-no-my-hand-slipped · 3 years

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Ok…I’m kinda nervous because I don’t know you’re ok with genuinely kinda gross and creepy monsters for the prompt thing, but here goes…Ch/aron from the fa/llout series, or really any ghoul for that matter because they’re all great.

Gross? Hm…

Okay, let’s see.

…

Oh, I can definitely work with that ~

****************

Charon:

Despite half of his nose being missing, Charon has some powerful sneezes.

They don’t happen often - again, because his face is mutilated - but sometimes ash, dust, or smoke gets deep enough to aggravate his sinuses.

You can always tell if Charon’s about to sneeze, because he’ll put the back of his hand against his nose or tug on his ear to try and stop it. Most of the time, he’s successful, but miserable until he’s off the clock.

The ghoul’s greatest fear is of catching something - he has a job to do, and a cold would do little to help things. He avoids sick people like…well, the plague…and he takes vitamins religiously when he can find them.

However, since his immune system is already compromised, he has gone to work sick more than he’d like to admit.

Charon can usually cover up his illness and/or allergies pretty well unless he’s really under the weather.

Once, you went into a bar that he frequents and saw him facedown on the bar, not a shot glass in sight. When you got closer, he lifted his head. His face was covered with a cheap cloth mask.

“Ungh…leabe be alone…”

You got closer anyway, offering some medicine that you found on one of your missions.

“I dow you’re tryin’ to be nice ‘n all, but I…I’m nuh…”

Charon buried his face in his hands and let out a huge sneeze, louder than you’d ever heard him. Groaning and sniffing thickly, he took the medicine from you.

“If this is poison or sombthing, at least I won’t be coughin’ all dight again…snf…”

He lifted his mask, which was wet with spray, and popped the pills into his mouth, swallowing them dry. Charon thanked you, then stumbled away.

About half and hour later, you find the ghoul leaning against a wall, half asleep. You had neglected to tell him that sleepiness was one of the side effects…

You led him to a small cot in one of the buildings, where he slept for several hours. You managed to make a few excuses on his behalf so he wouldn’t be hunted down by his boss.

After that, Charon was a little more open to you.

He also has a mild allergy to flowers, which usually doesn’t give him problems considering he lives in the middle of a wasteland.

However, on the rare occasion his nose does come in contact with a bit of pollen or flowery perfume, he becomes almost inconsolable in his fits.

Like his weapons, they are rapid fire and painfully loud.

Sometimes, as a joke, his boss will spray a cologne he has in Charon’s face. This will lead to a terrible, rocking, desperate fit that lasts for the whole night afterwards - his eyes will even stay bloodshot red for a few days.

That was one of the many things Charon got revenge for in killing him.

#ohnos ideas #snz #fallout #snz prompt #snz prompts #snz kink #snzblr #snz art #snz things #snzario #snez kink #snezblr #snezario #snz scenario

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theblackberrygirl · 4 years

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Claustrophobic

A Drabble in @themetaphorgirl’s universe, Patron Saint of Lost Causes.

Please understand that the Patron Saint of Lost Causes universe does not belong to me!! It belongs to @themetaphorgirl on tumblr! I have her permission to play around in her universe. Thanks!

Criminal Minds belongs to CBS

Also please recognize I am not nearly as good at writing as Caitlin, I don’t even come close.

“Hide and seek,” Garcia said decisively. The group was trying to find some way to pass the time on the stormy day, and they’d been brainstorming for about the past ten minutes.

“I love hide and seek! Alex, are you going to play?” Spencer asked excitedly. When she saw the hopeful look in his eyes, she knew she couldn’t say no.

“If it’ll make you happy for me to play hide and seek, then I’ll play hide and seek. Be warned however, that I am not good at it.”

“Great, you can be seeker then. Hotch, you in?” He sighed.

“I guess I should leave Miller to be the only responsible person here. I guess.”

“Yay!” Penelope squealed. She got confirmation from JJ, Derek (he could never say no to his baby girl), Dave, James, and even Elle agreed to play.

“None of you can tell Strauss about this, understand? She’ll hang me by the flagpole if she finds out,” Elle warned them.

“Deal,” Penelope agreed as she shook the RA’s hand. “What about you Em? You in?” Emily looked around at the hopeful faces of her friends.

“Sorry guys, but I think I’m gonna sit this one out,” she declined.

“Come on Emily, please? If you say yes, I’ll buy you coffee for a week and I won’t make you sing along to the Hamilton soundtrack with Jayje and me.”

“Jayje and I,” Alex corrected her, without even looking up from her book.

“What book are you reading today Al?” James asked from his spot on the couch next to Dave.

“Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. Technically rereading,” she replied, her eyes never leaving the page.

“Anyways,” Penelope interrupted. “Will you play?” Emily looked into her eyes and immediately regretted it. Much like Alex with Spencer, she couldn’t turn down Penelope’s hopeful expression. She sighed heavily.

“Ok, fine.”

“Yay! Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” Garcia engulfed her in a bear hug tightly, and it made Emily feel better about her decision to play. It didn’t soothe the uneasiness in her stomach though.

————————

“Ready or not, here I come!” Alex announced into the mostly empty building. Almost all of the other students had gone to the movie theater in town to ride out the rain. Within seconds, she found James.

“Seriously? That was the best spot you could find?”

“What can I say, I’m not good at this game either.” That was a lie. He’d hidden in a bad spot close to Alex so that he could spend more time with her. If Dave or God forbid, Emily, found out about that, he would never hear the end of it.

“That makes two of us. Now come on, we have hiders to seek.” They found Dave next. He obviously didn’t care that much, he had just been hiding underneath a couch.

“Wow, put a lot of effort into that hiding place, huh Dave?” James commented sarcastically as he helped pull his friend up.

“Clearly more than you did, you were found first. But something tells me that was intentional.” James elbowed Jim hard in the ribs, but luckily Alex didn’t seem to have heard him.

Surprisingly, they found Spencer next. He had been hiding behind some curtains, and they wouldn’t have found him if he hadn’t let out an adorable little baby sneeze.

“Aw, honey are your allergies acting up again? Here, let’s swing by my dorm room and get you a pill,” Alex said as soon as she found him. It was expected though; Spencer was her baby.

She wasn’t expecting to find anyone hiding in her and Emily’s dorm, but to her surprise, she found both Elle and Hotch in there, each hiding under a bed.

“Alex, why do you need so many books?” Hotch asked as he crawled out from underneath her bed. “You would think that the provided bookshelf would be enough, but you’ve got a hidden library under there too.”

“Don’t make fun of my books, Hotch, I work in the library, what did you expect?”

“She has a point,” James backed her up.

“Oddly enough, your roommate has a decent collection too. Nowhere near yours, but it’s sizable,” Elle said as she brushed the dirt off of her clothes.

“Huh. Who knew Prentiss was a bookworm?” Rossi commented as he checked to see if anyone else was hiding in the room.

“She does read, just not in front of other people,” Alex confirmed as she got Spencer his allergy pill- the initial reason for coming in here. “Now come on, we still have 4 kids to find.”

—————————

Emily looked around for a good spot to hide as she heard Alex counting in the other room. Thinking fast, she threw open an old trunk and clambered inside. It was pretty large, and old. She got situated as best as possible before closing the lid. Now she waited.

————————-

“Seriously? That was a good spot,” Derek complained as he walked out of his discovered hiding place; he had been behind some clothes hanging in a wardrobe.

“Good, but not good enough. You weren’t first at least,” Rossi said as they continued searching. They had found James, Dave, Spencer, Hotch, Elle, and Derek, now they just needed JJ, Penelope, and Emily.

————————-

“I don’t think there’s anyone in here Miller,” Elle said as they searched the room again.

“There’s only one room after this one, and I seriously doubt all three of them are in one room.”

“Hold on,” Hotch said, holding a finger in the air. “Check the trunk.” Dave made his way over to the large chest and pulled on the lid. It didn’t budge.

“Locked. Guess they are all in one-“

“Woah woah woah woah, what did you say?” A voice was coming from the trunk.

“Emily?” Alex asked. “Are you in the trunk?”

“Yeah, I’m in the trunk, what did Dave say about it being locked?” Her voice was growing with concern. Dave and James tried to open it again, to no avail.

“Uh, Emily? Don’t freak out, but the trunk is locked,” Dave informed her apprehensively.

“What?! What do you mean it’s locked?!”

“What do you mean ‘what does he mean?’ It’s locked! How many different definitions of locked are there?” Elle exclaimed. One of her kids was locked in a motherfucking trunk, and she didn’t know what to do. Spencer actually opened his mouth to answer her, but Alex shook her head.

“No no no no no, this can’t be happening,” Emily groaned from inside.

“Emily, deep breaths, it’s ok, just stay calm,” Alex tried to calm her from the outside to no avail.

“Stay calm? How the fuck am I supposed to stay calm? I am trapped in a fucking trunk for the foreseeable future, and you expect me to stay CALM Miller?! Fuck no!” Hotch didn’t even bother to reprimand her language, it was justified right now.

“Emily, you’re ok, it’s just a trunk,” Hotch tried.

“Hey Spencer, are you out there?” She asked, and Spencer nodded before he realized she couldn’t see him. “Yes,” he said timidly.

“Will you tell Hotch what ‘claustrophobic’ means? I don’t think he knows.” Emily’s voice was starting to shake, and Alex could hear mild hyperventilating from inside.

“Claustrophobic; the irrational fear of tight, small, or cramped spaces such as closets, elevators, cabinets, tunnels-

“Thanks Reid, I get it,” Hotch cut him off. “Emily, why did you hide in a trunk if you’re claustrophobic?”

“Well, Hotch, I wasn’t exactly planning on being locked inside when I got in,” she drawled sarcastically. “You can tell me how stupid it was later, just get me the hell out.” Her voice was trembling heavily now.

“I have an idea!” Spencer piped up. “Alex, do you have a bobby-pin?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” she said before pulling one out of her hair.

“And Hotch, do you have a pen of some sort?” Hotch nodded before producing a pen from the breast pocket of his blazer. He made quick work of picking the lock on the chest, before throwing the lid open to reveal a disheveled Emily. Her hair was messed up, her clothes were wrinkled, and her eyeliner and mascara were smeared from crying. As soon as she stood up, she gave Spencer a bone-crushing hug.

“Thanks kid,” she whispered.

“Uh, Emily? You’re kinda crushing me,” he said awkwardly, prompting Emily to let go of his tiny body.

“Since when can you pick locks Pretty Boy?” Derek asked.

“I read a book on it,” he explained, as if it should be obvious.

“You read a book on lock-picking?” Alex questioned, amused. Spencer nodded as JJ and Penelope came in from wherever they were hiding.

“What took you guys so long? We’ve been hiding forever.”

“Princess here got locked in a trunk,” Morgan laughed. Garcia rushed forward to hug her and asked if she was ok, while JJ burst into laughter.

“Why are automatically locking chests even a thing?” She asked the room as she attempted to smooth her hair out.

“I don’t know, but I wish I had been here to see it,” JJ laughed, tears coming out of her eyes.

“Don’t worry JJ, I’ll fill you in on all the details later,” Derek promised.

“Oh no you won’t. This will never be spoken about again,” Emily warned.

“What are you gonna do Princess?”

“I will break your fingers,” she deadpanned.

“Point taken. Now, I’m starving, and it’s time for dinner, so let’s go.”

“You just ate, like, 4 granola bars before we played, how are still hungry?” Elle pointed out. Morgan just shrugged.

“I’m an athlete, what can I say?”

“So’s JJ,” Elle argued.

“Anyways, it is dinner, and I’m hungry too. Let’s go,” Alex interjected. They all filed out of the room towards the cafeteria, eager to get something to eat, the day’s events cataloged in their memories.

Just one more of the very limited things they knew about Emily Prentiss.

#au:-patron-saint-of-lost-causes #elle greenaway #emily prentiss #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #alex blake #penelope garcia #jj #jennifer jareau #david rossi

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sope-and-shine · 4 years

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You Drive Me Nuts

-> Pairings: Jeongguk x Reader -> Fluff // College!AU -> Word Count: 2.1k -> Summary: With great powers comes great responsibility. And yes, an EpiPen is a responsibility, Jeon Jeongguk. -> Warnings: mild language // responsible use of an EpiPen for an irresponsible reason.

A/N: I have no clue what the process is through anaphylaxis once it gets to the doctors, so I tried my best. I hope you enjoy!

You told him.

You’ve told him on more than one occasion.

You’ve reminded Jeongguk multiple times that it is in no way acceptable for him to eat a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup when he’s allergic to peanuts! He’s 20yrs old, for Christ sake, you shouldn’t have to remind him what he can and cannot eat! Any sane person would think, ‘Oh no, that’ll make my throat close up and I could die’ and turn the candy offer down.

But no.

Not this idiot.

He’s apparently a psychopath!

You were just studying in the cafe waiting for the other boys to join you before you get your food. No harm in that at all. They were always late cutting across campus, so getting some homework out of the way or a quick study session never hurt. Normal day.

Not a problem.

As soon as they all began to make their appearances, you had put away your working materials so you’d be ready to get something to eat. As soon as they all arrived, it was left to Jeongguk to watch your belongings since he was the last to arrive at the table. Nothing new, it was usually between him, Taehyung, and Namjoon to watch the table. Not only that, but he was more than happy to take a seat at the table. You figured he was tired from running across the campus and just wanted to sit. Nothing to worry about.

You should have worried.

You all left him alone for a total of maybe 15 minutes. 15 minutes to get your food so you could enjoy the rest of your day, 15 minutes so he could sit and watch your belongings, 15 minutes for him to be a regular adult, and apparently 15 minutes for him to contemplate asking the table next to yours for the Reese’s and have it open and in one hand with his EpiPen in the other by the time you got back.

“Jeon Jeongguk! You put that Reese’s cup down and wash your hands right now! Are you crazy?!” Your outburst not only catches his attention, but those around you as well. Multiple eyes are on you including his, but his eyes are staring into yours in fear, contemplation, and partial regret.

Jimin comes up next to you with his own lunch, stopping when he sees the predicament. He sighs, “He cannot be serious.”

It’s almost as if you can see the gears turning in Jeongguk’s head, contemplating if he should make his next move or not. You can see the longing in his eyes, and a part of you already knows what he’s about to do before he does it. He pops the treat into his mouth in one bite, and the look of pure joy and elation tells you this exact situation could - and will - happen again. He shouldn’t look as pleased as he does slamming a needle into his thigh, but his smile is all you need to see.

“Jimin, call an ambulance!” You order, rushing to your friend - soon to be dead friend - and dropping your lunch on the table next to him. A million thoughts are running through your head as you take the seat next to him, watching the stupid bunny smile appear on his face. Your first immediate reaction is to choke him, but he’s about to do that himself. So, instead, you settle for hitting the back of his head. “Are you insane?! What possessed you to do that, you psychopath?!”

“My mom never let me eat them, so I-” He coughs, beginning to feel the effects of his allergy trying to battle the epinephrine. “-I wanted to try one…”

“She didn’t let you eat them because YOU ARE ALLERGIC!” You rage. You’re almost completely dumbfounded by this man’s absolute stupidity. How he made it to college, you could never understand after this. You grab his face in your hands and squish his cheeks together to look into his mouth at the back of his throat. “Any good, sensible mother-! No. Scratch that. Any good, sensible PERSON wouldn’t let you eat one!”

He fights a smile, his face still trapped between your hands, “Worth it.”

As the other boys get back from getting their food, they all begin to close in on what happened with the youngest member of the squad. Namjoon, ever the responsible adult he is, sighs when he catches sight of the used EpiPen and the crumpled Reese’s wrapper next to it. “Jeongguk, what the fuck?”

“What did you do?!” Jin cries, setting his food on the table to take the other side of your ‘patient’. His mother’s intuition kicks in as he takes over your role of nurse, “Are you stupid or something?”

Yoongi takes a seat at the table next to the discarded trays and starts eating, completely unbothered. Shoving a french fry in his mouth, he turns to the rest of the group that is still unsure as to what they should do in the situation. “Make a note, everyone. As soon as he gets out of the hospital, I’m killing him.”

While the others begin to have a seat or discuss the current dilemma, Jeongguk turns to you with seemingly tired eyes full of mischief, “(Y/n)...I can see the light.” His voice has a slight croak to it, and every breath has a slight wheeze.

“Good. Walk into it.” Is your answer petty? Absolutely. But you can't help but glare at him for the stunt he just pulled, especially when he’s trying to hit you with puppy dog eyes. “Don’t pout at me. You deserve this.”

It only takes about 10 more minutes for the ambulance to arrive on campus to pick up the idiot next to you. Which is good, because his breathing was only getting harder and more erratic as you waited with him even after having him lay down to clear his airways a little more. He tried to be cool the entire time they were adjusting him onto the gurney, cracking jokes and flashing the occasional hand sign at Tae’s phone while he took pictures for his Snapchat, but you could tell he was feeling the consequences of his actions when they administered oxygen to him.

After a short ride to the hospital, an hour and a half of sitting in the waiting room of the ER doing homework, and half an hour waiting for Jeongguk to wake up and finish getting scolded by the doctor’s and nurses for his stupid actions, you’re finally left alone with him again on a small couch by the window of his room. His hair isn’t as nicely kept as it was this morning, his street clothes were replaced with a hospital gown at some point during his visit and placed in the bag next to his bed, and his overall appearance just looks completely exhausted. Even so, he looks a lot better than he did at lunch.

“You know, I thought that would go a lot better.” He admits with a chuckle, breaking the silence that was left in your room. A shy smile adorns his face as he plays with the piece of equipment on his finger.

You, however, are not amused, “How did you expect it to go any better, Guk? You are severely allergic to peanuts.”

He sighs, “I meant as far as the embarrassment.”

“Oh, you mean a 20 year old man getting scolded by 40 year old doctors and nurses for eating a peanut butter cup because you were never allowed to have them? Did you think you would just magically not be allergic?” You ask, genuinely interested to hear what his excuse was. In your opinion, there was no excuse. What he did was stupid and wreckless, and you have half a mind to beat the crap out of him for the stunt he pulled. Who did he think he was to scare you like that?

“It can happen…” He shrugs. It was more than obvious that he really didn’t think much of his actions, and that annoyed you more than anything.

“Jeongguk.”

He doesn’t move. He just continues staring at the equipment attached to him as if you weren’t in the room. His childish ignorance was hitting your last nerve at this point. You couldn’t stop yourself from standing up and crossing to his bed.

“Look at me.” You demand. You wait for him to raise his head, giving you a clear view of the frown on his face. You ignore how he looks at you in favor of grabbing onto his face. He had to know you were serious, and he wasn’t going to back out of this. “Don’t you ever do something that could literally kill you in minutes ever again. Do you understand me? I’m not playing with you. You scared the shit out of me!”

“I won’t, I promise.” You hear him loud and clear, you watch him nod and smile in affirmation, but you can’t help but feel helpless. You could’ve stopped him if you’d moved faster, then you could’ve beaten the sense into him before he ended up in the hospital. But here he was, almost 3 hours later with an IV and a drip running into him. The anger that’s been festering all day has finally settled within you, and you feel the tears welling up before you can pull yourself back together.

This of course sets Jeongguk into panic when he sees the glistening of your eyes staring into his own. “Hey! Why are you crying?! Our friendship handbook didn’t mention crying!” He couldn’t handle himself crying, let alone another human being crying at him. In an attempt to soothe you, he places his hands over yours as they rest on his cheeks, rubbing small circles into your skin.

You look away from him, hiding your face before the tears can really start to fall, “It’s in the fine print asshole.”

“Well, why are you crying if I’m okay?” He asks. You refuse to look at him, not wanting to look at him after all the pain he’s caused you thus far, but he wasn’t about to let you cry without knowing what’s really wrong with you. He releases your hands from his and lets them fall while he moves into a different position, getting close enough to you so he can take your face in between his hands like you’d done to him - granted, yours was a lot more harsh than his. He turns your head so he can look at you, waiting until your eyes finally meet his before he smiles, “Hey, you can tell me what’s wrong.”

You can’t help but let the tears fall with the way he looks at you, “You just looked so beaten up and pale, and your breathing just kept getting worse as we waited, and-” You choke back a sob, “-I don’t want to lose you, okay?”

“You’re not going to lose me.” He coos, stroking your cheeks softly with his thumbs. He’d never intended to hurt you this way. He honestly didn’t think that far ahead. He had an idea, he executed a plan he thought would work, and he got to taste a peanut butter cup while living to see another day. It’s only now that he really thinks about what he’s done today. Neither you or the boys have ever seen him like that before, and to someone who’s never experienced it before, it can be really scary. He sees it now that you’re in front of him crying instead of yelling at him. “I swear on my life that I will never do it again.”

‘He wouldn’t do it again?’ You think. Sure he won’t. You scoff, “Easy for you to say. One wrong move and you die before I get my hands on you.” You move to pull his hands off of your face, but he takes your hands in his instead, pulling you to sit on the bed next to him. You’re too surprised to say anything, letting out a small squeak from the sudden movement instead. The two of you just sit and stare at one another before he finally lifts his right hand from yours to hold his pinky towards you, “I promise.”

Staring at the hand with an IV poking out and a heart monitor attached to his pointer finger, you know in the very back of your mind that this will probably happen again whether he intends to or not. But you don’t think you’ve seen him this serious before. At least for now, you can take his pinky in your own and accept his promise to make both of you feel better.

“You drive me crazy, you know?” You ask, wiping at some of your remaining tears with your free hand.

“Don’t you mean I drive you nuts?”

#fae fic #bts #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts x oc #jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #jeongguk x reader #jungkook x reader #jeon jeongguk x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook #y/n #oc #reader insert #fanfiction #bts fanfiction #college au #allergies

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skeletonsloverockcandy · 4 years

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When will my Reflection show who I am in Sides

Summary: Thomas gets home late after a day of recording videos with his friends. While walking up the stairs to his bedroom, he sees something strange in the hall mirror. Was that? No it couldn't be, he must be imagining things. He goes to bed only to find himself looking back in the mirror, only it isn't the Him he's supposed to see. Because Thomas isn't wearing glasses. Or an AU where the Sides only appear as Thomas's reflection, at what seems to be the most inconvenient times ever.

Warnings: Thomas fears he’s losing his sanity and Virgil causes him to be anxious but I think that’s it, Oh wait no, there’s some arguing too, but it’s pretty mild, also Remus and Janus are in this but I don’t know if they count as warnings or not.

Fandom: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders

Characters: Thomas Sanders/Character!Thomas, Logan/Logic Sanders, Patton/Morality Sanders, Roman “Princey”/Creativity Sanders, Janus/Deceit Sanders, Virgil/Anxiety Sanders, Remus “the Duke”/Dark Creativity Sanders

Word Count: 6,540

Author’s Note: I don’t generally do one shots, but this is getting me back in my writing groove, so I guess there’s a first time for everything. Also I don’t have a general writing taglist yet, so I’m just going to tag the people who are on my Hitchhiker taglist if that’s okay.

Ao3 Link

***

Thomas closed the door to his apartment, sighing as he set his keys down on the counter in the kitchen. He’d just had a long day of making videos with his friends. Gosh he loved his friends, he thought as he reminisced on the videos they were making today, remakes of old vines. It filled him with a sense of fondness and nostalgia that his little ragtag group of pals was willing to entertain his silly ideas even way back in the vine age.

He sighed again, good times.

He rubbed his eyes as he let out a yawn, it was well after dark by now and he was looking forward to going to sleep…which is what he’s going to tell himself as he gets in bed, opens up his laptop and plays video games until 2 AM. But, well, he’s working on it.

He slips off his jacket while dragging his feet towards the stairs, trying to kick off his shoes at the same time.

Now no longer encumbered by his laced nemeses, Thomas can feel confident that he’ll tooooootally put his pajamas on before just flopping into bed. Totally. Yep. Definitely won’t sleep in his clothes.

Not a chance, is what he tells himself as he climbs his way up the staircase towards his room.

He passes the mirror in his hallway between his bathroom and his bedroom, mid yawn when he sees it, just for a moment.

Thomas does a double take, looking back in the mirror, and…yep, it’s just him.

He could’ve sworn for a moment there he saw scales, and a caplet. But no, it’s just him, Steven Universe shirt in all its glory, and not a hat to be found.

He got quite a jump there, wow his heart was beating fast, was he breathing heavy? It was just because he’s tired...he didn’t actually see...did he? No, no, that wasn’t possible. He just needed to make his way to bed, actually go to sleep on time for once, maybe not play video games until 2 AM. Yeah, that sounded good, he’d do that.

He opened the door to his room, very pointedly not looking at the hall mirror again, and set to go to sleep. Feeling that as long as he was actually going to sleep, he might as well put on some pajamas.

He slipped on a sleep shirt and some pajama pants stretching his arms out a little before climbing under the covers.

He checked his alarm clock, 10:02 PM. Wow, he never usually goes to bed that early. It’d be fine though, he could actually be a functioning human being for once.

As he went to turn off his lamp, he caught sight of the full-length mirror on his now-closed door. And he saw him standing there, another him, one wearing a tie and glasses and looking approvingly back at Thomas instead of the Thomas in pajamas and about to turn out the light that was supposed to be there.

“Ah! What the heck!” Thomas shouted, completely calmly and reasonably, he told himself.

He, however, would not deny that he completely uncalmly and unreasonably fell off the bed and took all the blankets with him, as he now lay in a sprawl on the floor.

Consequences of getting spooked while half leaning out of his bed, he supposed.

He carefully peaked up over the edge of his bed and thankfully only saw a normal looking, if rattled him staring back at himself like he was supposed to.

Thomas gulped and took a deep breath to settle his nerves. He was either seeing things, or he was being haunted, and he wasn’t sure either of those two options made him feel any better. Well, at least if it was the first option, it might be remedied by getting some rest. Surely, if he was seeing delusions of different Hims in the mirror, it was a sign of sleep deprivation? Yeah, yeah, that sounded right. But just in case…

Thomas grabbed the thin sheet that went under the heavy blankets and draped it over the bedroom mirror, feeling himself relax a bit.

Now maybe he could finally get to sleep…

***

It had been a little over a week since Thomas’s little doppelgänger encounter of the third kind happened, and he had not had an incident since going to sleep that night. He kept the sheet on his bedroom mirror up for a couple of nights after, but eventually reasoned with himself that whatever had happened that made him hallucinate, or whatever that was, was clearly a fluke of his exhausted mind since it hadn’t happened again, so keeping the sheet up was unreasonable. He had woken up early the day after and had been now coping with a weirdly adjusted sleep schedule. It felt odd waking up early, but whatever he had done to trick his body into going to sleep early that one night had clearly had lasting impacts, because he had woken up early and gone to bed on time every day this week. Well, hard to complain that he was finally getting his body’s act together, and it was a good thing too. He had an audition coming up soon that he was really excited about, and though he knew it was cliché, and like, rookie theater kid mistake 101, he was looking forward to singing a Disney song.

He knew he could audition for pretty much any part, but Thomas had really debated on whether he wanted to audition for the hero or the villain, as that would determine which song he picked and the range of emotion he showed, though in the end it wouldn’t really matter because the director got final say in casting.

He had decided he would audition for the part of the love-struck hero, and was quietly singing the lyrics to “Won’t say I’m in love” as he grabbed a towel to dry off after taking a shower. He pulled back the shower curtain, toweling off his hair with a series of “No chance, no way”’s, before wrapping the towel around his waist and grabbing his hairbrush. He hummed while he fixed his still-wet hair with one hand and went to wipe the fog off the mirror with the other.

Then it happened again.

He had cleared off a big slice of fog from the mirror and went to run his brush through his hair more carefully, when Thomas realized he wasn’t looking at himself in the mirror.

They certainly looked like him, but he wasn’t wearing a prince outfit, nor was he jamming out and singing at full volume to “Won’t say I’m in love” because he had been humming. Humming.

But now he could hear his own voice with full bravado singing the lyrics back at him, head thrown back, eyes closed, and dramatically leaning on the wall opposite the mirror.

Thomas was also leaning against that wall, but more out of shock and fear than anything else.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. This wasn’t real. He was dreaming. Dreaming. This was just because he was spooked about what happened the other day, he was not seeing himself perform Disney songs in full prince regalia in the mirror because he wasn’t in prince regalia, and he is not singing at the top of his lungs in the mirror, so he couldn’t be seeing his reflection do that, because he wasn’t doing that.

He peaked open one of his squished shut eyelids, to confirm that he was definitely not seeing those things, only to discover prince him, definitely still doing those things and singing in place of where Thomas’s reflection should be.

The Other Thomas was mid-note, when he too opened his eyes, caught sight of Thomas and abruptly cut himself off with a small “eep”.

He looked awkward for a second before looking at Thomas and speaking, “Too much?”

Thomas stared back at the other Him who had just spoken to him. He felt lightheaded. His voice felt weak, but he managed to squeak out a small “...yeah, a bit”.

“Oh, well, I know you need to put a lot of passion into your performance in a few days, best to practice on the regular! Thanks for auditioning for the hero by the way, I don’t think Remus would have ever shut up about it if you had chosen to go for the villain, but brothers will be like that, am I right?”

Thomas was so very confused at the information being thrown at him right now, but, due to circumstances, he found himself feeling kind of out of it at that exact moment. So instead he just thought of his own brother and said “...yeah, brothers are like that.”

“Oh don’t I know it, he has no idea how hard it is being the hot, popular one, and all he talks about is gore and garbage and other gross stuff. You should’ve seen the time he filled our room with feral cats, I had to take care of them for weeks, and he knows we have a cat allergy, but he said the excess of snot and puffiness ‘added to our complexion’, said I could use a bit of mucus to ‘put us on an even playing field since he was the better looking one after all’, can you believe him! The indignity of it all! If he ever does that again I’ll...uh, Thomas, doing alright there, superstar?”

Thomas, who had been slowly sliding down the wall and clutching his head, was now sitting on the floor and very much not doing alright. “...yeah, great, never better, fantastic. Just…dandy. I just...need a moment.”

“Oh certainly, then by all means-” the reflection spoke before Thomas blinked and he was staring back at regular old him again. Thomas exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His head was pounding with his heartbeat in his ears. His brain began trying to process the things he just saw and the words he just heard. Because he had heard words. His reflection had spoken to him. He must have finally cracked. There went his sanity, whoosh, out the metaphorical window. This just...this just didn’t make any sense.

What was the other him even talking about? None of what he said had made any sense. How could his reflection have a brother? Who was Remus? Scratch that, more importantly, how was his reflection talking to him?!

Thomas thought in that moment how he very much needed to lie down, and just as he was thinking that, he blinked and his reflection changed again to that of him in a prince costume, now very close to the glass and looking down at him on the floor.

“So like, how long is a moment for you because that felt pretty long to me, aaaaand you’re still on the floor. You sure you’re doing okay Tommy-Salami?”

Thomas jolted back again and banged his head on the back wall.

“Gah! Quit doing that! Also...ow.” He said as he rubbed the back of his head.

“You good amigo? That looked like that caused a bump large enough to knock out the dragon witch.”

“The what? Nevermind, just, how are you doing that?”

His reflection looked around, looked behind himself, even patted himself down before turning to Thomas with a puzzled look.

“Uhh...doing what?”

“That! All of that! You’re my reflection, how are you...not reflecting me? I’m not wearing a prince outfit, I didn’t say what you just said, and I’m not doing what you’re doing, so how are you?”

His reflection laughed, laughed, at that. Even shook his head a bit as if this was trivial and there was some big misunderstanding. As if it were funny.

“Oh Thomas, I’m sorry, I believe there may have been a bit of a misread of the situation. Of what’s going on here. See, one as beautiful and talented as myself can not be limited to a mere reflection, be contained in something so simple as a mirror. No, there are too many adoring fans, too many stages to perform on, too many lovers to woo and hearts to break,” he paused for a dramatic faux sob, “No, what would I be if I were a mere reflection. A mere copy, nay! A clone. Why, I would not be nearly as complete, not nearly as rich and interesting a person! No Thomas, I am not a reflection of you, I am you. A part of you anyway, and I embody your passion and creativity. It is I, Prince Roman, at your service!” He finished with a dramatic pose.

There was silence for a bit after that, where Thomas just stared at him blankly.

Roman dropped his pose somewhat and cleared his throat, “Eh hem. Thoughts?”

“So you’re...my creativity?”

“Part of it, yes.”

“How does that even work? And that still doesn’t explain why my creativity, I guess, can physically manifest in my mirror, as me in a prince costume. And don’t even get me started on the why part of that question!”

“Woah woah woah woah, what made you think I was physically manifesting, I can’t physically impact the world at all, aside from my dashing good looks that is.”

“So what? This is all just in my head? None of what’s happening right now is real? I’ve finally cracked?!” Thomas said standing up and clutching his towel for dear life.

Roman went still for a second, getting a serious look on his face before responding, “Of course this is all in your head, but why on earth would that mean this isn’t real?” before cracking into a wide giddy grin, “I have always wanted to say that! But seriously yeah, this is in your head, but you’re not going crazy, I’m just as real as you or any of the others.”

“The others?”

“Oh yeah, you didn’t think I was the only one, did you? I’m part of your creativity, but you’ve got other sides to your personality: your morality, your logic, the...other ones, etc etc. I’m hardly the whole packaged deal. Though I totally could be if we were measuring in terms of charm. I mean, I am almost quite literally Prince Charming.”

“Right...sorry this is just, a lot to process. I’m still not sure I’m not going crazy, and...if we’re going to continue this conversation (which I seem to be having with the mental projection of a voice inside my head, wow), I would like to put some clothes on, please.”

“Oh shoot, right sorry, forgot about the whole ‘shower’ thing, go get dressed and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

Thomas gave him a strange look and blinked, expecting him to disappear like the last time that he ‘gave him a moment’. He didn’t.

“Uh...okaaaaay? I’ll just...go do that then.” Thomas said as he opened the bathroom door, checking behind him every couple of seconds to see if Roman was still there (he was) and sped into his bedroom, closing the door and throwing on a T-shirt and shorts as quickly as he could. Then he sat on his bed and waited. His full length mirror still had his normal reflection in it. Could Roman see him through it? Or was he still waiting at the other mirror? Was the fact that he could see himself in the mirror a sign that Roman had disappeared from the other mirror? Did...did he have to call out to him? Let him know he was dressed? It was worth a try.

“Um, is anyone there? Roman? One of the...others he mentioned? I’m-” well he wasn’t ready, but, “I’m dressed, if you still want to talk, and you know, explain to me what the heck is going on. I’m here.”

He expected it this time when he blinked and his reflection changed, but he didn’t expect someone that wasn’t Roman to show up.

“You! The guy in the tie! Teacher dude!”

“Yes, hello to you too Thomas. I overheard Roman giving you the ‘lowdown’, I believe is the correct terminology, and thought I should give my assistance in the explanation since this matter requires objective facts and knowledge, and I do encompass your logic.”

“Woah, slowdown, you’re my logical side? What were you doing last week with the whole ‘peering at me before I try to go to sleep’ gambit? And (I can’t believe I’m saying this because he’s probably just a figment of my imagination) where is Roman?”

The him with a tie and glasses, who Thomas was beginning to think of as the ‘Teacher Him’ in his head, sighed and adjusted his glasses.

“I...apologize for startling you last week, Thomas. I was just checking in because you finally, finally, had been planning on correcting your sleep schedule. Which is something that has been quite a lofty goal of mine for quite some time. I was proud to see you finally start to follow through, especially after a...discussion I had had with Janus regarding the situation. So I ‘slipped up’, if you will, and may have been an iota too excited to see you succeed, which, unfortunately resulted in your mental distress, but did conclude with the desired results. Though I apologize again Thomas. I did not intend to frighten you, that is not my primary function.”

“So...What is your ‘primary function’ then?”

“As I stated previously, I am your logical side. I am your common sense as well as everything you’ve ever learned. My main goal is for you to become a more functional, healthy, and productive human being. I have had...mixed success trying to complete these goals.”

Thomas let out a bitter laugh.

“You don’t say? ‘Healthy’ and ‘functional’ while I am seeing personified portions of my personality whenever I look in a mirror?! What part of any of this seems normal? Or okay!? Or remotely like sane human behavior?” He finished with a half shout, growing increasingly more distressed. The teacher him let out a slightly exasperated sigh before softening.

“Thomas, you need to breathe. You are going to be okay. I know it may not seem it right now, but you are perfectly sane. If a bit...eccentric at times. But I can tell you are-” he pulled out some notecards from his back pocket, “‘going through it’ right now, but I promise things will be-” he shuffled through the cards again, “‘5 by 5’ in the future.”

Thomas looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Do...do you have flashcards that have slang words on them?”

“Yes, I find it best to be informed on all modern advancements in the English language, and having a list of all new vocabulary helps me keep track of such advancements.”

Thomas blew a slow breath, “Wow, this is uh, this is a lot. That is ah, certainly something I didn’t know about myself. (Glad to know I’m a huge nerd in every iteration of me). But wait, can um...can, uh, other people...see you? In the mirror I mean. Or does this just look like I’m talking to myself?”

“As far as I am aware, I do not think other people can see us. I don’t know that for sure though, because you don’t know that for sure, and I’m your knowledge, Thomas. I only know what you know.”

“Right, great, so there’s no way to confirm I’m not crazy, great. Look, sorry, I keep calling you ‘Teacher Dude’ in my head, but like, the other guy had a name. Roman? He said he was in charge of my creativity. Do you also have a name? Just...What do I call you?”

“Oh, I’m sorry Thomas, it completely slipped my mind. Yes, I have a name. You may call me Logan.”

“Logan...right. Thanks, I guess.”

“It’s no problem Thomas I simply-”

“Ah- Tah- Logan! I was going to explain things to Thomas!” Roman could be heard exclaiming before stepping into view behind Logan in the mirror. Logan let out a long, exasperated sigh before stepping back so there was room to view both of them within the frame of the mirror.

“If he wanted to hear from the Microsoft Nerd he would have asked for you.”

“I find that unlikely since until very recently he didn’t know our names or of our existence. Besides, Thomas only asked if anyone was there, including, and I quote, ‘One of the others mentioned’, and since I am in that category, as someone who is not you, I had full reason and responsibility to show up and explain things to Thomas. And! He clearly needed my assistance, because someone wasn’t doing a good job of explaining things.

“You. The someone is you.” Logan finished.

Roman gave an offended scoff, “Well I-! If anyone would be bad at explaining this to Thomas, it would be the person who scared him so bad in the first place! Guh huh yeah! Don’t think the rest of us have forgotten that little stunt you pulled the other day.” Roman said with a sneer.

“First of all, I already apologized for that, and Thomas understands now, don’t you Thomas?”

“I uh-”

“Great, see? And second of all, you’re one to talk, seeing as you just scared him in the shower just now. Or could your sonorous serenade of Disney lyrics not wait, hm?”

“Guys-”

“Oh I’m sorry, are my rehearsals not important to you? You know Thomas has a big audition coming up. His vocal cords need to be practiced and ready for when he’s on stage! Or did you forget to mark it down in your little calendar?”

“Uh guys-”

“Of course I didn’t forget to write it down in my calendar. I’m insulted you would even suggest such a thing. I just don’t know why we have to waste so much time preparing to prance around and play make believe on a stage when, historically, Thomas has done well on average for other auditions, but that is still no guarantee on whether or not we get the part. That is not up to us, it’s up to the director.”

“Guys!”

“Tch- guh- Prance around? No guarantee? Excuse you but Thomas has done well on those past auditions because he practiced! And while the final say may be in the hands of the director, that say is influenced by how well we perform! We cannot simply settle for letting ourselves be second best, Nay! We must strive to go beyond what we have before and reach new heights!’

“Well you’re just-”

“GUYS!”

“What?!” They both shouted back in unison.

“I get that you two are having what I’m sure is really important and serious discussion, but to me it just sounds like you’re arguing over something kinda dumb. And also I have, like, no idea what’s going here, so if you guys could stop for a moment that would be great, because along with everything that’s been going on, you two fighting is just making me more anxious.”

Roman looked up in alarm at that. “Wait, anxious? Then that means-”

“Sup guys.”

“Gah! Virgil! You’re here! Heeeeeeey...”

As soon as Thomas had blinked while Roman had been talking, another him, (apparently named Virgil) who was brooding, wearing dark eyeshadow, and donning a patched purple and black hoodie, had shown up. Thomas would be fooling himself if he thought he still had dignity left after falling off the bed for the second time, but at least he had only knocked loose a few pillows and didn’t bring the whole blanket with him this time. Logan was more composed, only flinching a small bit when the new mirror man appeared.

“Ah, hello Virgil. What brings you here?”

“Seriously? All this unease and unrest, you couldn’t not expect me to show up.”

“Wellllll, I think you’ve made your point, Thomas is more than spooked about the situation, Sweeny Toddler, so I think you can be going now.” Roman interjected. Virgil gave him an unamused eyebrow raise before turning to address Thomas.

“Are you sure you’re not going crazy Thomas? I mean Prince Stink Face and Teach here have already made it pretty clear this is all going on inside your head. How do you know this isn’t you just talking to yourself in the mirror right now, confirming your worst fears?” he said with a slight drawl of the lips.

“Okay, Virgil, that’s enough, he already has enough anxiety as it is.” Logan cut him off before he could go further, “You know as well as any of us that Thomas is not going crazy.”

“Do I know that Logan?” Virgil said in a low voice, still looking at Thomas, a slight smirk on his lips, “all I know is that we seem to be figments of some guy’s imagination, and those figments seem to be really stressing him out,” he said, finally breaking eye contact with Thomas (who had been backed up against his bed on the floor in fear) to look at the other two.

“So I think I, as well as Thomas, would appreciate it if you two would cut it the heck out.”

“Ugh, fiiiiiiiine. Sorry Thomas, and I guess sorry Logan. I got a little toooo...passionate? Back there, and I uh, didn’t mean to upset you Thomas, really.” Roman said while tugging on his sleeve. Virgil then turned to look at Logan, clearing his throat slightly and giving him a pointed look.

“I...suppose I should apologize as well,” Logan said with some disdain in his voice, “Thomas. Roman. I am sorry.”

“Anything else you wanna say Teach?” Virgil said under his breath.

“No, I believe that covers it.”

“Well, I tried, sorry Princey. Okay, well, I think my job here is done. Maybe next time don’t argue like babies and I won’t have to work so hard next time, okay? I’m gonna head out so one of you can explain to Thomas what’s going on, because honestly, being the productive one around here sounds exhausting. Oh and Thomas?” Virgil said, making eye contact with him again.

Thomas looked up and gulped, he didn’t know what to think anymore, “Uh- Uh huh?”

“See you in your nightmares.” and with a final wink, he was gone.

“Ugh he’s so dramatic.” Roman declared with an eyeroll.

“You’re one to talk, but yes, that last bit was rather unnecessary. I don’t think you have anything to worry about Thomas. Virgil is just like that sometimes.” Logan said with an adjustment of his glasses.

“If by ‘like that’ you mean ‘completely terrifying’ then yeah, I can see that.” Thomas said with a shudder.

“Well that does make sense seeing as he embodies your anxiety.” Logan supplied.

“Oh,” Thomas said in a weak voice, “good. Nice to know I’m such a rich and complicated individual that even my anxiety becomes personified. That’s just...peachy.”

“I’m not sure how the flavor of peaches has anything to do with-”

“It’s an expression, Professor Literal,” Roman said exasperatedly.

“Ah, I see.”

Thomas took a moment to run a hand down his face and compose himself, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“So let’s review so I can get this straight,” Roman snorted at that but Thomas pressed on anyway, “You all embody facets of my personality? And for some reason that means looking like a bunch of different Me’s in costumes, and only appearing in my mirrors when I least expect it.”

Logan cut in here, “Hmm, well yes and no. We do embody different sides of your personality, yes, but we hardly appear when least expected. Mirrors have somewhat intrinsic qualities to them that make it easier for us to appear in them, but whether that is due to unprecedented scientific phenomenon or simply to a mind’s long winded metaphor for ‘self reflection’ I can’t say. But I can say as to why we show up when we do.”

“Okay then, why’s that?”

“We are tied to certain parts of your personality, are we not? And what is a personality but a collection of feelings, thought processes, motivations, etc. So what happens when you feel particularly strongly about something or when your mind leads down a particular train of thought is that those things are linked to each of us. What I’m saying is, your mental state influences how we show up sometimes, and when we appear to you. Sort of like how you did with Virgil a minute ago. You were feeling very anxious, so then the embodiment of anxiety shows up. As straightforward as 1+1=2.” Logan finished.

“So...when I am in a certain mentality I, what, summon one of you?”

“Not quite. We are facets of your personality Thomas, we are always with you, so we cannot truly be summoned. However, when you enter these specific mental states, it makes it...I would say, ‘easier’ to show ourselves in a more visual manner. Sometimes even...unintentionally,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “but that’s neither here nor there.”

Roman coughed a little in what sounded like “nerd” but Logan simply rolled his eyes. Thomas continued to ask questions about the other Sides to himself in the mirror (they had apparently taken to calling themselves that) while Logan and Roman tried their best to explain things.

He still wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t lost his mind, but the more they talked and he was around them, the less freaked out he was by their presence there in the first place. He learned the names of the other Sides he had yet to properly meet as well as their functions. He learned that he had a Side named Patton who apparently encompassed his Morality and his Heart, so to speak, though Logan seemed to have some trepidation about him and Thomas meeting because of what Roman referred to as a ‘long suffering battle against an assault of Dad Jokes and puns’. He learned who Remus was, apparently being somewhat symbolically Roman’s ‘brother’, as he encompassed what Logan called the ‘dark side of his creativity’, and Thomas’s intrusive thoughts, (which he was not thrilled about) but Logan insisted it would be fine as there were easy ways to deal with him should he become a problem in the future. There was also Janus, which Thomas remembered having an encounter with before after Logan explained what he looked like, what with the snake aesthetic and all. He supposedly embodied Thomas’s self-preservation, deceitfulness, and denial, which...made sense given he had shown up before when Thomas had been lying to himself about when he was going to go to bed. Thomas still wasn’t sure if he could make heads or tails of what was happening to him, but he felt he now had a better understanding about what he was seeing, even if he still couldn’t grasp the why.

***

It was a few days after his audition and Thomas thought he had done well. He saw Roman on the lobby mirror give him a thumbs up and mouthing the words ‘Let’s do this!’ before he went on stage, which weirdly enough helped in its own way, and now he felt pretty good about his performance. To make things better, he had gotten a call earlier today that confirmed he would be in the play, so he was just waiting to see if he got the roll he auditioned for. Feeling pretty happy and confident, Thomas decided to make himself some celebratory pancakes for dinner with lots of chocolate chips and a mountain of syrup.

He was mixing the batter and looking at the recipe on his phone when the screen faded and turned to black before he could tap it to wake it up. He sighed as he sat down the bowl to pick up his phone and pull up the recipe again, when he saw his reflection wearing glasses.

“Oh, uh, hi, Logan. What’re you doing here?”

“Oh sorry Kiddo, not Logan! Though I get the mix up with the glasses,” he chucked, “I’m your happy pappy Pop, Patton! And yes, the title is...Patton Pending,” he said with a wink.

“Oh right! You’re Patton, my morality right? I was warned about your dad jokes,” Thomas said with a laugh.

“Yeeeah, Roman told me you all did introductions a while ago, but I was just checking in on my favorite Kiddo to see what you were cooking up! I’m so proud you’re learning how to cook Thomas, you batter believe it,” Patton said, grinning from ear to ear.

Thomas snorted through his nose and shook his head at that.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Patton. But speaking of batter, I really should get back to these pancakes.”

“Of course Kiddo! I’ll be right here if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask,” he said with a smile.

“Uh, sure. But uh, if you don’t mind me asking, how um, how could you help? You’re in my phone right now.”

“Oh um,” Patton looked puzzled for a second, “I guess if you need help with the instructions or if you just need a friend to talk to, I’ll be right there to help with that,” he said, picking back up that same enthusiasm.

“Okay Patton, thank you,” Thomas smiled in return, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

***

Over the next several months Thomas continued to see the Sides of himself occasionally, usually in mirrors or other reflective surfaces. At first he was freaked out and would get a little jump every time he saw one, but eventually he grew used to them just popping in whenever he was doing or thinking about something that ‘summoned’ them, even though Logan didn’t like him referring to it as that. Thomas got used to seeing them while brushing his teeth, or making breakfast, or in his dressing room before going out on stage, and he wasn’t bothered by it anymore, not as much at least.

He would pass idle conversation with them on occasion, sometimes arguing with Logan about his health habits, brainstorming ideas with Roman, having a small debate with Patton in his computer screen about what was the best ‘nice dialogue’ option in a video game.

Virgil would show up pretty regularly when Thomas was feeling anxious, and it was kind of a mixed bag on how he would react to Thomas when he showed up. Sometimes he showed up and just made Thomas more anxious, but on a couple of times when Thomas had it really bad, Virgil actually helped him calm down a bit with a breathing technique Thomas remembered Talyn teaching him once. So he actually wasn’t so bad, though it was a bit annoying when he was trying to sleep and he would look in his bedroom mirror to see either Virgil or Remus.

The first time Remus showed up in person was not pleasant and Thomas had had some pretty vivid nightmares after, but thankfully the next morning, Logan had helped diffuse the situation and put Thomas more at ease.

Janus liked to show up in the reflection of his phone screen whenever his friends texted him wanting him to do something for them when he already had a prior commitment, or if he was particularly stressed out about a dilemma. He would tell Thomas that he would be busy that day, to which Thomas would often reply something along the lines of ‘busy with what? I’m not doing anything that day,’ to which Janus would say something sarcastic but which always led back to the central theme of self-care. Thomas was pretty wary to listen to Janus at first, given Logan had said that he encompassed Thomas’s deceitfulness, but after Janus had gotten him out of a couple of jams that had almost led to near mental health crises, he had given him a shot and started to listen to his advice on occasion. Not too much, because who knew where that would lead, but sometimes, on instances when Janus’s warnings and advice were too pertinent to ignore.

All in all, Thomas began to like his Sides, not minding talking to them and spending time with them. They helped him out in a lot of areas of his life, and hindered him in some others, but that only seemed to happen when he was either ignoring one of them or listening to another too much. Patton had started referring to all of them as a family, emphasis on the ILY, and it was he who suggested Thomas take a family portrait in front of the hall mirror with all his Sides. Thomas wasn’t sure how much that would work, given it would probably just look like a selfie in front of his mirror, but seeing how excited Patton was, he decided to humor him.

Patton had called everyone to meet in the hall mirror while Thomas sat up the tripod for the camera. He ended up standing in the middle while his Sides stood to the left and the right of him. Roman was posing dramatically with a dashing smile while Logan muttered about how unnecessary it was, what with the logistics of showing up on camera. Virgil pulled his hood up and got teased by Remus for being ‘camera shy’. Janus wore a mischievous smirk and was flourishing a cane he had gotten from somewhere, rivaling Roman in who could be the most dramatic. Remus was somehow hanging from the top of the mirror frame upside down and was making a crude gesture with his hands while sticking out his tongue, and Patton was nearest Thomas, debating whether to make a heart with his hands or give Thomas bunny ears, and ended up going with the heart after Logan had made an unintentional pun about it. Finally Thomas finished setting up the camera while all his Sides got ready behind him, and he set the timer. He moved to take his place in the middle and told everyone to say ‘Cheese’.

“Romano-” “Cheddar!” “Nooo-” “Fermented milk solids-” “Rat Bait!�� “The worst salad topping, I’m sure-”

And with a Click and a bit of laughter from Thomas at everyone’s replacement for ‘Cheese’, it was done.

Thomas was checking on the film to make sure everything had worked okay, and Logan was already preemptively warning him that it was likely Thomas had done nothing more than take a nice photo of himself in front of the mirror without the others being visible. Thomas turned and nodded at Logan saying he knew and he wouldn’t be too disappointed since that was what he thought was most likely.

Thomas continued to check the camera while the others chatted in the background. Then he scrolled through the photos to look at the most recent one taken. He reeled back in shock before breaking into the widest grin.

“Guys, I have the best news.”

“Ooo what is it Thomas?” Patton asked.

Thomas tried to bite back his excitement and his Sides turned to look at him with various levels of anticipation and curiosity.

“You all can show up on camera.”

***

Author’s Note: I'm not going to continue this, but after that ending imagine Thomas sets up a bunch of glass panes in his Livingroom with a great idea about what his new YouTube series will be. I guess could also be considered a "the sides are real but also actors for the Sander Sides series" AU if you want. Tag me if you write anything with this idea in the future because I'm interested in reading it.

Taglist: (sorry it’s the same one for A Hitchhiker’s Guide For Androids)

@enby-phoenix

@farflypants

@callboxkat

@skruffy901

@lefaystrent

@ianasha

@delimeful

@scared-ghosthunter

@equations-of-logan

@hiddendreamer67

@alexa-is-fangirl-trash

@momolinia

@thecipherfox

@sweet-razz-tea

@noah-shite

@mothdaemon

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scaryscarecrows · 4 years

Text

Kindred Spirit

AN: Warning for mentions of dog fighting. Nothing graphic, because Jason killed everybody.

The Dog (Lemon, even if not named here) is modelled after one of my own dogs (nothing bad has ever happened to Edgar, don’t worry) in ‘breed’.

CAVEAT EMPTOR: I am not a vet, nor have any animals I owned ever had severe injuries; Jason’s Beginner Dog Care is what I’ve done upon obtaining a stray dog/dealing with doggy illnesses/caring for a dog that had knee surgery. Seek a professional for your own situation! <3

* * *

The two types of cases Jason hates the most are ones with kids and animals. He feels for the adult victims, but, well, that guy that tried to steal fear toxin for his own gains and got turned into one of Richardson’s lobotomized zombies? That’s on him. He made poor choices. Kids, though, they haven’t done anything, and animals never will, and…

Those are the ones that keep him up at night, that’s all.

This one isn’t even one of the worst. It’s still awful, but it was a small-time dog fighting ring rather than one of the big ones. Most of the animals can probably be rehabilitated. The owners...well…

So he got a little overzealous with a machete he found outside. He doubts people will care. He was going to be nicer, but he had to rescue a bait dog and there wasn’t time to do his usual sass-and-dance routine. Those fuckers were gonna--

It doesn’t matter what they were gonna do. They didn’t, and that’s what matters.

The dog in question is curled, whimpering, in a corner. It-she, that was a mama dog at some point-has a messed up leg. She’s a big girl, dirty and jowly, looks like she’s got some pit in her. Jesus…

He should go. The cops will be here soon and they’re not friends. But...it’s just…

It’s dumb. He knows it’s dumb. But damn if he doesn’t feel some sorta kindred connection with the dog in the corner. And they might not even try to take her, with her leg like that, and her face is torn in places, and…

He drops the machete, opens up his helmet, and crouches down a few feet away. He’s got time.

“Hey, baby girl,” he says gently, pitching his voice to be heard over the hellish barking. “Hey-hey, sweetheart…”

He’s not sure what to do. It won’t be her fault if she bites him, but that’s still not appealing. Okay...he knows how to make a cloth muzzle, that won’t hurt her and maybe…

He rips a strip of cloth from one of the bastard’s shirts-least he can do is make himself useful in death-and makes his way over, trying to look as nonthreatening as possible.

“I’m not gonna hurt ya, baby,” he murmurs. “I’m gonna help, okay? But I gotta make sure you don’t bite me, huh? There’s a good girl, just be still…”

She licks his fingers. He doesn’t start crying, but it’s a near thing.

He hates animal cases…

“There we go, sweetheart. There we go. I’m gonna pick ya up, okay, baby? We’re gonna go someplace they’re gonna fix ya up, it’s okay, you’re a good girl…”

She’s a big girl, but Jason’s picked up bigger. Okay. No skylight. At least these sorry bastards set up shop in town, rather than on the outskirts.

“Okay, baby,” he says. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

* * *

He intends to deposit her safely at the animal clinic a few blocks from his apartment, say good-bye, and tell himself she got adopted by a nice home with two point five kids or whatever. What happens is that he gives them his current number, says he’ll take her until she’s better, and spends the next hour finding an all-night store with pet supplies.

In hindsight, he should have gone home and changed. But that ship has sailed, which is why he’s standing in the pet aisle at Goth-Mart, in full Red Hood gear, pushing a tiny cart, at three in the damn morning.

Um. What now.

Okay. Okay, okay. Dogs gotta eat, right? Right--aw, shit, there’s varieties? Dry, wet, refrigerated...you gotta be kidding.

Google says a bland cooked food might be his better bet. He throws a bag of kibble into the cart anyway, figures he’ll get some chicken before he leaves, and keeps going. Okay, okay, leash, leash is good, and a collar-his apartment might be in a crappy part of town, but it is clean and he’s not about to lock her in the bathroom forever-uh...toys! Toys. Dogs like bones, probably, or maybe a squeaky toy? No balls, she can’t run. Erm...that is a Batman plush toy. It even looks like him, judgemental chin and all.

A grinchy grin spreads over his face. Squeaky Batman goes into the cart.

He’s gazing at what looks like an endless amount of treats when there’s a shadow at his elbow and a wary voice asks, “Finding everything okay?”

No. No, he is not. And he’s not Bruce, he is asking for help.

“I ended up with a dog,” he says, turning slowly and carefully. “She’s had a pretty rough start in life, and she’s hurt, so…”

“Any allergies?”

“I have no idea.”

“Hmm.” Apparently they’re not worried he’s going to body-slam them into the grimy tiles, because they come closer. “Well, my guys love these things.” Liver treats? Blech. “They stink, but hey.”

You know what, fine.

“I’ll try ‘em. Hey, do you guys have dog beds? She won’t be able to get up on mine, but I don’t want her to be stuck on the carpet, and--”

“On the back wall.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure thing! If you need anything else, just ask.”

* * *

He’s still not sure why he went with the seventy-five dollar bed with sides and the fancy stuffing. Whatever. He did, and he had to do some rearrangement of his bedroom furniture, but it fits.

What? If she needs him, he wants to be there quickly, rather than having to remember that oh, yeah, there’s a dog in my kitchen.

Why aren’t they calling? Shit, nothing’s gone wrong, right? They said they were pretty sure--but shit happens and--

His phone rings. Twenty minutes later, he’s walking into the clinic to meet with the mild-mannered vet that took her initially.

“We set her leg, stitched her face up,” he says. “She’s hardy. She has been bred before--”

“I figured.”

The vet nods.

“She’s also suffering some malnutrition. I’d recommend a bland diet for a week or two before introducing regular dog food.” Ah, Google came through for him. “Keep her warm and off that leg, but if she wants to get up and move around, she can if you’re there to support her. Try to keep her down, though.”

“Will do.”

“Okay. I’m gonna send you home with a week’s worth of pain medication for her, and a ‘scrip for more, but I’d like to see her back next Friday-ish to see how she’s doing.”

“I can do that. Thanks for, um, I know this is kind of short notice, but I didn’t…” He sighs. “There were a lotta dogs there and I didn’t know if they’d even bother with her.”

“Hm.” The man’s lip curls. “You said she was a bait dog?”

“I think so.”

“Some people are scum...c’mon back. She’s probably a little groggy, but she should be awake.”

‘Groggy’ is not the word he’d use; the dog’s high as a damn kite, bug-eyed and a little drooly. She’s clean, though; turns out she’s a gray dog. Her ears are cropped-shitty job, looks like-and there’s stitches going across her nose to her right cheek. Her leg’s in a pink cast, and when she sees him, her tail starts going.

“Hey, baby,” he says, reaches out a hand for her to sniff. “You ready to get outta here?” The tail smacks the bars of the crate. Christ. He’s suddenly so glad he got that seventy-five dollar dog bed. “C’mon. Let’s go home.”

THE END

#Jason Todd #Jason obtains a dog #TW: mentions of dog fighting #nothing graphic but still #Lemon the Dog

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sgmwesters · 3 years

Photo

╰ ❛ 💉 — › camila mendes. cis woman. she/her. . ╯ have you met larissa sousa yet ? this twenty six year old scorpio has been living in the seattle area for one year. she makes a living as a cardio nurse, which is best suited for their self-assured, amorous, bitchy, and hot-headed personality. bad girls by m.i.a is one of their favorite songs, and they’re written by em, 25, gmt, she/her, no triggers

B A S I C I N F O R M A T I O N

full name: larissa eva sousa.

nickname(s): lara.

age: twenty six (26).

date of birth: 28 october 1994, scorpio.

hometown: raleigh, north carolina.

current location: seattle, washington.

ethnicity: brazilian-american.

nationality: american.

gender: cis woman.

pronouns: she/her.

orientation: again ?? all will be revealed ??

religion: christian.

political affiliation: democrat.

occupation: cardio nurse.

living arrangements: lives with sam bello.

language(s) spoken: english, portuguese (fluent).

accent: none.

P H Y S I C A L A P P E A R A N C E

face claim: camila mendes.

hair color: brown.

eye color: brown.

height: 5 ft 2.

weight: 108lbs.

build: slim, athletic.

tattoos: none.

piercings: ears x3.

clothing style: scrubs, if at home then sweats, but when she makes an effort she brings it.

usual expression: a smile.

distinguishing characteristics: birth mark on the back of her left leg.

H E A L T H

physical ailments: mild arrhythmia.

neurological conditions: suffers from depression.

allergies: none.

sleeping habits: with other people usually.

eating habits: a lot of pasta, mostly cooked in bulk for the week.

exercise habits: attends spin classes when she can, but usually only makes it once a week.

emotional stability: sits at about a seven but could be knocked to a two from the wrong coffee order.

sociability: would flirt with a tree.

body temperature: runs a little warm.

addictions: none.

drug use: none (any more).

alcohol use: often.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

positive traits: self-assured, amorous.

negative traits: bitchy, hot-headed.

fears: car crashes.

F A V O U R I T E S

weather: she’d say it’s the sun, but she secretly enjoys the rain.

colour: pink.

music: whatever is in the top on spotify.

movies: horror.

sport: beer pong.

beverage: water, or rum.

food: lasagne.

animal: panda.

H E A D C A N O N S

larissa was born as the only child to first generation brazilian immigrants, and is very proud of her heritage, taking the time to speak in portuguese where she can in order to maintain it.

larissa lost her mother at a young age. her mother, also a nurse, had been driving home from the hospital in the early hours of new years day after a long shift, where she was hit by a drunk driver. this has always stayed with larissa, and is part of what pushed her into nursing herself.

growing up, larissa and her father were not close. he had to work more hours than possible in a day following her mother’s death, and as such the two barely saw one another.

this strained relationship and lack of structure had larissa hanging out with those her father would consider the ‘wrong crowd’. she started partaking in recreational drugs, for no reason other than the attention the others gave her when she agreed to do it.

one evening and a couple of pills into the night, larissa started having chest pains. she collapsed, and one of the friends she was with had the right idea to call an ambulance. a series of tests later revealed that larissa had a mild arrhythmia, and the increasing use of drugs had caused her heart to beat out of rhythm.

assured by the doctors that this was only mild, and after a stern talking to with her father, larissa had to buck up her ideas and focus on what she knew she was meant to be doing: nursing school.

upon graduation larissa moved to florida to attend a nursing school there, it not taking her long to decide that cardio was where her skills were best suited. she knew the ins and outs from her own experiences, and figured that would only help with her patient care.

while she worked to become a nurse, she met sam bello, and once she found out sam was moving to seattle it didn’t take long for her to decide to follow suit.

2 0 2 1 U P D A T E S

we all know larissa’s heart went bang and she went back home in order to be cared for by her dad and her aunt. she thought that this would make things easier on their relationships, being close together, and it did for a while. as soon as she started making a better recovery though, the cracks started showing again.

larissa made the decision to come back to seattle. she was always happier there, it’s where sam was, and it just made sense for her to be close to those who had always been there for her in the past. she’s back as a nurse in the cardio ward, but has altered duties as not to over-exert herself.

so anyway yeah she’s back <3

W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S / P L O T S

what if i said i wanted a dramatic ex to lovers would you give it to me would you

we all know larissa was a pretty laid back gal in the romance department so gimme old hookups/exes nothing serious probably just oncall rooms from before her heart went bang

the big brother figure that garrett was gonna be when he was here <3

#━━ ✦ 𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐀 ❮ biography ❯#newintros

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weforgotthatwearethestars · 4 years

Text

No Memory is Gonna Save You Now (part 2)

Told ya it’d be up tonight 😅

To reiterate (aka the summary):

While out on patrol, Peter looses most of his memories. Through the kindness of strangers, his friends, and his family, he learns exactly what those closest to him mean to him.

Starker, so don’t like don’t read!

Also here on Ao3!

Tags: amnesia, temporary amnesia, team as family, canon-typical violence, fluff, angst, happy ending

As it turns out, and much to Peter’s amusement, Tony may have overestimated his ability to ‘fix this’.

The situation is stressful, sure. It took Tony showing him half a dozen videos of the two of them, relaxed, in and out of the suits they wear before Peter would be convinced to hand the suit he was wearing over to Tony. It takes Peter even more time to trust Tony to sift through the wires and code on his own, at Tony’s insistence to get cleaned up and have a damn nap already, your jaw is clicking when you yawn.

But Peter trusted him. Not all at once, but after too many questions and Tony showing all the patience in the world it was hard not to.

Besides, Tony’s name was written in his arm.

Underlined.

And Peter was still choosing to believe that meant a hell of a lot.

So when Peter wakes up, still clutching the I.D. card, wrapped in a blanket and borrowed clothes, with no more memories than when he fell asleep, he looks around for Tony. And he can’t be blamed that he finds the sight of the genius arguing with a man in a red cape that’s twitching like it’s alive amusing.

They’re going back and forth about time constraints, spell ingredients, and “ - he’s saved your ass before, Strange! You can’t just - ”

“Talking about me while I’m asleep. Super classy of you guys.” Peter says as he sits up on the old couch in the lab, shoving the I.D. card into a pocket. Strange, The Asshole Wizard (as Tony has called him many times now) sighs in what sounds like relief and says something to Peter. He’s not too focused on what because the red cape has floated off his shoulders and is coming for him!

Peter manages a squawk before it wraps around his middle in what he comes to realize is a hug….? He pats the bit of cape that’s over his chest and it ripples happily under his hand.

“Y-you’re alive?!” he exclaims as the cape ripples around him a little more. Peter starts to giggle as the cape seems to be enjoying the petting and attention. After a point it starts to move him around and before long it sweeps Peter off his feet and tosses him like he just jumped off a trampoline. Peter shrieks, half delight half fear, as he’s launched toward the ceiling, the other two men shout as well. He reaches the apex of his toss at just the right height to calmly reach out and stick himself to the ceiling with all of his limbs. He laughs a little more as he arches to look over and down to see -

“How the hell are you doing that!? That’s so cool!”

A portal had opened just underneath him, Strange seemed to be holding it open while Tony had his arms out as if to catch him. The cape floating between them, twitching this way and that. Tony looked like he couldn’t decide between amused and annoyed, and honestly either would be a good look on him.

Peter grinned and it seemed to tip the other man to begrudgingly amused. I’ll take it.

“Let go, Pete. I’ll catch you.”

Peter snorts because if he’s learned anything about his abilities in the hours before he fell asleep it’s that he could get down off the ceiling by himself, with or without the portal.

But, he lets go without much of a thought, passing through the portal and landing in Tony’s arms, bridal style.

As much as he’s learned about his own abilities, he’s also learned a decent amount about Tony and the amount of pure caring he’s got packed into himself for others. Or at least for Peter and his own creations. As soon as Peter is through, Strange lets the portal fizzle out.

“I thought you said he didn’t have control of his powers.” Strange says, sounding smug. Peter expects Tony to have some sort of snappy comeback but when it doesn’t come immediately, he pulls his eyes from the fizzled out portal, face pulling out of the goofy grin and into something more concerned, to look up and over at Tony. Tony’s looking at Peter already, stunned and shocked at best, something deeper twisting in his eyes. Tony’s grip tightens on him minutely and it clicks.

Possessiveness.

Peter doesn’t have time to react to his revelation before, “I’m sorry, should I come back?”

Tony and Peter’s heads whip around like they’ve been caught doing something far worse than staring at each other. Tony clears his throat while Peter blushes and both scramble to get Peter’s feet on the ground.

“So, ah,” Peter stutters out, shaking himself mentally to get back to the issue at hand, “You guys were talking about my memories?” This seemed to reboot Tony completely as he looks sharply back at Strange and Strange’s smug amusement falls to generally disheartened and vaguely annoyed.

“Yes, we were.” Strange replies, “As I was trying to explain to Stark, I can’t just put your memories back. It’s a process. And it’s going to take even more time to put them back because we were so quick with removing them to begin with.”

Peter feels his eyebrows draw together and before he can really think it through, he asks, “Why were you rushing the first time?” Strange looks dubious while Tony just glares at him but both, somehow, look guilty.

“You got kidnapped by aliens that are part of a hive mind that are trying to take over this planet. They’re highly advanced, technologically, but not magically. When you dropped off the map and Stark couldn’t find you, he called me.”

Peter blinks at him once, twice, because how - “How did you just say all of that with a straight face?” he asks, completely at a loss.

Strange rolls his eyes with a muttered, “Always a damn comedian.” while Tony snorts and says, “Good one, Pete.” Peter just blinks at the two of them. That seems to make them realize he’s not joking.

“I explained all of this to you last night!”

“I thought you were being dramatic! Or, just, like, making things up so I’d pay attention!”

“I mean, that doesn’t sound far from your usual, Stark.”

“I swear, Tinkerbell - ”

“Guys!” Peter half shouts to get his voice above their bickering, grin growing as he looks between the two men and the floating cape. “Magic is real!” and now he’s really grinning like a lunatic, “That’s fascinating!”

Tony has a fond, confused smile crawling up his face while Strange just rolls his eyes and mutters with a slight smirk.

They discuss things a little longer, determining that they will have to at least wait until the alien threat is gone before they attempt to put Peter’s memories back. Strange is called away while they discuss the details of the ritual, which leaves Tony and Peter with more questions than answers, really.

“He’s always so damn cryptic.” Tony mutters as he heads back to his project.

But that’s before the banshee in Peter’s stomach decides to growl.

Peter smiles sheepishly while Tony turns back around to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Baby girl, what time is it?”

“11:34 am, sir.”

“With your metabolism, you must be starving.” Tony mutters as he saves his holos and shuts it all down with a few waves. Then Tony claps, rubbing his hands together on the way to the door and says, “To the kitchen!” with Peter trailing behind him.

Peter tries to protest a little, managing to at least delay things mildly when he asks if he should be carrying around his memories in an I.D. card in his pocket. Tony just takes it from him, striding to one end of the lab, open a fucking secret panel in the floor that has five kinds of crazy locks before it opens up with a dull thud and a grunt on Tony’s part. Once the card is placed inside, Tony just strides back, grabbing his arm gently as he walks by, guiding him firmly out of the lab.

He’s determined to feed Peter it seems.

So Peter just keeps his mild panic to himself.

Because Peter isn’t stupid he knows that, in a place this big, they’re likely to run into someone. And if they’re going to their usual haunts, then they’re much more likely to run into someone they know. The lab seemed like a place that was just for him and Tony (and the bots). Who knows if ‘the kitchen’ is a communal space or private. And this line of thinking just raises more questions for Peter.

Because he doesn’t know anything.

He doesn’t know what building this is other than the ‘Tower’. He doesn’t know if people live here, if this is a business place, or where literally anything is. There is apparently a lobby, a lab, and a kitchen and this, really is as far as he’s gotten. They’re on their way to find food and he doesn’t even know what he likes, for Newton’s sake!

What if he has a food allergy? What if he manages to harm himself and he doesn’t know if he has any allergies to medication? Oh, nononono, what if he has pets and doesn’t feed them? What if they die and - ?

“Are you coming? Or are you going to just…..stand in the elevator all day?” Tony asks, snapping Peter out of his internal existential spiral.

“Do I have pets?!” Peter asks, a little frantic, wild eyed as he stares at Tony.

He blinks once or twice then, “No? But we can go to your room after this, if you want? I mean, I don’t think you have a living pet but you make robots at random and, knowing you, you’ve adopted a rock and feed it, like, love twice a day or something.” Rolling his eyes fondly, Tony grabs Peter’s arm lightly and starts towing him out of the elevator, saying, “Come on, you’re not getting out of food.”

For some reason, this makes Peter relax a bit.

Peter lets himself be towed down a hall and through a living room with couches and a large tv and into a well stocked, modern kitchen. Tony drops his arm as he passes the stools tucked into an island and rounds, making a beeline for the fridge. Peter takes the hint and sits on a stool as Tony turns back towards him with a calculating look on his face.

“If I ask you what you like to eat, would you know the answer?” It seems like an overly round-about way of asking if he even remembers what foods he likes but Peter shakes his head, frowning in response to his realization.

Tony’s face softens though and with a flap of a hand he says, “Don’t worry. I know what you like. Sweet or savory?”

Peter feels his face scrunch a little, then replies, “Savory?”

“Got it.” Tony fires off with a grin before he’s on the move again. A green apple is soon tossed his way, a moment later a jar of peanut butter, too. He notes that it’s labeled with his name before a knife is placed on the counter in front of him. “Usually you just slap the peanut butter on the apple and bite into it all together.”

The face Peter pulls must betray his confusion and mild disgust because Tony laughs as he pulls the peanut butter jar from Peter’s hand lightly. “I know how it sounds but usually when you’re hungry,” he starts as he works the lid of the jar then tilting the opening toward Peter’s face, “you get impatient.” Peter gets one whiff of the peanut butter and his stomach growls loudly as his mouth starts salivating. Shocked, Peter looks up at Tony, wide-eyed, as the other man grins at him, happy to have gotten Peter so right.

He gently takes the jar from Tony, blinking down into the contents and wondering for the millionth time just how well this man might know him. Tony nods to himself, happy, like he’s ticking off something on a to-do list, then turns around to the fridge.

He’s going about the kitchen, taking things out and settling into some sort of rhythm all his own so….Peter just watches. He contemplates offering his help once or twice as he makes his way through half the apple and a third of the jar but he never feels like he needs to. Like he’s expected to. It’s the first time he’s sat and just….existed since he woke up under those trees and it’s both oddly forgein and terribly comforting.

He slathers on more peanut butter and munches more of his apple and tries his best to just, be.

It doesn’t last long, sadly.

A man walks in with too many muscles, long hair flung wildly around his face, and a metal arm in his hand. The man grunts in his direction before he turns to Tony, dropping the metal arm on the counter in front of Peter. Tony and the man start talking but, honestly, Peter couldn’t care less what they’re saying because the arm in front of him is beautiful.

His hands are running all over it before he really ever gave himself permission or thought to ask for anyone else’s. The design is a thing of wonder but it’s heavier than he feels an arm maybe should be. He’s got about three ways to improve the weight as he articulates the limb only to find that there’s a snag in the elbow. There’s a memory in his hands as he checks over the plates of the arm, feels vaguely like he’s done this all before somehow. There’s no visual, techni-colored memory to pull up as a reference but he knows, in his fingers and his wrists, the way to twist the arm around, the way plates are supposed to shift, and where the access panels are.

He’s got it open as easy as breathing and he’s got his hands on the issue in nothing flat. Pulling out the flat, floppy magnet with a content noise and a smile, seems to be what breaks Peter out of his mechanical-sleuthing trance. He drops the wrist onto the counter with a loud clang, causing the long haired man to look over at him sharply from where he was busy making what looks to be coffee.

“You good, Queens?” Peter hears the man ask as he continues to stare at the arm, trying to figure out, understand somehow, that his fingers knew more than he did for a little while there.

“Did you find something weird in it?” the man asks and Peter jumps. The man is standing at his side and he doesn’t remember hearing the guy move. The guy takes the magnet that’s still in Peter’s hand, inspects it quickly, before he seems to relax a little and almost, maybe does something with his lips that could be construed as a smile.

If you squint.

“Clint.” the man states, fond annoyance bleeding into his tone. He ruffles Peter’s hair which turns into some sort of shoulder squeeze. Then he leans over, taps all the panels closed, picks the arm up, and jams it holy mother of - !

It’s the guy’s own fucking arm, Peter thinks in complete and utter horror and fascination.

The guy wiggles the fingers around, bends the elbow, rotates the shoulder then smiles, properly this time.

He picks up his mug, waves at Peter and Tony vaguely, with a “Thanks, kid.” thrown over his shoulder before he’s gone again.

Peter’s still gaping a little at where the guy disappeared out of. He’s probably been gaping for an inordinate amount of time when there is a hand (flesh and blood, because that’s a note we have to make now) wiggled in his face.

Peter blinks once or twice to pull the hand into focus and, after a moment or two, sees that the hand is attached to Tony.

A confused Tony.

“Why didn’t you tell Elsa you lost your memories? Did you recognize him or something?” Tony asks and Peter just gapes.

Tony’s about to add something when, “His name is Elsa?”

Peter has a feeling that the incredulity is what startles the rawkus laughter out of Tony, but he supposes he can’t be sure. Further testing will definitely be needed, he thinks as he feels his lips curl into a grin at the warm, happy sound.

Tony takes a little while to get a hold of himself before he manages, “I guess he’s not familiar then.” He smirks at Peter, laughter still in his eyes as he explains, “His name is Bucky. He’s got a metal arm and you fix it for him when it breaks, most of the time.” Peter makes a thoughtful noise as Tony continues chopping things and mulls the new information over.

“Is he like a brother or more like good friends or something?” Peter asks. He figures it’s an innocent enough question and that it would fit with the man’s, Bucky’s, actions. He’d ruffled his hair, squeezed his shoulder, deposited his beautiful, malfunctioning, cybernetic arm for Peter to fix (and drool over). Peter figures that’s the kind of thing you do with someone you know and trust.

Fixing someone’s arm is a big deal. But then being an arm down around someone is a vulnerable position as well.

With this thought Peter adds, “You must mean something to him too, right?”

There’s no immediate response so Peter looks back over at Tony only to find that the man is just staring at him with his kitchen knife half way through an onion. Peter frowns and asks, “Are you alright?” which seems to shake Tony out of whatever trance he’s ended up in.

“Yeah, no, ah -” he coughs a bit then goes back to chopping as he continues, “We’re fine, mostly. But you’re pretty right. About you guys. He trusts you, you’re pretty good friends. He’s on the team, sorta. It’s similar to how you’re on the team sorta.”

“How many superheroes are there? Do they all live here, too?” Tony chuckles at that but seems to relax a little more with the broader topic. Peter tries to remember to maybe avoid Bucky as a topic in front of Tony until his memories are back in his head.

“Not all the hero's live here but there’s a decent amount who do. Want me to tell you a little about everyone?”

Peter grins, “Please?”

And Tony tells him.

Tony tells him about how the first time Peter meant Captain America in the suit, he had stolen the shield from him and earned the nickname ‘Queens’ and how, after a long fight, everyone got their shit together and talked like adults.

He told him about how the first time he met Natasha in the lab, out of his suit as Tony’s intern, she had narrowed her eyes at Peter, then Tony, then back at Peter and said, calm as anything, “If you hurt him I’ll kill you.” and walked out. Tony says it took him nearly two weeks to convince Peter to go back to the lab after that.

He laughs through an explanation of the ‘severe fanboying’ Peter had done when he had met Bruce the first time and how happy Bruce was to science with Peter after he had gotten a feel for him. And he smiles fondly through the story of Spider-man meeting Hulk for the first time and becoming fast friends through junk food and play wrestling.

By the time Tony is finishing up with the food Peter feels like he’s gotten to know the people he apparently lives with a bit better. Tony’s eyebrows draw together at some thought before he’s quickly adding in, “In case you were worried, anyone who has access to these floors knows your identity. And Friday’s programmed to warn you and make it harder for people to get to you if you’re in the suit but don’t have the mask on. You’re also my ‘intern’ and you live here so if you say you’re Peter Parker and that you live here, no one’s gonna think you’re Spider-Man just because of that.”

Peter...honestly hadn’t thought about it too much.

But - “Does that really happen all that often?”

Tony snorts, actually snorts, at Peter’s look of confusion and replies, “To you, Pete? Too often.” Tony’s still chuckling to himself as he plates up the food he cooked which turns out to be spaghetti.

Scratch that, Peter thinks as he takes his first bite, he made heaven in a food!

Peter feels a happy noise crawl out of his throat around his mouthful before he starts trying to scarf it down as quickly as possible.

“Woah, kid. Breath a little, please. There are several people that would kill me if you die from food inhalation.”

Peter manages to swallow all the food in his mouth before he’s quipping back, “If they tasted this they would understand! How do you cook like this, it’s amazing!”

Tony just waves him off saying, “It’s not that great, kid. You’re just starving from a high metabolism and currently have no memory of what a hot meal is.” Peter would have continued his uphill battle but in walked….someone who likely lived here as he was a man in sweatpants, an over large tshirt, and an exceptional case of bed head.

“Hey,” Peter says at the guy, who looks up with a very confused look on his face, “tell Tony that his spaghetti is amazing.”

The guy blinks, then blinks again, then, “There’s spaghetti?”

His voice was gruff and very confused, but Peter being himself replies, “Tony just made some.”

The guy grins like a puppy with a tennis ball and mumbles, “Tony s’ghetti.” before he shuffles to the stove to serve himself. Peter gives Tony a smug look that Tony just rolls his eyes at. But drinking from his glass of water doesn’t quite cover his blush.

Huh.

Before Peter has much time to think about the blush on Tony’s face or what that might mean, another person walks into the kitchen.

“Hey! No class today, Peter?” Tony curses, scabbling off the stool he’s on before he’s running out of the kitchen.

Peter blinks at where he’s disappeared out of but tries not to worry too much.

Tony’s a) an adult who can likely take care of himself but also b) a seemingly chaotic person at best. Peter figures if something was terribly wrong Tony would tell him, or Friday would.

Peter looks back over at the new person, trying to figure out what he's supposed to do now.

He looks similar to the man now standing with a bowl of spaghetti and downing a separate bowl of coffee. They both have blue eyes, broad shoulders, and an inordinate amount of height. Both also have short, blonde, messy hair, though the man that's just looking at him in confusion seems to be sweaty and damp, unlike the sleep ruffled look of the other guy.

"Do you know what that was about?" the sweaty guy asks, nodding toward the hall Tony had disappeared down.

Peter just shrugs at him and keeps eating his food, hoping he won't be questioned further. What was he supposed to say anyway? Nah, I have no idea what just happened but I've been confused since 3am when I fell out of a tree and some girl called me Spider-Man so I may not be the right guy to ask.

Yeah that would go over, swimmingly.

After eating (i.e. practically inhaling) the rest of his food, Peter puts all his dishes in the sink and grabs Tony’s bowl from the counter.

He’s about to ask Friday where Tony went so he can bring him his food when sweaty guy pipes up, “Did you have a rough patrol last night?”

Peter half turns back to him, reluctance probably too clear in his posture, and just nods and sort of mumbles something vaguely affirmative sounding.

He’s about to book it out of there when a deep sigh sounds like it’s pulled from the guy’s chest as he continues, “Look, Peter, I know we’re not on great terms but if you’re having a hard time please talk to someone? Maybe Nat? If we get called into the field and -”

“Yeah! I’ll, uh, talk to Nat. I’m. Just, um. Gonna bring this to Tony really quick, sorry. Bye!” Peter manages to stutter out before he’s running down the hall and into the closest available elevator before anyone else has the time to stop him.

Well, that could’ve gone worse, he thinks to himself as he directs Friday to take him to Tony.

The thought rings a little hollow though, as he really has no idea how it could’ve gone worse than if someone had tried to physically fight him.

*****************************************************************************************

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midnight-circus · 3 years

Text

sometimes you just gotta meme for the new guy.

this is two memes combined so sorry if theres similar questions i couldnt be bothered to post them separately lmao

it’s fuckin huge My Bad

Names? If you were to choose another name for your oc, what do you think it would be? Did you choose their name for how it sounds or for its meaning?

Tbh it was a toss-up for a long time between Mallory, Felix and Everaud, and eventually the first two won. I chose it for how it sounded, but as it turned out the meanings of his first two names juxtapose pretty well together (first name Mallory - ‘unlucky’, second name Felix - ‘lucky’). His surname, Valkner, I also picked for the sound - the meaning of ‘warrior’ doesn’t really pertain to him lmao

He hasn’t gone by his legit first name of Mallory since he was about 12, and has used Felix almost exclusively since then. he fuckin hates it. most of the time.

Can your oc play any instruments? Have they ever wanted to learn how to play any? Why?

No, he grew up without much money and instruments would have been a luxury. He’s vaguely considered it as an adult, but is pretty certain he’d be useless so hasn’t bothered trying.

How does your oc fare in the dark? Are they scared? Do they trip over things really easily or navigate like they have night vision? (Or do they have night vision?)

He doesn’t like the dark much, but he’s not scared. He’s just got bad eyesight.

How well would your oc fare as a teacher? What subject would they be best at teaching? What about the worst?

tbh he’d probably be pretty good as a teacher to a group of like...primary school kids, maybe from 5-11 in age. He’s quiet-voiced, fairly mild-mannered, and has a strong sense of fairness and justice - the problem would arise when it came to older pupils, teens and up, trying to get the upperhand, bc he’s not authoritative in the slightest and would probably cave. Give him a room of toddlers tho that he’s only responsible for in short bursts and he’d cope pretty well. Either history or english lit would be his forte; sports would be worst. the boy can’t run.

What was your oc’s relationship with their parents like? If they didn’t have any parents/didn’t know them, who in their life was the closest to a parent to them?

It’s...good? I guess?? It’s complicated. his parents love their kids dearly and Felix didn’t go wanting for affection, but if anything it went too far the other way. He was absolutely smothered as a kid - after several near-death experiences with childhood illnesses (bacterial meningitis, which developed into encephalitis, then sepsis in his leg), his mother wrapped him up in cotton wool and never really let go. He couldn’t leave the house alone, he couldn’t go outside on cold days, he couldn’t move at anything faster than a walk - after being in and out of hospitals from 5-years-old to 8, and then being kept on a shelf from then, it really had an impact on how he learnt to interact with other kids his age. It’s also given him an unstable footing in life itself - he’s never quite certain if he’s going to lose everything at the drop of a hat, because that’s how they used to act around him. Now, with the distance of adulthood, he loves them and appreciates that they were trying their best, but he can’t help but resent them a little if he really thinks about it. He gets around this by not thinking about it.

Does your oc have any allergies, intolerances, or other sensitivities? How dangerous is it? Does this affect their daily life in any way?

he’s got an allergy to letting himself be happy it’s very serious

Does your oc prefer being in a crowd or being completely alone? How many people can be around them before they get uncomfortable?

Generally he’s more content alone - conversation doesn’t come naturally to him, particularly if it’s a crowd of strangers, and he’s more content in his own company. If he does find himself in a crowd, he will take himself to the edge of the room and people-watch rather than mingle.

How open is your oc to trying new things? Are they the adventurous sort, or would they rather stay in their comfort zone? Why?

He needs to be talked into things, otherwise he’d never try anything - he knows his comfort zones and he’s very comfortable in them, and is not inclined to venture outside. If he’s nudged into doing something, he may end up finding that he enjoys it - doesn’t necessarily mean he’d do it again under his own steam, but he doesn’t always regret the experience.

Does your oc have any best friends? Who was/is their closest friend? What about their worst enemy?

Pathetically enough, he doesn’t, really. Sylvia was his best, and to be honest his only friend, and when she left his social life left with her. He loves her still, but he loves her platonically (even if he hasn’t realised that yet) and that wasn’t enough for her, understandably. Outside of her, there’s not really anyone else.

No enemies. He’s not important enough to have enemies.

How dangerous is your oc? Are they completely innocent, or someone to be feared? Do others know?

tbh Felix’s level of danger is about the same as a puppy with a knife in its mouth. like yeah it might get you by accident but its way more likely to hurt itself and its not really done anything to deserve that so really its more important to get the knife away from it for its own benefit than yours

What is your oc’s vision like? Do they require glasses, are they completely blind, or do they have 20/20 vision? Does this have an effect on their life?

He wears glasses for pretty much everything - he’s not blind without them, but his vision’s bad enough that he wouldn’t be able to cope for the whole day if he left them at home.

If your oc were to be arrested for something, what would it be for? For being too kind, for a legitimate crime?

Probably for getting mixed up in something he didn’t mean to get involved in - Felix is the sort of person to say ‘yes’ to one request because he felt pressured and then find himself 20 ‘yes’s down the line embezzling money from the government for the Serbian mafia with no idea how he got there. He’s quite easy to manipulate - a person who knows how to press his buttons can generally work the answer they want out of him.

How quiet or loud is your oc? Are they easily capable of sneaking around without being heard, or do they feel it’s impossible to stop talking?

He’s pretty quiet - tries not to draw attention to himself if he can avoid it, and he doesn’t really speak unless he’s spoken to.

How stylistically fancy is your oc? Or would they rather go for comfort and plainness instead?

His primary concern is durability and price - he needs something that will either last for as long as possible so he doesn’t have to replace it any time soon, or something that is cheap enough that it doesn’t matter if it wears out, and ergo, Primark. He oftens window-shops for nice-fitting, fancy clothing in the London boutiques he passes on the way to work, but has never bought anything like that in his life and can’t bring himself to even consider it.

What’s your oc’s preferred mode of transportation? Walking, vehicle, (or in a sci-fi/magic setting) teleportation?

His preferred mode of transport is a car, but his isn’t always working properly so when he has to, he takes a bus - he doesn’t like walking if he can avoid it, partially because it wears him out and partially because he’s kind of physically lazy.

Is your oc always late, always early, or always right on time? Is there any reason for this?

He’s always early, because he leaves early, because he’s already envisioned about 20 different disasters that could make him late on the way and he’s trying to circumvent all of them.

How empathetic is your oc? Or are they closer to being a sociopath? Any reason why?

Felix doesn’t really realise that he’s empathetic - he thinks he’s just doing what everyone does, but in fact he will go out of his way to improve a situation for someone if he thinks they’re being hard-done-by for no benefit to himself, even to the extent of bending or breaking rules. It’s partially why he got into the law-scene - he wants to see things bettered for people who need it.

How much does your oc swear? Or do they keep completely clean? Why is this? Is there any situation where they would be the opposite?

Swearing doesn’t come naturally to him - he’s one of those people who will swear only under their breath and still manage to feel guilty about doing it. If he is going to swear out loud, he does it in German and it always comes out clumsily.

How does your oc’s own perception of themselves compare to how other people see them? Is your oc aware that other people see them differently (if it’s different)?

It’s pretty different. In his mind, he’s pretty useless - a bit of a waste-of-space who has coasted through life by pretending to be better than he is, kind of dull, kind of boring, kind of unattractive, altogether too much of Nothing Special for anyone to really be bothered with. Realistically, he comes across as responsible and competent at his job, perhaps a little highly-strung and nervy but nevertheless perfectly capable of managing the responsibilities he has. It’s his own self-doubt that cripples him, for the most part - people see it in him, and perhaps it makes them wonder if there’s a reason for it.

Is your oc a workaholic, or do they find it hard to be busy at all? Do they find it easy to relax, or must they have something to do at all times? Why?

if he’s not working, he’s thinking, and that simply won’t do. Felix’s whole life is work, for the most part - he throws his all into it, and isn’t sure what to do with himself when he’s sitting at home alone in a dead-quiet flat.

How energetic is your oc? Do they have trouble sitting still or do they feel low on juice all the time? Any reason why?

He’s constantly exhausted. It’s because he’s depressed. He hasn’t figured that out yet.

How does your character sleep? Peacefully, fitfully? What position do they sleep in? What is their typical bedding like?

Not very peacefully - Felix is a light sleeper, so although capable of getting to sleep relatively quickly he wakes up in fits and starts throughout the night. He tends to sleep curled on his left side, on bedding that is cheap, serviceable and durable. He can’t afford to buy anything decent. He finds it easier to stay asleep if there’s ambient noise in the room - white noise, the TV, whatever.

Does your oc have dreams or nightmares? What are they like? Is there a recurring one?

He’ll suffer a pretty bad nightmare here and there, generally to do with hospitals or medical procedures, but they aren’t chronic.

How easy to annoy is your oc? Do they have common pet-peeves or are they stoic in response to everything? What is their reaction if the source doesn’t stop?

he’s real easy to annoy lmao. He’s got a list of pet peeves a mile long and he’s very easy to get a rise out of, so people who enjoy getting a reaction (Lyon) find him very entertaining pickings. He keeps telling himself not to get so worked up because it only encourages things, but he can’t help it.

How does your oc view housework? Do they absolutely hate it? Do they enjoy having their surroundings neat and tidy or do they not notice?

He hates doing it, but he really enjoys a clean space afterwards and goes a long way to keep things organised. Disorder stresses him out - he particularly can’t bear people coming into his space and messing it up.

Your oc has to make something for an art exhibition. What would they make? How terrible is it? Would they enjoy making it?

oh christ. the thing is, he’s actually not that bad at art - he’s got a good handle on anatomy and perspective and can reproduce images or photpgraphs fairly well - but he thinks he’s useless and has never shown anyone anything. he’d produce a pretty solid sketch of like a coffee shop at 5pm or something dull like that, apologise profusely for the result, and hate every second of it.

What is your oc’s vocabulary like? Does it match the way they talk? How would you describe their speech?

He speaks pretty well - he’s precise with his words and keeps a quiet, even tone, and his vocab is fairly developed. If there’s a flaw with his speech, it’s that he speaks rather too quickly, because he’s used to being constantly interrupted - it becomes a race to get the sentence finished and his point across, before someone can cut him off.

He has a south German accent, but it’s a little softer for years of living in England - it gets stronger when he goes back home to Munich.

Is your oc more likely to follow instructions exactly, throw them out and figure it out on their own, or make it all up? What are the results like?

He follows instructions to the T, and doesn’t have the impulse to experiment and mess around with them for fear of making a mistake that he’d then have to clean up; that being said, if it becomes a matter of fair treatment, he may be inclined to bend the rules here and there.

Is your oc afraid of touch or do they actively seek it out? Is there a reason for this? What are the exceptions?

lmaoooOOOOO he’s petrified, whilst at the same time desperately craving it. He’s horrendously touch-starved, but his childhood lizard-brain learnt to associate touch with painful medical procedures, so he shies from it by nature.

How is your oc about medical care? Do they avoid any form of healthcare that they can, do they seek it out over every little scrape? Do they treat their injuries/illness all by themselves?

Felix carries an awful lot of medical trauma with him; he’s terrified of medical care, whilst simultaneously being something of a hypochondriac convinced he’s got some sort of Terrible Disease at all times. to be fair, this is because he once had a Terrible Disease, which then led to a second and then a third Terrible Disease before the first could even be treated, so he does have form for it. He also can’t handle blood and has been known to pass out at the sight of it, but would rather do that and recover on the floor than go to hospital.

He will avoid hospitals At All Costs.

How competitive is your oc? Is every little task something that they can win, or are they just in competitions for the fun of it? Is there anyone they’re most competitive with?

He’s sort of competitive accidentally - he doesn’t want to be, but he feels like he needs to be in order to succeed. He is desperate to prove himself, desperate to show his mother than he is more than capable of managing his own life, but he will run himself to exhaustion trying to get there. He’s happiest when he’s left to do his own thing without feeling like he’s competing against others, when he’s content that he’s appreciated by the people around him and is able to take that appreciation at face value, but he hasn’t come to that realisation in himself yet - he just thinks he’s doing it wrong.

How skilled at lying is your oc? How frequently do they lie? For what reason? What situations would be the exception?

lmao he can’t lie to save his life it’s actually kind of sad to watch. he’s a Blusher, for one, so he’s already tripped coming out of the gate, and then he starts falling over his own tongue the second he’s asked a question he can’t give a truthful answer to until it’s painfully obvious to everyone. it’s just sad.

What is your oc’s immune system like? Are they invincible to illness, or are they compromised completely from the slightest of dirt?

His immune system is terrible - a side-effect of his childhood. If there’s an illness going around, he will catch it.

Does your oc do anything “just for the aesthetic”? Or are they completely practical in everything?

Totally practical by habit, but perhaps he’d be happier if he wasn’t. He’s not used to doing things just because he wants to, because he’d enjoy the experience - there has to be a reason for it, else he’s not justified in doing it. Same goes for purchasing things that he wants - if he can’t come up with a good, solid, practical reason to buy himself something, he won’t buy it. ‘Because you want to’ is not reason enough.

If you had to choose a single object to act as a symbol for your oc, what would it be?

One of those candles that re-ignites itself when you blow it out.

If your oc could only eat one thing for the rest of their life (while miraculously not suffering from malnutrition), what would it be?

He’s got a massive sweet tooth and spends a lot of time baking, so probably cake - he’s fond of little gay French patisserie nonsense.

How prepared is your oc? Ready for the worst no matter what, or completely lost in every situation? Would they have a medkit when it was needed? Would they have an umbrella if it rains?

As much as he panics, in a legitimate bad situation he is capable of keeping his head - he runs on adrenaline and suffers the consequences later. He carries a first-aid kit in his car, but has never needed to use it, and yes, he always has an umbrella.

How charitable is your oc? Or are they more stingy with their resources and money?

god. He is stingy, but not out of a miserly nature - he just legitimately does not have much money. He never has, ever since childhood, and that shit is ingrained in him - you watch what you’re spending, because you never know when you’re going to need to make an emergency payment.

If someone was describing your oc to someone who had never met them, what distinguishing features would they mention? How would one identify your oc in a crowd?

Short guy, kind of round-faced, round glasses - kinda looks like he’s lost even when he isn’t. Jumps if you bump into him.

Does your oc have any pleasure that embarrasses them so they keep it secret? Or are they open about all the things they enjoy?

literally everything that he enjoys, he’s embarrassed about. He likes old black-and-white movies and he’s embarrassed about that. He reads shitty romcom fiction and he’s embarrassed about that. He enjoys cooking, he’s embarrassed about that. He actually enjoys sex, believe it or not, and he’s embarrassed about it. Don’t even fuckin get him started on his kinks because he’s embarrassed about them. tbh Felix doesn’t really know how to enjoy himself without guilt or shame, because he always feels like he needs to justify the things he likes and he doesn’t know how to do it. He’s just embarrassed.

What is your oc’s stamina like? Would they be able to run a marathon, or not run at all? What about walking/another physical activity? How are they with exercise in general?

Shitty stamina - he’s got weak lungs and the extent of his running ability is running for a bus and then needing literally four hours to recover. He sort of makes a vague attempt to exercise at home, but is easily discouraged and would just rather lie on the couch having a crisis of body-image.

How long can your oc stay focused on one task before they get bored? Do they constantly have to switch things up or do they hyperfocus? What sort of things is it the opposite for?

Felix is the king of repetitive, menial tasks. Set him in front of a diary or a spreadsheet and he’s well away. He really doesn’t mind thoughtless admin labour, even as he insists that he’s capable of handling more responsibility - and although he is more than capable, he also feels comforted by the predictability of data-entry. A nice mix of both would be ideal.

What smells bring back specific memories to your oc? What are those memories like?

Antiseptic and rubber floors, with that underlying stink of sickness. They’re not good memories.

How jumpy or easily spooked is your oc? Do they have a fight or flight reflex to being startled, or are they never startled at all?

He’s super-jumpy and easy to startle, which is delightful to some people. Between fight or flight, he’ll fly.

How polite is your oc? Do they do everything with the utmost courtesy, or do they completely refuse to say please and thank you?

He’s unfailingly polite, because his mother would have beat him with a shoe if he wasn’t.

How flexible is your oc? Can they touch their toes or do they have trouble just sitting down because of how stiff they are?

He doesn’t think he’s flexible at all, but certain intercurricular activities with Lyon suggest that he’s more flexible than he thinks he is.

What is your oc’s typical walking like? Do they speed-walk everywhere, do they take quick short steps or long paces? How loud are their footsteps?

Because his legs are kinda short, he walks pretty quickly just to be able to keep up with people - quiet steps, because he’s trying not to draw attention to himself.

If your oc was in a video game, what would their idle animation be?

Cleaning his glasses, putting them back on, squinting through them, then taking them off and cleaning them again ad infinitum.

What topics does your oc know the most about? Are these obvious or would these be surprising to others?

He’s a talented cook and has absorbed quite a lot about flavour profiles and all that shit that I know nothing about so I’m not going into details lmao. He’s also got a bank of knowledge about classic films that he keeps to himself, as he’s never convinced anyone would be interested. He’s got a lot of shit that he keeps to himself for this same reason, and therefore there’s quite a lot he could surprise people with if the right topics came up.

What time of day is your oc most awake? What about most tired? Do they get up at the same time every morning without need of an alarm, or is their sleep schedule all over the place?

Tries to tell himself he’s a morning-person. He isn’t. Left to his own devices he’d wake up about 10 and fall asleep about 2am, but he’ll insist if asked that he’s naturally inclined to wake up early.

What would someone blackmail your oc with? Would they be successful in getting what they wanted?

they’d get hold of a list of his pornhub browsing history and yes, they would absolutely be successful.

How easily does your oc get attached to things? Does everything have a sentimental value to them, or do they see nothing as more valuable than its practical use? What about with people/animals?

He gets attached to people and animals very easily, but as for things - he gets angry when he breaks or loses items, but that’s more to do with being stressed about having to pay to replace them than anything sentimental. He’s thrifty to a fault and won’t throw anything out until it’s absolutely unusable, to the point that he’s gotten pretty skilled at sewing repairs in order to avoid getting rid of clothes. He does have sentimental attachments to a few things, but not the majority.

How stubborn is your oc? Are they easily convinced of the opposite opinion, do they not agree but let it happen anyways? Or do they cause conflicts with their inability to budge in their decisions?

He’s not stubborn, as such, but he does know his own mind. He can be talked around or into things quite easily, but he does like to feel as though his voice has been heard.

How much has your oc traveled? Why is this? Would they like to travel more? Or are they perfectly fine with staying home?

He’d prefer to stay home - there’s too much room for error travelling abroad, and the risks don’t really outweigh the benefits for him. He travels back and forth between England and Germany, and he has visited France before as a boy, but that’s about it.

What signs tell that your oc is nervous? Do they fidget, is it in their expression or the way they say things? Or are they very skilled at hiding it?

He fiddles with his glasses and fidgets his hands around, and is also (as mentioned) a blusher - he’s Not Subtle when he’s nervous or flustered, which in turn makes it worse.

How superstitious your oc? Do they end up following them ‘just in case’? Or are superstitions incredibly important to your oc? What are some that they believe? What about the ones they don’t?

He says he isn’t superstitious, but I’m not certain that’s true - I think he’s superstitious despite himself. He follows them, then gets annoyed with himself for following them and assures himself that he won’t do it again, but then when it comes to it next time he follows them again anyway. He won’t walk under ladders, won’t open an umbrella indoors and he broke a mirror once and almost died. The only one he doesn’t believe is unlucky black cats, because he’s never met a black cat that was unpleasant.

#felix1 #god PLEASE let the cut work this is huge

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toxoiddiamond · 3 years

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T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Rafael Caleb Isserlis Nicknames: His family all call him Ray, but most people just call him Rafael. Age: 30 Birthday: June 6th Zodiac Sign: Gemini Birthplace: Sunnyvale, California Current Location: Barcelona, Spain Speaks: English, Spanish, some Castilian, a bit of Hebrew but not much. Dominant Hand: Right Education: He graduated from UC Berkeley with a Bachelor of Arts degree. His original focus was Computer Software Engineering, but he switched his focus to Drawing and Painting in his sophomore year. Occupation: Bouncer at a strip club, and he has been working on a comic book with a friend (Rafael is working on the art, and his friend is the writer/story creator) for about a year. They hope to publish and sell it at some point soon. Vehicle: 2003 Opel Zafira in silver. Not the most attractive car, but he got it for cheap and it has been very reliable for him. Worldly Possessions: Lots of art supplies, a bunch of comic books, tons of dog toys, a photo album full of family pictures (put together for him by his mother before he moved to Spain), and tons of blankets and pillows because he loves to be comfy~ Pet(s): A black and white Mucuchi named Oreo. Rafael loves taking Oreo pretty much anywhere that dogs are allowed, and Oreo is always very happy to go on adventures.

A P P E A R A N C E Height: Just under 6’ Hair: He generally keeps it trimmed short just because it is easier to take care of, though he occasionally grows it out a little longer so the curls really show. He’s never dyed it before, so it is his natural dark brown color. Facial Hair: He always has at least a little bit of facial hair, even if it’s just some light scruffiness. He does like to let it grow out more sometimes. Eye Colour: Brown with some flecks of hazel Skin Tone: Dark, though the tone varies depending on the time of year. He is quite a bit darker in the warmer months thanks to his love of the outdoors. Clothing: He dresses casually for the most part, lots of jeans and t-shirts (especially band tees). If he’s working, he might wear a nice jacket as well. He almost always wears combat boots, unless he’s going running or hiking, then he’ll wear comfy sneakers. He loves wearing beanies, especially in colder weather, and he has them in a bunch of different colors. Although he doesn’t have much reason to dress up, he does look great in a suit and has some nice clothes on hand just in case. Distinguishing Marks: He has a couple of large tattoos on his chest, and a half sleeve on his left arm. He plans on getting more tattoos at some point, but he hasn’t decided what he wants or where. Face Claim: Jordan Calloway

H E A L T H Physical Health: Rafael is in excellent health– he loves doing any sort of physical activity, especially if it involves being outdoors, so he's very fit. He works out on a regular basis and eats quite healthy (though he's not opposed to a little junk food now and then). He gets sick now and then, just minor things like a cold or a mild case of the flu, but he's never been seriously sick or anything. Basically, Rafael takes great care of himself. Physical Abilities/Limitations: He can lift very heavy things thanks to his weight training at the gym. He's got good endurance/stamina– he can hike or run for quite a long time before needing a break. He's a good artist with a very distinctive style; he is constantly drawing, doodling on napkins, just keeping his hands busy whenever he can. Addictions: No addictions to speak of. Allergies: Citrus in general makes his mouth hurt, but sometimes he eats it anyway because he just can't resist. Mental Health: Generally good. He had a very stable upbringing with lots of supportive friends and family around. He is lucky enough to never have experienced any sort of mental illness or any really traumatic events in his life.

H I S T O R Y Summary: Rafael was born in Sunnyvale, California to wealthy parents (his mother is an OB/GYN, and his father is a very successful software engineer). He was the fourth of five children. He grew up surrounded by a very loving family, including much of his extended family, and had a near idyllic childhood. Growing up, Rafael always showed an aptitude for art– he was quite a skilled artist from a young age, but he also had a deep interest in his father’s work and loved all things to do with technology. He taught himself to code when he was about twelve years old and even made a couple of very basic games just to practice. Rafael was always a great student, not exactly straight A’s since he had a bit of a hard time in his literature classes and some of the more complicated math classes, but he never got any grades lower than a B, and he always tried his hardest and studied a lot, did extra credit whenever he could, etc. He also always had a lot of friends and was a bit girl crazy in high school, so he was always dating a new girl. He was on his high school’s soccer team as well– the PE coach always wanted him to go out for the football team, but Rafael hated football and still does, so he never bothered, preferring to use the time to do various volunteer projects or just hang out with his friends. Thanks to his excellent GPA and a wealth of extracurriculars and volunteer experience, Rafael had an easy time getting accepted into UC Berkeley. He initially majored in Computer Software Engineering, as he’d always planned– but after a trip across Europe with some of his friends just before his Sophomore year of college, he had a shift in perspective and realized that he really wanted to focus on his art after all. He changed his major to focus on Drawing and Painting, which was a bit of a surprise to his family, but they were, as always, very supportive of his decision, especially since it turned out he wouldn’t lose any progress toward his degree. After graduating, Rafael decided to do what he’d always wanted to do and live abroad. He decided on living in Spain, since he had taken nearly eight years of Spanish between high school and college and was almost fluent at that point. He spent a few years just travelling around Spain, exploring, working odd jobs, meeting people, just having a good time. Eventually he ended up settling in Barcelona after meeting a particularly good group of people, finding himself a quaint little house in the heart of the city, and getting a job as a bouncer in a local strip club. He has been there ever since. Job History: He didn't have his first job until college– he worked as a barista at a Starbucks on campus for his entire college career, which he actually really enjoyed. Once he moved to Spain and started traveling around, he did tons of odd jobs helping out with manual labor, working in restaurants, helping out around people's houses, doing yard work, just anything he could find that didn't require a lot of commitment. Once he settled in Barcelona, he took a job as a bouncer in a strip club because it paid decently well and fit into his schedule very nicely– that is where he's been ever since. Fondest Memories: Lots of happy childhood memories, too many to list actually. One of his fondest memories is his trip across Europe with his college friends. Plus all his adventures across Spain and the various times his sister Eliana has come to visit him. Worst Experiences: His paternal grandparents both died in a car accident when Rafael was fourteen, and that was probably the single worst experience of his life. A couple of his breakups were particularly rough on him as well.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: Definitely not a smooth talker, but not super awkward either (unless he’s trying to flirt). He’s laid back when he speaks, not overly formal, always seems pretty relaxed (again, unless he is attempting to flirt). He doesn’t talk excessively, but he’s not quiet or shy either, always loves to jump into a conversation, especially if it’s about a subject he’s interested in. If someone gets him started on a subject he’s passionate about, he gets very animated and excited about it. Accent: American accent, which sometimes comes through in his Spanish– though his Spanish accent, for the most part, is pretty good. Favorite Phrases or Words: He says “oh snap!” a lot when speaking English, something that rubbed off on him thanks to his younger sister. Usual Curse Words: He doesn’t curse a whole lot– it’s not that he’s offended by cursing or anything, he just kind of doesn’t think to curse unless he’s angry or really passionate about something.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: ENFP-A Sense of Humor: Rafael loves to laugh and has a pretty open sense of humor. The only type of humor he doesn’t vibe with is super offensive or raunchy/sexual humor, that’s just not his thing. But anything silly, clever, wordplay or puns, non-sequitur/weird humor, all of that is totally his cup of tea. Habits: Rafael is a bit fidgety and always has to be doing something with his hands. He can be still if he actively focuses on not fidgeting, but it's a little difficult for him. He's constantly drawing on napkins or little pieces of paper, on himself, and on others if they'll let him. If he doesn't have a pen handy then he'll crack his knuckles or he'll kinda rock back and forth on the balls of his feet. He just really cannot hold still unless his mind is fully occupied with something. Fears/Phobias: The whole idea of ghosts or demons really freaks him out. He also sometimes has a touch of existential dread and wonders if he’s going to be alone forever, but that usually doesn’t last long, just a sleepless night or two and then he gets past it. Strengths: Rafael is a very caring, sweet person who is genuinely interested in other people and loves to help whenever he can. He is attentive to people’s needs and tends to anticipate those needs in advance, so he is quite a thoughtful person. In general, he’s an optimist who likes to look on the bright side of things no matter how bad the situation may get and tries not to let the little things get him down. He is also very protective of those he loves, and though he is friendly to people almost all of the time, if anyone is rude to or tries to hurt someone he cares about, he won’t hesitate to speak up on behalf of or physically protect his loved one. Flaws: While his optimism is often a positive trait, Rafael sometimes takes it too far and doesn’t allow himself to just be sad or angry now and then, even when it would be good for him. He tends to suppress any emotion he perceives as negative instead of actually processing his feelings. In relationships, he can be a bit possessive and jealous at times, but he knows that’s his own problem and he really tries not to take it out on his partners. Hopes/Desires: He really hopes to get his comics published at some point– he just really wants to get them out there, even if they don’t get super popular or anything, he’s just really proud of their work and wants people to see it. He also really wants to find someone he can settle down with (or go on adventures with), someone he can spoil with tons of love and affection. He would love to get married and maybe have kids someday, but if his partner didn’t want children he would be okay with that also. Self-Esteem: Super good, honestly. He has his moments of insecurity just like anyone else, but overall he is comfortable with himself and believes himself to be a good person. Religion: Kinda Jewish, kinda atheist. It’s complicated.

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: Curled up on his right side, usually. Boxers or Briefs?: Boxers Day or Night?: Night for sure, he is naturally a night owl. Top or Bottom?: Probably top more than anything, but if he was with a partner that wanted to switch it up, he would happily give it a try~ Partying or Relaxing?: This would be a really hard choice for him, but he would probably have to go with partying. He loves the atmosphere of a good party.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: Besides his younger sister, Rafael's best friend is Isabel Maduro, a woman he met when he moved to Barcelona. They have been working together on a comic book series for a while now; she is a very talented writer who comes up with stories that blow Rafael's mind. They see each other fairly often not just to work on the comics, but to go on walks or out to lunch, or on the occasional hike. Relationship History: Rafael had a ton of relationships in high school, many of which lasted two weeks or less and obviously those relationships didn't get serious at all– Rafael was just kind of playing the field at that point. He didn't actually have sex, or a serious relationship, until his first year of college. He then dated his first serious girlfriend, and they lasted about six months before she broke things off because she felt he was more attached than she was and she didn't want to waste his time. That is actually how all of Rafael's relationships have gone since then– he always gets broken up with before a year has passed (often much sooner than that) because they're not as into him as he is into them, or he's just too much, being too intense, etc. As a result, he's now reluctant to express his feelings at all because he doesn't want to put pressure on anyone. Sexual Partners: Rafael doesn't exactly get around or anything, but he has had about a dozen sexual partners in his life, all of them women. Thoughts About Sex: Rafael loves sex within the confines of a relationship but doesn't have much interest in it other than that. One night stands, flings, anything like that is not for him. So far, Rafael has only been with women. He's been attracted to men before and he knows he's definitely not straight, but he's always been way too nervous to try and flirt with men. He has never come out to anyone but if he were to end up in a relationship with a man, he wouldn't hesitate to come out– his sister Eliana is a lesbian and currently engaged to another woman, and was readily accepted by their family, so he knows they would all support him if he ever told them.

P A R E N T S Name(s): Shira and Booker Isserlis Age(s): Both 64 years old. Social Standing: White collar for sure, and they are in very good social standing. Occupation(s): She is an OB/GYN who is set to retire in a couple of years, and he is a computer software engineer who doesn’t plan to retire anytime soon. Religion: She is Jewish and he is agnostic, but does observe/celebrate Jewish holidays and events. Quality of Relationship With Their Children: They love and support all of their children unconditionally. They do worry about Rafael sometimes just because he’s more of a wanderer than their other children, he’s a bit more aimless, but they know he can take care of himself. Living/Deceased: Both alive and in excellent health.

S I B L I N G (S) Name(s): Daniel Isserlis, Itai Isserlis, Tamar Huang, and Eliana Isserlis (soon to be Eliana Florakis). Age(s): 34, 32, 31, 29. Yes, their parents basically had all of their children back to back. Social Standing: They have all done very well for themselves, and are all in good social standing. Occupation(s): Daniel is a software engineer and works with their father. Itai is a forensic accountant and he has helped to arrest many white collar criminals. Tamar runs a non-profit organization that helps underprivileged children by providing housing, food, education/tutors, and after school activities. And Eliana is an event planner who specializes in weddings. Religion: Daniel and Tamar are still devoutly Jewish. Itai and Eliana are more like Rafael– they appreciate and enjoy aspects of Judaism but they don’t really believe in it. Quality of Relationship with Character: Rafael loves all of his siblings and would do just about anything for them, but he is definitely the closest with Eliana out of all of them. He really only sees/talks to his other siblings a few times a year, but he talks to Eliana all the time. Living/Deceased: All alive.

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: He lives in a cute little one bedroom house right in the heart of the city, on a very busy street. He loves being right in the middle of everything, so it’s ideal for him. The place was a bit rundown when he first bought it, but he has fixed it up quite a bit and although no one would say it’s luxurious or anything, it’s definitely nice and comfortable. He loves having guests over and has lots of seating and a large TV, plus a pull-out couch in the living room just in case anyone stays the night, not to mention a spacious king sized bed in his room.

#character: rafael isserlis #ship: razio #character sheet

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olivcrfeng-a · 4 years

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BASIC INFORMATION.

Full Name: Oliver Feng

Nickname(s): Oli mainly,

Age: 32

Date of Birth: March 18th.

Hometown: Kelantan, Malaysia

Current Location: Mystic, Connecticut

Ethnicity: Malay

Nationality: American, Malaysian

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/Him

Orientation: Heterosexual

Religion: Doesn’t currently practice on an active basis.

Political Affiliation: Works for and loyal to the Mystic town Mayor

Occupation: City Hall Council Member

Living Arrangements: Upon moving to Mystic in 2015, Oliver bought a small home that is easy for him to get to work at City Hall and is close to the wharf and shoreline for his regular runs.

Language(s) Spoken: Primarily English having grown up in the US since age 4 but his parents ensured he still remained true to their family’s origin languages that included Malay and Mandarin ( better at writing Mandarin than speaking ).

Accent: American

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE.

Face Claim: Henry Golding

Hair Colour: Black/Dark brown

Eye Colour: Brown

Height: 6′1″

Weight: 163 lbs.

Build: Athletic

Tattoos: Mandarin characters on upper left bicep that means strength, and a symbol line tattoo that means prosperity on his lower right-side torso.

Piercings: N/A, has no piercings

Clothing Style: During the work week on a daily basis, Oliver wears dress shirts, pants, dress coats and jackets to work at City Hall, when not on the clock or on weekends, he can usually be seen more laid-back in plain T-shirts, polos, pullovers, jeans and khakis.

Usual Expression: His regular expression is a pleasant one that renders him approachable and makes others feel at ease.

Distinguishing Characteristics: Bounding stride, infectious laugh, bright smile, attentive eyes.

HEALTH.

Physical Ailments: N/A, none diagnosed or prominent, but he can be notably restless.

Neurological Conditions: N/A

Allergies: Mild environmental as the seasons change.

Sleeping Habits: Oliver tries to ensure he gets adequate sleep regularly, he is an early bird and prefers getting up and going in the morning, but doesn’t hesitate staying up late when he needs to get work done or for a break.

Eating Habits: Oliver eats healthy regularly, and he has numerous family recipes he has asked his mother for that he has made. Though at the same time, he is a foodie and likes trying all types of cuisine, he’s pretty much a go-to for restaurant or food recommendations amongst the people he knows.

Exercise Habits: Having done soccer and track while going through school, Oliver has kept up with exercise habits and likes going on daily runs and visiting the gym on a regular basis.

Emotional Stability: Oliver is mainly an 8 on the emotional stability scale, it takes a lot for him to lose his cool and can remain level-headed in pretty much any situation, always doing what he can to solve problems. He can be deemed emotions on the sense that he’s an open book mainly and wears his heart on his sleeve, though can become perturbed when thinking about his faults, or when the grief and guilt tends to come over him losing his best friend senior year of college.

Sociability: Oliver is naturally social, and likes being around and speaking to people. Though he also appreciates the little free time that he does have when possible, he’s just not one to like sitting still for long and always likes to be doing something.

Body Temperature: Hot-Natured.

Addictions: None.

Drug Use: Few times in high school and college, not frequent.

Alcohol Use: Socially, knows limits.

fidgety

PERSONALITY.

Label: The Dynamo - a zestful personal who likely has a big personality, they chase their ambitions with full potential of being successful.

Positive Traits: conscientious, benevolent, sharp-witted.

Negative Traits: ambivalent, defensive, headstrong

Goals/Desires: To be happy in life in general, to sort things out in his personal life, to change the world, to be a part of something bigger.

Fears: Failure, losing more loved ones, isolation

Hobbies: Hiking, Traveling, Running, Watching Movies, Brushing up on Foreign Languages, Photography, Reading.

Habits: Foot-tapping, fidgeting, taps pens/pencils, shifts on feet in place, can be easily distracted, doesn’t like staying still in most cases.

FAVOURITES.

Weather: He prefers warm, clear, summer weather, but doesn’t necessarily hate the cold either, is someone that doesn’t mind adapting.

Colour: Green.

Music: Oliver really isn’t too picky with music, what he likes, he likes. He does usually pick up-beat songs for running and working out.

Movies: He is mainly a fan of action and movies based on true stories, his favorites include The Godfather, Saving Private Ryan, The Bourne series, & Forrest Gump.

Sport: Soccer ( used to play growing up), The Olympics.

Beverage: Practically lives on coffee.

Food: Traditional recipes from home & almost anything spicy.

Animal: Tiger.

FAMILY.

Father: Tao Feng, bio-medical researcher

Mother: Lian Feng, speech pathologist

Sibling(s): N/A ( i possibly will add later! )

Children: N/A, currently has no children

Pet(s): N/A, currently has no pets but wants a dog, just is worried about the hours that he works, he wouldn’t be around for it as often as he likes.

Family’s Financial Status: Well-Off

EXTRA.

Zodiac Sign: Pisces

MBTI: ENFP ( extroverted, intuitive, feeling, perceiving )

Enneagram: Type 9: The Mediator

Temperament: Sanguine

Moral Alignment: Neutral Good

Primary Vice: Pride

Primary Virtue: Humility

Element: Air

#mystic: task #( x. task )#( x. about )

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matteredloyaltyaa · 4 years

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really LONG CHARACTER SURVEY. RULES.

repost , don’t reblog ! tag 10 ! good luck !

TAGGED. I stole it. TAGGING. Go for it. lol

FULL NAME : Arthur M/organ NICKNAME : A handful. English, Cowboy/Cowpoke, Black Lung, etc. Common aliases are Tacitus Kilgore and Arthur Callahan. AGE : 36. BIRTHDAY : January 25th, 1836. ETHNIC GROUP : Caucasian. NATIONALITY : American. LANGUAGE / S : English, primarily. Knew a handful of Welsh thanks to his father, but it’s faded with disuse. SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Bisexual, somewhat closeted. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Biromantic, somewhat closeted. RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Verse dependent, single-ship with @notanoutlaw in most. CLASS : Lower/working HOME TOWN / AREA : Arthur just mentions he was born “up north”, I headcanon around the Oregon area, possibly California due to his mother’s favorite flower, but it’s uncertain. Though, the place he laments the most about is New Austin, or “out west”. CURRENT HOME : Transitory, he moves with the gang. PROFESSION : Outlaw, occasional bounty hunter.

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Light brown, dark blonde in some lights. EYES : Unique eye colour, blue-grey-sorta hazel. NOSE : Average, dimpled. Scarred from fighting and getting it broken a couple times. FACE : Somewhat sharp features in the brow and cheekbones, square jaw. LIPS : Full, can be dry/chapped. COMPLEXION : Somewhat clear? Hard to tell. Dry, dirt spattered sometimes. BLEMISHES : Uncertain. SCARS : A handful. Most notable are the one he has on his chin that is most visible with shorter facial hair, one across his nose, and the one left on his shoulder by the O’Driscolls in chapter 3. TATTOOS : N/A HEIGHT : 6′0, possibly 6′1 WEIGHT : Uncertain, fluctuates. BUILD : Stocky, broad shouldered and he can be fairly intimidating, especially when his weight is about average or above. FEATURES : Look above? ALLERGIES : N/A USUAL HAIR STYLE : Right parted, about 3-5 in length. Though, for people who don’t know the system--fairly short, tufts out around his ears and may reach the back of his neck before he cuts it again. USUAL FACE LOOK : Expression wise, his kind of got a resting irritated face, sometimes bored. Rarely clean shaven unless he has to be, usually keeps a fair amount of stubble. USUAL CLOTHING : I change him too much to say. Tends to keep his heavy navy blue winter jacket, jeans/ranch pants, some sort of button up shirt, and sometimes his tan leather jacket. Tends to keep his hat, however, unless he needs to go without.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Arthur has a mild one of change. He’s adaptable but he’s very sentimental and nostalgic, he will miss “old ways” and previous places. There’s also losing his usefulness, disappointing those who depend on him (much as he will get defensive when it happens). Post-Guarma, he does develop a fear of drowning. It won’t keep him from swimming, but getting swept or held underwater may cause some panic. Post-game au, he does fear about getting sick again and actively avoids doctors. ASPIRATION / S : Uncertain, just wants to get out of the mess he’s in and eventually just wants a calm existence somewhere. However, once he’s diagnosed with TB, his main goal is getting those who want/will listen to him out of the gang as it starts to fall down. POSITIVE TRAITS : Caring, compassionate (to people he knows, might not be clear on first impression), intelligent (much as he may say the opposite and isn’t exactly book smart), observational, brave, humorous (in certain situations and may be a cover sometimes), friendly (somewhat, changes as he ages), artistic, creative, loyal, etc. NEGATIVE TRAITS : Violent, murderer (doesn’t do it without reason but he knows he’s killed more than he certainly should), defensive, (passive) aggressive, sarcastic, depressive, self-deprecating, selfish, rude (sometimes intentional, sometimes not), conflicted, stubborn, reckless (sometimes, has mellowed out with age but it’s still there), self destructive (sometimes), money-driven (not always a flaw but he’s easily swayed by money). MBTI : ISFJ-T - Turbulent Defender ZODIAC : Aquarius TEMPERAMENT : Phlegmatic-Melancholic ANIMALS : I’m not going to take the quiz because the game is very heavy handed with the whitetail buck motif for high honor Arthur. lol VICE HABIT / S : Smoking, drinking, etc. FAITH : Non-religious. GHOSTS ? : Generally, the existence of ghosts isn’t something he completely writes off after he’s witnessed the few in the game, but he’s also hard pressed to admit to believing in them outright. AFTERLIFE ? : Not in any sort of defined sense. He’ll often say he doesn’t believe in one or it won’t be a nice one for him if there is, but he finds himself nervous about the subject once he gets sick. REINCARNATION ? : He doesn’t know enough about it. ALIENS ? : Not really? Doesn’t really know he’s looking at a UFO when he sees it. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Don’t start. ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : Uncertain. SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION : Uncertain. EDUCATION LEVEL : Does not have a formal education on even the basic levels (primary, high school, etc), however Hosea and Dutch have taught him to read and write and he’s learned a handful of things when it comes to survival and his lifestyle. However, he’s not exactly book smart or the “book learnin’ type”.

FAMILY. FATHER : Lyle M/organ, deceased. MOTHER : Beatrice M/organ, deceased. SIBLINGS : No blood related, but considers John as one along with a couple other members of camp. EXTENDED FAMILY : He has a few uncles, aunts, and cousins, but he’s not in touch. Issac, his son, and his mother, Eliza, who are both deceased. Mary L/inton/Gillis, ex-fiance. (Cain Kennedy, lover - @notanoutlaw) NAME MEANING / S : Arthur - English, “noble, courageous”, Morgan - (and I’m going against what’s been said in fandom) - Celtic/Welsh surname, comes from Old Welsh name Morcant - “mor” as “sea” and “cant” as “circle”. HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : Uncertain in the game, but it’s been pointed out about King Arthur and also Morgan le Fay, which highlights his struggle with good vs evil themes in his character.

FAVOURITES. BOOK : Uncertain, mostly non-fiction. MOVIE : -- 5 SONGS : -- DEITY : Doesn’t know enough to give a favorite. HOLIDAY : Christmas, in a way. Not quite for the religious context, but he enjoys the hunting and cooking the gang does to celebrate, singing and talking over fires. He remembers it vividly when he was younger, so it’s stuck with him. MONTH : April-May. SEASON : late spring, early summer. PLACE : He likes most places in wilderness, give him something with a view and he’s good. WEATHER : Sunny, average weather. Not too hot, not too cold. SOUND : Rain, birds, etc. SCENT / S : Again, rain, campfires, etc. TASTE / S : Prefers savory over sweet. FEEL / S : Weightlessness in his limbs once he’s able to sit/lay down after a long day, fingers in his hair, etc. ANIMAL / S : Horses, dogs, cats, animals. NUMBER : He hasn’t given it much thought. COLOUR : Blues, greens, deeper colours.

EXTRA. TALENTS : Sharpshooting, Arthur’s got impeccable aim and speed when using guns, there’s also his drawing, he’s getting fairly good at tracking, etc. BAD AT : Admitting to mistakes, expressing himself emotionally, adhering to rules, anything overly scientific, etc. TURN ONS : Sense of humor, confidence or self-assurance, kindness and/or compassion, dark hair, etc. TURN OFFS : Hypocrisy (much as he suffers from that himself), cockiness (has a limit before confidence becomes a turn off), excessive or needless cruelty, etc. HOBBIES : Drawing, writing in his journal, hunting, wandering around/sight seeing, etc. TROPES : Anti-Hero/Anti-Villain,The Atoner, The Big Guy, Jerk with a Heart of Gold, Obfuscating Stupidity, etc. AESTHETIC TAGS : Horses, old west, deserts, nature, gun slinging, writing, drawing, photography, etc.

FC INFO. MAIN FC / S : R/oger Clark, mainly in game icons so I haven’t found a need for one. ALT FC / S : -- OLDER FC / S : -- YOUNGER FC / S : -- VOICE CLAIM / S : R/oger Clark GENDERBENT FC / S :

MUN QUESTIONS. Q1 : if you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in , and what would it be about ? A1 : I actually REALLY enjoy the game’s story line, much as I feel the redemption through death is overplayed and not as deep as people make it out to be. I’d find a way to subvert that or some alternative, but idk. I like the game’s story. lol

Q2 : what would their soundtrack / score sound like ? A2 : Western-y. IDK? The game’s soundtrack is actually really good too so. Q3 : why did you start writing this character ? A3 : I love his development and progression as a character, and even with the trailers where he seemed no more than an angry outlaw there was a part of me that was still “hmm” about writing him. Ultimately, he’s grown to mean a lot to me and I really enjoy writing for him on this blog. Q4 : what first attracted you to this character ? A4: As mentioned above, Arthur probably has one of the best character progressions I’ve seen in a while imo. Even in the beginning, I went in under the impression that I’d be playing as this outlaw so the violence and gruffness wasn’t too much of a surprise, much as I wasn’t too attached until later chapters in the game because of this. However, as I spent more time playing as him and reading his journal, seeing how he interacts with strangers and people he loves, he has some depth to him and some deep rooted flaws and insecurities that are played very well in the game. He’s probably one of the few character deaths I’ve cried over. lol Q5 : describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5 : I have to be truthful, Arthur’s an asshole. lol I didn’t like and still don’t like him from Colter into Horseshoe in behavior and personality, much as it’s lessened from my first play of the game because I know what happens to him and how he grows. However, while he’s not blind to himself and how he acts, he doesn’t think for himself really. Even if he hates debt collecting, he does it for the gang and even tells Strauss he does it for pleasure at a point (sarcastic or not, considering they are talking about Thomas, a man trying to raise money for charity while suffering poverty himself on top of having TB), he does whatever Dutch tells him, among many other things. It’s not until later in the game that the theme of grasping redemption comes into play, and he starts to act and think for himself a little more once things start to spiral. As much as I love him with all my heart, Arthur’s got some deep flaws that are hard to ignore. Q6 : what do you have in common with your muse ? A6 : HHHhh. I’d say we suffer from similar self-esteem issues, not just in body image but morality of character (much as his are way more complicated than mine jaksfha), we also have a similar sense of humor...Yeah, idk. I’m attached to him as a character and I can relate to him in certain ways, but it’s hard to pinpoint. Q7 : how does your muse feel about you ? A7 : Idk, he’s pixels? Though, for the sake of a fun answer, I genuinely don’t know? We can be fairly similar in mannerisms and thought process (at points), but I have no idea if we’d actually get along if by some universe rip we were able to meet. Q8 : what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ? A8: I don’t want to get specific, I interact with a lot of interesting characters. Anybody who’s put me out of a comfort zone or forced me to look at Arthur in the different way has definitely stood out. Q9 : what gives you inspiration to write your muse ? A9 : The game itself is a good source, I enjoy putting up lets plays of it in the background sometimes if I’m struggling or just need something that isn’t music. I get more muse putting together blog playlists than playing them, but there’s that, too. Also generally plotting or talking about him can pull some to the forefront. Q10 : how long did this take you to complete ? A10 : An hour or so, I think?

#hey i'm already damned . || about .#ain't us who changed . || headcanon .#/// long post #[I love how once it got into paranormal experiences I had to account for the fact some of those things exist as things in canon lmao]

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astronavy · 4 years

Text

General Information

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*Character Name: Vivian Espanonci (Es-phan-on-tsi)

Nicknames: Vivi

*Gender/Pronouns: Female She/Her

*Age/Birthday: 27 years old, January 2nd 2273

Sexual Orientation: Straight

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How they died: Drowned

When soul was first created (1st birthday): January 1st 1944

Reincarnation #: 15

When they died (age and date): 26 years old, January 1st 1965

Physical object they would turn into: Snowflake

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Appearance Information

Hair Color/Hair Style: Ocean blue, Long (to below waist) very wavy, can hover around her as if she was underwater when she's nervous or scared

Eye Color: pale white

Height: 6'5

Weight: 167 lbs

Ethnicity: USA

Scars/Injuries/Tattoos/Notable Features: tear drops, 3 freckles, dark circles under eyes.

Clothing/Everyday Wear: space like dress

Accessories: Snowflake pin in hair, choker with anker

Other Physical Features: blue skin, snowflake marks on her legs

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Personality Information

*General Personality: Very quiet and antisocial. She avoids interaction and rarely speaks. When she does speak, she is very bitter and can seem cold hearted. She use to be very energetic and a big partier in her first few lifetimes.

Likes: Warmth, books, libraries, vintage aesthetics, learning

Dislikes: The cold, getting sick, loud noises

Fears/Addictions/psychological disorders/tics: She bites her hair and twitches heavily when she is super nervous. Aquaphobia, Hydrophobia, Agoraphobia (open spaces)

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History Information

Birthplace/Nationality: She was born in New York in her first life and born in a large, much more advanced city in this life.

*Backstory: Since her birthday was on new years, her and her friends partied. Hard. She ended up wasted and tried to walk home, but slipped and fell off a bridge, leading to her doom. Now days, she works at at a medium sized library, full of books and comfy chairs. She lives in a decent sized apartment alone.

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Relationships Information

Parents: Gave her up for adoption

Siblings: 1 biological but unknown

Crush/Lover: N/A

Friends/Allies: Few normals at the library

Enemies: N/A

Other Relations: Boss, who's very cruel and snarky. He's 53 years old, boomer

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Possessions Information

Mount/Vehicle: A small rusty car

Other Notable Possessions: none

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Skills Information

Notable Skills: Very good at math and puzzles

Known Languages: English and American sign language

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Other

+Other Facts: She has a mild nut allergy

This bb gorl is made for a roleplay I'm doing with my best friend. Everytime a person is born, the resemble the way they died in their very first life more and more. It takes place in 2300. I made the edit for her, and am planning to post more ocs + the edits I make for them.

Picrew is made by @sangled

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hurt-care · 5 years

Note

Dear lord please tell me you'll bring back Francis and his poor asthmatic allergy stricken lungs at some point. He is 💗💗💗

Thanks!

For those of you who haven’t met Francis yet, you can read the first story about him here

As Long As You’re There

The spring weather in Plymouth had been temperate and pleasant all season. Away from the heavy smog and pollen of the inlands, Francis had been free to spend his days blissfully (mostly) free of sneezing and itching and all the general unpleasantness that came with his hay-asthma. His respiratory system would always be sensitive, but the sea air made a huge difference in his health.

And spending the days with one Miss Caroline Willison had been a delight. Their blossoming romance was no secret and they could often be found sitting together looking out at the ocean or playing cards in the solarium. Unbeknownst to the rest of the household, they'd been finding themselves more private corners of the estate for more intimate matters. Francis was dreading the thought of heading back to his business affairs in Surrey at the end of the hay-asthma season because it would mean leaving her.

They'd been apart a few days this week and already Francis was eager to have her return to her family home. She'd gone up to London on the train to do some dress shopping with her mother and was schedule to return on the afternoon train. When Francis woke, he rolled over to see a grey sky out his window and the trees bending in the wind. For a season that had been so mild, it looked to be a disappointing day.

He dressed in his best day suit with the green trim and went down for breakfast with Mr. Willison.

“I'll be going over to call on Lord Ashford today,” Mr. Willison said over their shared meal. “Miss Caroline and Mrs. Willison will be in on the two o'clock train. We can have Evans fetch them but you're welcome to go down to the station to greet them if you feel up to it.”

“Plymouth has been a great relief,” Francis said, sipping his tea. “I will most certainly go to fetch them. It'll be nice to have them back home. It seems so quiet without them here.”

Mr. Willison laughed knowingly.

“I'm certain that you speak only of my Caroline,” he said fondly. “She is taken with you, Mr. Miller.”

“And I with her,” Francis said, trying not to blush too obviously. He was still shy around her father, unsure of his feelings about his daughter's relations with a man who was so often affected by ill health. While Francis was a successful businessman with a substantial inheritance in the bank, he sometimes felt an inadequate match for someone as beautiful and vibrant as Caroline.

“She will be glad to be back, I'm sure,” Mr. Willison remarked. “She despises the city.”

“I understand that,” Francis replied. “I would relocate permanently if my father's business affairs allowed it. Unfortunately, until I'm able to sell the company, I'm obliged to return to Surrey.”

“You're a good lad. I'm sure he'd be proud of all you've done for the business.”

Francis looked down modestly.

“Thank you, sir.”

They finished their breakfast, exchanging casual conversation. At eleven, Mr. Williston took a motorcar off to visit Lord Ashford and Francis settled into the atrium with a book. He could not fully concentrate on the plot, however, as he continuously was drawn to his pocket-watch, counting down the hours until he could leave for the station.

When the time arrived, he rang for Evans and the valet brought around the second motorcar. Francis checked his jacket pocket for his familiar companion, a small folded stack of handkerchiefs. Though he'd been mostly free of his affliction, the smoke and dust of the train station could often trigger his symptoms, as could a ride in the car. It did not matter compared to the anticipation of seeing her again.

They sped off down the roadway towards the station, cruising along the coastal road. Francis looked out at the seaside, observing the rolling clouds gathering and the darkening sky. The heavy feeling in his sinuses and head foretold rain and he mentally cursed himself for neglecting to bring an umbrella. He'd have to ask the train porter to accompany the ladies to the shelter of the car with one.

They were about two kilometres from the station when a sudden BANG! sounded and the car lurched worryingly. Evans pulled over to the side and Francis leaned forward, calling through the window between the rear carriage and the driver's seat.

“What happened?”

“Blown tire, sir,” Evans called.

Francis took out his pocket watch and was dismayed to see it reading ten-to-two.

“They'll be arriving soon,” he said, leaning out the window. “How long will it take to fix?”

“I'm not sure, sir,” Evans replied, surveying the damage. “I can do it but it will take a while. Probably a half hour or more.”

Francis looked at his watch again and sighed. The Willison women would arrive to no car and would have no idea why they'd been abandoned at the station.

“I'll walk down and meet them,” Francis suggested, hopping out of the back of the motor. “It isn't far and I don't want them to arrive and think we've forgotten them.”

Evans nodded.

“Good idea, sir. I'll drive over when the tire is repaired and fetch you.”

“Very good. See you soon,” Francis said, settling off down the road towards the station.

The sky overhead was darkening and he quickened his pace. Though the station was not far, there were a few hills along the way and the exertion of climbing them left Francis' weakened lungs straining for air. He huffed a sharp cough into his sleeve and continued on. The air was growing heavy and humid, and above the clouds were getting denser. A clap of thunder startled him and then the heavens opened.

The rain began to pour in sheets, starting to soak Francis through to the skin. He rushed along the road, boots sloshing through the mud and puddles. He thought briefly of poor Evans back at the motorcar, fighting to get the tire changed in this dreadful storm.

Water dripped down from his head of dark curls, trailing across his cheeks and down his nose. His cravat stuck to his neck uncomfortably and his trousers were dark with rain. Even his sturdy day coat was soaked-through.

By the time he approached the station, he was starting to shiver a little. Water pooled in his boots and mud splattered his trousers. He ducked under the awning of the station, gulping for air as his lungs strained in the humidity. He coughed rattily and leaned against the wall, trying to steady his breath.

In the distance, the sound of a train whistle rent the air. Francis reached reflexively into his pocket and withdrew a damp handkerchief, clutching it over his nose and mouth. The steam engine barrelled into the station, spewing smoke into the rainy air. It slowed to a screeching halt and puffed a last great cloud of steam before settling at the station. The doors opened and people began to spill from the carriages, opening umbrellas or rushing towards the shelter of the station awning.

Francis lowered the handkerchief tentatively, searching the crowd for the two women. In the bustle of people, he thought he saw Caroline's auburn hair but he was forced to turn away as a tickle burst forth in his sinuses and he pressed the handkerchief to his nose, sneezing with an irritated sound.

GhhTSXHT!

“Francis?”

Emerging from the crowd was a radiant-looking Caroline. Her auburn hair was damp and sticking to her forehead, but she was glowing and smiling at him.

“Welcome home,” he said, ashamed at the hoarseness in his voice. “I'm afraid we have had a spot of trouble.”

Mrs. Willison appeared behind her daughter, wiping rain from her face.

“Trouble?” she asked.

“The motorcar had a blown tire. Evans is repairing it but I walked ahead to greet you. And I fear I got caught in the storm.”

“You're soaked through!” Caroline exclaimed, getting a good look at him. He tried valiantly not to shiver but he could barely keep his limbs from quaking. The sopping clothes were clinging to his slight frame and chilling him to the bones.

“I am, I'm afraid,” he admitted. “I'm sorry I'm not more presentable. Evans should be here shortly with the car. In the meantime, I suggest we have the porter deliver your bags here under the awning and we'll try to stay dry.”

They huddled under the glass canopy, watching the rain fall as they waited alongside the Willison family luggage. As Francis hugged his arms around himself in an attempt to get warm, he felt the gentle reassuring touch of Caroline's hand on the small of his back.

“I wish I had something to offer you to warm you,” she whispered softly so her mother would not hear.

“I'm better with you here,” he replied quietly.

There was a car approaching in the distance, headlights shining through the heavy rain. It trailed through the thick muddy road and came to a stop at the front of the station. Evans emerged, equally as muddy and damp as Francis.

He came over and bowed to the ladies.

“My apologies,” he said. “I'm sure Mr. Miller has filled you in on our misadventure. I do hope you haven't been waiting too long.”

“Not at all, Evans,” Mrs. Willison replied. “You've both done us a great service. Now, let's to the car and out of the rain.”

Evans loaded up the luggage while Francis helped the ladies into the back seat. He took the front spot beside the valet and when Evans had finished packing, they began the drive back to the family estate.

Francis rubbed his hands up and down his arms in a futile attempt to stave off the cold. In the back of the car, Caroline spoke cheerfully of their time in London and her visit with her cousin, Olive.

She was telling of their afternoon tea at a family friend's townhouse when Francis interrupted with an urgent, throaty sneeze.

Hurhh-TSGHHT!

He pressed a sodden handkerchief to his nose.

“Bless you,” Caroline said, her voice carrying a hint of worry.

“Thank you,” Francis murmured, wiping his nose gently. “Sorry. Go on.”

She continued her story but again, Francis interrupted unintentionally. He started to cough softly and it quickly turned to a harsh hack that he muffled with his handkerchief.

“Mr. Miller, have you taken ill?” Mrs. Willison asked.

“No, sorry,” Francis said between sputtering coughs. “The humid air isn't agreeable with my health. I apologize.”

He took a wheezy breath and huffed a final cough into his handkerchief.

“Forgive me,” he said again. His skin felt ice-cold and tingled all over, sending chills quaking through his limbs. He hugged himself to stop the shivering, focusing on the passing seascapes and willing his lungs to be quiet.

The motorcar arrived at the estate and rumbled into the front drive where they were met by the butler and a footman bearing umbrellas to escort them inside. Francis let the ladies go first and then followed, pausing in the front foyer to tug off his mud-soaked boots.

Hurshh-TSGHHT!

A sneeze tore out of him with a throat-scraping sound and he barely managed to shield his nose into his shoulder. A soft touch settled on his back and Caroline was looking at him with a concerned expression.

“You need to get out of those damp clothes. I'll send Parker up to help you dress.”

“I'd rather do it myself,” he croaked, trying to wipe his nose under her intense gaze. “I'll be down for dinner.”

Caroline reached down and squeezed his hand.

“Ring if you need anything. I'll let the staff know not to bother you.”

Francis escaped up to his rooms, shutting the door and stripping off his layers of sodden clothing. He was shivering madly, unable to keep his limbs from trembling. Goose-pimples rose across his bare skin and he searched his wardrobe for a pair of his pyjamas. He put them on and topped it with a dressing gown. Still shivering, he pushed down his bed sheets and climbed under, bundling himself in the quilts.

He lay with his damp hair on the pillow, wheezing audibly with his nose dribbling down his lip. He would need something hot to drink and a cigarette if he wanted to be comfortable, but the bone-deep cold and his pride kept him from calling for the footman. Instead, he propped himself up with some pillows until he was elevated enough to breathe more easily. And closing his eyes, he focused on small, slow breaths. Gradually, the quaking chills settled and he felt his body feel as if it were thawing. Heavy with cold and exhaustion, he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

When he woke, it was to the sound of a knock on his door.

“Dinner, sir,” a voice boomed from outside his rooms.

“Yes, coming shortly,” he called, embarrassed to hear how raspy his voice sounded. He climbed stiffly out of bed and went for his wardrobe, selecting a dinner jacket and trousers with his favourite paisley ascot. He tied the silk securely around his throat, but not so tight as to restrict his already laboured breathing. Though his asthmatic wheeze was quieter with some rest and warmth, his chest still felt tight.

Fully dressed, he dragged a comb through his thick tangle of hair and scrubbed his face clean, pausing to fret at the pinkish tinge around his nose. The last touch was a trusty handkerchief in his pocket.

The family was in the parlour and they greeted him warmly.

“You look much drier,” Caroline teased, smiling at him.

“I feel it too,” he remarked.

They went through to the table and settled at their places in front of the starting course. They all tucked in to the delicious squash soup, chatting casually about the trip to London and catching up on the week.

Francis could feel his attention drifting in and out of the conversation as he ate. Perhaps getting out of bed had not been the best idea. It still felt like a struggle to get a full breath and he was becoming keenly aware of a dull ache in his limbs.

Though it was terribly impolite to cough at the dinner table, he soon found himself unable to help it and withdrew his trusted handkerchief to shield his mouth, turning away from the table and barking some chesty coughs into its folds.

Under the table, Caroline's hand found his thigh and squeezed it reassuringly.

She said something witty to her father, steering the conversation away from Francis' cough.

Francis sputtered and tried to recover his breath, but he could not. Pushing back his chair, he stood with his handkerchief poised over his mouth and managed to say his apologies before retreating out of the dining room.

He stumbled down the foyer, wheezing and hacking miserably before he found himself out on the front veranda. The rain had ceased and the temperature had dropped, leaving the yard masked by a low fog. The cool evening was a welcome shock to his beleaguered lungs and he took a raspy gasp as the coughs began to settle. He leaned back against the cool stone of the house and closed his eyes, feeling woozy and tired.

“Sweet?” a voice said.

Caroline emerged from the house and was at his side in an instant. She lifted her hand and pushed back the curls from his brow, testing its heat.

“You're fevered,” she said. “You should be in bed.”

“It's my affliction, nothing more,” he said wearily. “I'm still recovering from all the train smoke. You know it takes me some time to get over it.”

“This isn't hay-asthma,” she chided. “This is a chest cold from being stuck in that horrendous rainstorm because you insisted on being noble and coming to fetch us yourself.”

She cupped her hand to his flushed cheek and thumbed across the pink skin.

“Come inside before you get a worse chill,” she said gently. “Sit in the library if you won't go up to bed. Father suggested we go through for a glass of brandy.”

Reluctantly, he followed her into the library. Her parents were not yet there which was a great relief. He sunk into an armchair and sat with his handkerchief clasped in his lap.

“Do you want a brandy or something warmer?” asked Caroline.

“Something warmer would be for the best,” Mrs. Willison said as she entered the room. “I've asked Parker to bring up a tea tray with some honey.”

“Thank you,” Francis said, blushing. “I'm sorry for spoiling dinner.”

“Nothing was spoiled,” Mr. Willison said, selecting a cigar from his humidor and lighting it. “I'm sorry you're not well, Mr. Miller.”

“I think I just got a bit cocky going to see the ladies at the train and thinking I'd get away without a reaction.”

“He has a fever,” Caroline interrupted. “I told him that he should be in bed.”

As if perfectly on cue, Francis clasped his handkerchief to his nose and snapped forward with a harsh sneeze.

Hurrr-TSGHHHH!

“I'm so sorry,” he stammered from behind the cloth square.

“It's just fine, lad,” Mrs. Williston said. “Don't you worry yourself. You can have some hot drink and then to bed.”

The library door opened and the footman Parker entered with tea tray.

“And here we are!” Mrs. Williston exclaimed. She poured a generous cup for Francis and spooned in some honey, stirring it until it dissolved.

Francis took it from her gratefully and he sipped a little, feeling the warm liquid soothe his dry and aching throat.

The family made small-talk while Francis sat quietly drinking his tea and pausing every so often to surreptitiously wipe his runny nose.

Ehh-tsGCHHTT!

He put his tea cup down just in time to avoid spilling it before he wrenched forward with a sneeze.

“Let me walk you up to your rooms,” Caroline offered, putting her hand on his arm.

He smiled wearily at her.

“I think it's for the best,” he rasped.

“Mother, Father, I think I'll retire to bed soon too. I'm worn out from traveling,” Caroline said.

“Alright, dear,” Mr. Williston said. “Sleep well.”

Francis added his good evenings and followed Caroline out of the library, climbing the stairs to the bedrooms and turning down the hall. When they reached Francis' door, she paused. Leaning in, Caroline kissed him on the cheek.

“Father won't leave his brandy and Mother never goes to bed before nine. May I come in and get you settled.”

Francis smiled a little.

“You're very sweet,” he said quietly. “But I don't want you to have to be looking in on an invalid.”

“You're not an invalid,” she said, pulling him into her grip. She wrapped her arms around him and twined her fingers into his hair, scratching lightly along his scalp. “It would make me feel better to see you settled comfortably.”

Francis reached around her and opened his door.

“Come in.”

The went into his room and shut the door behind them.

“We have to be quiet as church mice,” she warned, reaching up to loosen his ascot from around his throat. Her fingers stroked the rise of his Adam's apple as she unwrapped it from his neck.

“I cannot promised that,” Francis croaked. “You heard me earlier.”

“Yes, but I must be,” she said, starting to unbutton his shirt. When she reached the bottom one, she plunged her hands under the shirt and pressed them against his chest. He sighed with a sharp wheeze and let his head loll forward to rest on her shoulder.

“No sleeping yet,” she said, rubbing slow circles on his chest. “Where do you keep your pyjamas. I'll fetch them and you keep undressing.”

“Third drawer in the wardrobe,” he said.

She guided him to sit down on his bed and then went in search of his pyjamas. Francis reluctantly unbuttoned his trousers and slid them down so that he was sitting shivering in his boxers and socks.

Caroline returned with the silk pyjama set, his favourite ones with the green pinstripes. She guided the sleeves around his arms and bent to button up the front. Francis took the liberty of putting on the bottoms, blushing slightly. Though they'd done plenty of exploring with each other, the vulnerability of being naked alone in front of her made him nervous.

Caroline drew down the bed sheets and helped Francis under the quilts, tucking them back up to his chin. She pushed his hair back, testing his forehead again with a frown.

“Thank you,” Francis said, giving her arm a gentle squeeze. “I'll be alright.”

She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“Okay. I'll tell the footman to keep an ear out for your bell. Ring if you feel unwell during the night.”

He nodded and settled down into the pillows, coughing a few times as he closed his eyes. He felt Caroline's hand stroke his cheek a final time and then the sound of her quietly closing the door.

The next morning, he came back to consciousness with a start, taking a sharp breath and instantly dissolving into a fit of chesty, painful coughs. Someone had knocked and woken him. The door to his chambers opened a crack and Caroline's face peered around. She took one look at him and rushed over to the bedside.

“Oh, Francis,” she said sympathetically. “You should never have gone out in that rain.”

He took a shuddering breath and covered his mouth with his pyjama sleeve, hacking until he was red in the face and wheezing audibly. She pressed her small hand to his brow and frowned.

“You still have a fever,” she said. “We need to send for the doctor.”

“No,” he rasped, gasping for breath and trying to get the coughs under control.

“Francis, you can barely breathe!” she countered. “Please.”

He managed to get the coughing to quiet for a moment and he took some shallow, careful breaths as he wiped his nose with a handkerchief.

“I'll recover.”

“You don't get a fever from the rain,” she said. “We'll call for Doctor Harris.”

She went and tugged on the sash that would alert the staff to Francis' rooms.

“Now,” she said, leaning over the bed and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Mother won't like finding me in your rooms alone. I'll come back soon.”

She cupped a hand against his feverish cheek and he leaned into her soft touch.

“Thank you,” he said, defeated. The more awake he became, the more he realized the deep, heavy congestion that gripped his lungs and sinuses. He cursed his damn weak lungs and constitution for making him so vulnerable to illness like this. He watched Caroline leave, wondering if she'd ever considered that there were other men who could weather a little rain and escape unscathed.

Parker, the footman, arrived outside his rooms and Caroline instructed him to fetch a hot tea and to see to Francis' comfort.

Soon, a flurry of activity filled the bedroom as staff delivered a tray of hot tea and began setting up the sick room, spreading an extra quilt across the foot of the bed and providing more pillows to keep Francis upright.

“A flannel for your chest, sir,” explained Parker, arriving with a steaming bowl. He wrung out the hot cloth and reached over to unbutton Francis' pyjama top, spreading the fabric across his upper torso. “Miss Caroline said you might require your inhaling device?”

Francis, mortified to be caught amidst so much attention in his weakened state, shook his head.

“I will wait for Doctor Harris' advice,” he said softly. “But if you'd be so kind as to fetch it in case he recommends it, it can be found in the box atop my dressing table.”

While Parker went to fetch the ceramic inhaler, Francis searched the sheets for his discarded handkerchief, feeling the tingle of an oncoming sneeze. He located the cloth in time to press it against his nose, stifling a sneeze.

NghXHT!

He instantly went from the sneeze to a volley of barking coughs that left him wheezing softly again. Parker smiled sympathetically and put the inhaler down on the bedside table.

“Anything else I can fetch for you before the doctor arrives, sir?”

Francis shook his head as he wiped his nose. “No, thank you. I will just rest.”

“Very good sir.”

He bowed a little and left Francis alone for a moment. And then there were voices at the door and the Willison family entered, looking sympathetic. Francis felt his face flush at being seen in bed by all three of them.

“I'm so sorry you've taken so ill, Francis, dear,” Mrs. Willison said. “You should have stayed in the motorcar. We've called for Doctor Harris, but he'll be another few hours yet.”

“Our Caroline has offered to sit with you, if you'd like some company,” Mr. Willison said. “But if you'd like to rest, that is fine too.”

“I would like that very much,” he said quietly, trying to shield them from the dribble of snot that was threatening to escape his nostril. He pressed his handkerchief there briefly and sniffled.

“I'll be happy to keep watch,” Caroline said. “I'll go fetch a book and be right back.”

Mr. Willison moved the armchair from the corner to beside Francis' bed and Mrs. Willison offered her best wishes for a fast recovery before they both left him alone. Caroline returned holding a copy of one of their favourite novels, “Jude the Obscure” by Thomas Hardy. She settled into the chair at his side and leaned over to take his hand.

“Sweet, tell me truthfully how you feel?”

“Like my lungs and head are stuffed with cotton fluff and honey,” he admitted wearily.

She frowned.

“The doctor will not be here for some time. Can I persuade you to take some hot drink and maybe to try your inhaling device?”

“I'll take the tea first, thanks,” he said, accepting the steaming cup as she passed it over.

“Shall I read a little to you?” she asked. “Or do you want quiet?”

“Your voice is as good a medicine as any,” he said softly. “I'd like that very much.”

She smiled affectionately at him and opened the book.

Barely a few pages in, he interrupted her reading with a coughing fit. He shuddered and hacked, bent at the waist with his cheeks puffing as each pained bark filled the room with the uncomfortable-sounding coughs. Caroline put the book down and stood, bending over the bed and rubbing his back.

He took a strained breath and coughed hard, grabbing the handkerchief and clutching it over his mouth.

“Love?” she said, worried.

He hacked one last, hard cough into the cloth and slumped back into the pillows, fighting for his breath.

“I think we should use this,” she said, reaching for the inhaler.

He nodded reluctantly.

“The tincture is in my box there,” he said, gesturing to the dressing table. He huffed another wheezy cough and added “we'll need some boiling water.”

“I'll have some put in it,” she said, leaning over and kissing his flushed cheek. “I'll be back shortly. Rest.”

He watched with a fevered gaze as she left and returned a while later with the ceramic inhaler filled with a steaming mix of water and medicine.

She held it out to his lips and he took the curved portion into his mouth, sucking in the steamy medication. The harsh, fragrant medicine always seemed to burn for a moment but he felt the congestion easing. She pulled it away as he started to cough with a looser, wetter hack.

“There,” she said, gently rubbing his back as he coughed weakly into his handkerchief. “That'll help.”

He went limp into the pillows, still sputtering with coughs but utterly exhausted by the illness. She pushed his hair back and removed the cooling flannel from his chest, buttoning his pyjamas back up and tucking the quilts up to his chin.

“Thank you,” he rasped. “I'm sorry. I feel silly being so ill like this from something as simple as a rainstorm.”

“You can't help it,” she said. “Now, quiet. Don't strain yourself.”

She settled back into the chair and took up the book again. Francis closed his eyes, floating between sleep and waking as the fever pulsed in his body and robbed him of his strength. Soon, he was sleeping fully, wheezing quietly as he breathed. Caroline set down the book and tested her hand on his brow. It was still burning with a steady heat.

Francis' pocket-watch was on the nightstand and she checked the time, wondering how long it would be before the doctor arrived. She hated seeing him feeling so poorly and struggling to breathe.

He dozed fitfully for the next hour, snorting and snuffling for air. Caroline had a maid fetch a cool bowl of water and a flannel. She dipped the cloth and wrung it out, gently sponging off Francis' face and neck. He stirred and his eyes flickered open for a moment.

“The doctor will be here soon,” she said softly, pushing back his sweaty hair and wiping his brow with the cloth.

Francis opened his mouth to speak but only a croaking noise came.

Caroline tipped a glass of water to his lips and helped him to drink.

“Thank you,” he rasped wearily. “I'm sorry.”

“I told you to stop apologizing,” she chided, taking up the flannel again and pressing it to each flushed cheek.

There was a knock on the door and a kindly man with a white moustache entered.

“Mr. Miller?”

“Yes, this is him Doctor,” Caroline said, standing and approaching the doctor to greet him. “Thank you for coming.”

Mr. Williston followed the doctor into the room and smiled at his daughter.

“Your nursing duties are relieved, dear,” he said. “Why don't you go down to the parlour for some tea with your mother and let the doctor look in on Francis?”

Caroline turned and gave Francis a small smile.

“Yes father,” she said and reluctantly left the room.

The doctor sat Francis up and listened to his chest with a stethoscope.

“Definitely congestion of the lungs,” the doctor murmured. “I've seen you before, for hay-asthma a few years back?”

“Yes,” Francis croaked. “I'm affected rather severely by the climate inland. I come to Plymouth for my health during the warmer months. You saw me when I was affected by an unfamiliar plant at a neighbouring estate.”

“Those prone to the modern affliction of allergies and asthma are often more vulnerable to diseases of the respiratory system,” Doctor Harris said, leaning Francis forward to listen to his lungs from the back.

“I'm afraid I caught a nasty chill in a rainstorm,” Francis said. He sniffled softly. The leaning forward was making his nose run.

“I'm sorry doctor-- I --” he began, voice wavering. He turned away and sneezed damply into his pyjama sleeve.

Hurhh-TSCHGHHHT!

The doctor passed him a fresh handkerchief from the nightstand and Francis blew his nose softly.

“Excuse me,” he said, mortified that Caroline's father was witnessing this whole display.

“Is there much sneezing and congestion of the nose?” the doctor asked.

“Oh yes,” Francis replied. “It's hard to get my breath either way. My nose is not quite as troublesome as it is when around pollen or dust, but I'm still quite prone to sneezing today. It feels as if my head is stuffed with cotton.”

“And how long have you felt feverish?” the doctor asked, taking a small mercury thermometer from his case.

“Since the afternoon yesterday,” Francis replied. The doctor wiped off the thermometer and put it under Francis' tongue.

“Hold that there a moment,” he instructed.

The doctor busied himself with rummaging through his bag while the thermometer measured Francis' temperature. Holding it under his tongue, Francis focused on breathing slowly through what little passage was left in his nose. But his lungs were not in agreement and he found himself gripping the thermometer tightly between his lips as he started to cough.

“Just a moment more, lad,” the doctor said as Francis' cheeks puffed with the suppressed coughs. After a moment, he removed the thermometer and Francis took a gasping breath, dissolving into harsh coughs.

“Yes, still fevered,” Dr. Harris said, consulting the thermometer's gauge. “I'm going to give you some medicines to calm the coughing and allow you to rest. And I'll leave some pastilles to help soothe your cough as well. Mr. Williston has told me you already own an inhaler?”

“Yes sir,” Francis sputtered between small coughs. “On the nightstand there.”

“Ah yes, very good,” the doctor said, examining the device. “I would recommend a treatment before resting and another upon waking, up to four times daily to keep your breathing loose. You'll take a spoonful of the cough medication twice daily and make sure to have plenty of rest, hot drink, and it is important that you stay warm and dry so you do not catch a worse chill.”

Francis nodded, feeling his energy fading away. The coughing fit had left him feeling drained and he wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and submit to sleep.

“A spoonful of medicine and then you may rest,” the doctor said, sensing his exhaustion. He dosed a small teaspoon of thick, dark syrup that Francis swallowed followed by a bit of lemon water to remove the harsh taste.

“Mr. Williston?” the doctor said, turning to the master of the house. “I recommend that he remain in bed at least a day more and that he limits his physical activity for a week. No strenuous walks or tennis and I think it best he stay indoors given his propensity for reaction to natural irritants. Calm afternoons spent reading or playing a quiet game of cards will be the best medicine for his recovery once he's well enough to be out of bed.”

“Very good,” Mr. Williston said. “We'll ensure he does just that. Thank you, doctor.”

“Do ring if his condition worsens or does not improve within a few days.”

“We will. Francis, do you have everything that you need before I show Dr. Harris out?”

Francis raised his head from the pillow and nodded.

“Yes, thank you sir. I think I'll just have a rest. I'm feeling quite tired.”

“I'll leave you to it then. Ring if you need anything.”

Mr. Williston accompanied the doctor to the door and sent him on his way before heading to the parlour. His wife and daughter were playing a game of bridge over afternoon tea.

“How is he?” Caroline asked eagerly.

“Quite unwell but the doctor believes he'll recover within a few days. He dosed some medicines and recommended that he rest as much as possible.”

“May I go sit with him?” she asked.

“He's going to sleep now, dear,” Mr. Williston said. “I think it best you let him. I worry about you wasting your affections on a man with such a poor constitution.”

“I'm not wasting my affections!” Caroline retorted. “Francis is a dear and kind man who has never been anything but sweet and respectful towards me. I love him, papa, and he loves me.”

“I didn't mean to say the affections were wasted,” Mr. Williston replied. “I just worry you'd be left playing nursemaid more than you should. Think of the state of him when he arrived here at the beginning of the season. There'd be no freedom to travel during the warm months, no garden parties, no impromptu train trips.”

“It won't matter,” Caroline said defiantly. “We'll make a home here on the seaside. I detest London and when Francis can sell his family business, we'll have enough to live here comfortably without worrying for his health. I'd be happy enough with that.”

Her father smiled at her.

“Yes, darling,” he said, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. “I believe you would be. He's a good lad, I agree with you there.”

Later that night, Caroline crept along the dark corridors of the home after everyone had gone to bed. In her nightclothes and dressing gown, she slipped into Francis' room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He was asleep, hair wild and unwashed with a pink nose and flushed cheeks. She felt a swell of affection as she watched him at rest.

He stirred and opened his eyes as she leaned over to kiss his brow.

“Love?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she whispered back. “Just checking in on you. Mother and father insisted I leave you alone to rest but I wanted to see you for myself.”

“The medicine is helping,” he murmured. “But I'm ever so sleepy.”

“That's okay,” she soothed, stroking his cheek. “Get some rest. I'll sit for a while and then I'll come visit you tomorrow for tea.”

Francis closed his eyes and dozed off again as she sat, carding her fingers through his hair. With a last kiss she went off to bed, relieved to see him recovering a little. Two days later, he was well enough to join her in the library for tea and cards. And one week later, they strolled arm-in-arm along the coast as Francis drank in the cool summer air with a cheerful eagerness. He leaned in to kiss her as they reached a secluded spot free from prying eyes.

“I will marry you,” he said into her ear and she laughed playfully. “And we will build a home with this view.”

“I don't care about the view,” she said, returning the kiss. “As long as you're there, I'll be happy.”

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