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saltymongoose · 2 years

Note

Hello, it's me. I do have a request, if you're not busy that is.

I remember you saying in part 2 that the Player can't get hurt. But i still kind of wonder y'know?

Is it still possible for the Player to receive other froms of injuries now that they're physically there. For example: an object hits them, an accident or falling from a high place?

If it is possible for the player to still get accidental injuries. How would the main 4 react to that? I'd bet they'd panic, seeing their precious Player with a papercut or a scraped knee.

Kind regards

- Smilex.

Hey Smilex! Figured it's way past time for me to answer this one. :) It is still possible for the Player to receive certain injuries in Nevada, as their base abilities (w/o the mod) only protect them from more lethal wounds (i.e. things like shots to the head, loss of limbs, being completely crushed by debris, etc). Everything else is fair game, which also means that for your examples, they would still get hurt. As for how the main 4 would react, I've made some hcs for it. :D

Their Reaction to the Player Getting Injured ft. Hank, Deimos, Sanford, & 2BDamned

(TW: Yandere, Blood, descriptions of wounds)

As much as the boys adored your otherworldly appearance and your little quirks that came from being a "human", they weren't prepared for how fragile you actually were.

The first time you sustained any minor injury was at their base, when you were helping 2BDamned out with his work. The boys were out getting supplies at his request (well, really yours because they'd just refuse to take orders that brought them away from you otherwise), leaving you alone with him for the time being. (Much to his enjoyment.)

You were thumbing through some paperwork 2BDamned had on his desk, looking for any missing signatures and the like, when you felt the distinct sting of a paper slicing into your skin. You winced, pulling your hand away whilst muttering an expletive under your breath.

Doc immediately turned to you, concern painting his features. "Are you alright?" He asked, shifting closer to you from where he sat by your side. Upon looking at your hand, he stiffened at the sight of a minuscule cut on your index finger. It wasn't bleeding at the moment, but that didn't change how bad it was. How did you manage to get injured? This shouldn't be possible-

You just shrugged. "Eh, it's normal, just a paper-cut. It'll go away in a couple days," came your nonchalant reply, completely oblivious to the growing concern of the grunt beside you. Naturally, this wasn't enough to sate his worry.

Ignoring your attempts to brush him off, he grasped your wrist and pulled you out of your chair, leading you to the medkit he had stashed on the other side of his office. If you weren't busy trying to assure him that you were fine, you'd have noticed the way his hands trembled ever so slightly.

He may seem composed to you, which is intentional on his part. He wanted to seem reliable, someone who would always be there to support you. But right now, he was panicking on the inside.

You're their Player. You shouldn't get injured, it didn't make sense. You're a superior being compared to everything else in Nevada. If you were capable of getting a cut from paper, then what else could hurt you? What else could take you from them? What if you got an infection from this? How sick could you get? You weren't from Nevada, how much immunization did you have against the bacteri-"Hey, hey, Doc," You muttered softly, waving your (good) hand in front of his face and interrupting his spiraling thoughts.

He looked at you for a moment before relaxing slightly, and you gave him a small smile. "You were lost in thought for a bit there, you okay?"

He huffed, turning his head away from you for a moment (trying to ignore the way his face heated at the way you called his name so sweetly). "You're the one who's injured, and you're asking me if I'm okay?" 2B said with some exasperation, quickly getting back to pulling the medical supplies out of the kit. "But yes, I'm fine, thank you."

You raised a brow when you saw just how many things he seemed to be getting ready. Soap, rubbing alcohol, antibiotic ointment, three different kinds of pain mediation (was that morphine??), and gloves, in addition to the bandages. It was just too much.

It was wholly necessary, but it was also very difficult to convince him to hold off. Eventually, after a discussion that lasted almost an hour, you agreed to take a couple of pain pills and use some of the ointment.

As Doc gently soothed the balm over your cut, he remembered what you'd said earlier. "Is this normal?"

"Oh yeah, happens all the time. I'm guessing grunts don't have the same problem?"

He shook his head, humming in thought. This wouldn't do. He already felt guilty that it was his assignment that got you hurt, the last thing he wanted was to put you in danger again. Perhaps he should ask one of the boys to snag you a tablet from the Nexus? He's sure they'd be willing, so long as he mentioned your name in the same breath.

A few weeks later, you got injured again. A bit more bloody than the paper-cut, but still nothing too serious. Just a scraped knee from tripping over some shrapnel. But what made you more concerned was how the others would react, since you'd been out with them at the time. You figured that if Doc was so worried before, they'd have more extreme reactions. And, to no one's surprise, you were correct.

Deimos was in the middle of a conversation with Sanford when he gave you a small glance, doing a double-take when he noticed the slight tear on your trousers and the blood that specked the opening. He immediately broke from Sanford's side, rushing up to you to clutch your shoulders and frantically look you over.

He let out a strangled screech at the sight of the open wound. "I-You-What the hell is that?!?" The grunt sputtered, giving your bloody knee a pointed look. You just gave an unsure shrug and a shaky grin in response (more of a grimace if you were being honest).

His visual cross scrunched up in worry as he made another distressed noise at your answer (or rather lack thereof). Removing his hands from your shoulders, he shifted to his knees, and you put your hands out in a vain attempt to stop him. You also made a small comment to placate him ("Oh no, you don't have to do that, I'm fine, Dei."), which he ignored.

For all his previous haste, he was slow to actually pull your pant leg up, almost like he couldn't bear to see what was underneath. He was gentle, trying his hardest not to cause you any further pain as he pulled the fabric back. He sucked in a breath once he saw the wound, all ugly and oozing blood. "Fuck."

While you were preoccupied with him, Sanford and Hank (who had since looked over after hearing Deimos' distressed noises) came closer to you, only to freeze once they saw the cuts marring your leg.

Sanford felt his heart drop, the cold shock of anxiety making his stomach churn uncomfortably. He'd a lot of awful things before; people getting shot, stabbed, beaten, and torn apart to name a few. Injuries never really affected him that badly, and he didn't have a big reaction to the gore that surrounded him on a daily basis.

Blood was a common sight in Nevada, it was to be expected. But it was nothing compared to this. To seeing the ichor that bled from you and the way your expression was tinged by the pain you felt.

"What happened?" He whispered to you, voice cracking with the weight of his distress.

Your eyes softened at his worry. "It's just a scrape. I was being clumsy and tripped, it's no big deal."

Hank just stared silently, his red gaze locked on your knee. He was someone who caused bloodshed quite often, and fully enjoyed doing so. This was the first time the crimson liquid ever made him uneasy. Not even his first kill had brought him this bad of a reaction. He didn't like it. And neither did the other two, for that matter.

Granted, it wasn't that bad of a wound. But the fact that it was just a series of small cuts and tears wasn't what made it so awful. It was that it marred your skin. It was their Player's blood that was being spilled so needlessly. The thought of it filled them with a mixture of revulsion and guilt. This must've been their fault. It had to be. If they'd have been more attentive, you wouldn't be dealing with this injury. They were your chosen vessels, you picked them specifically to keep you safe. How could they betray you like this?

When Deimos looked back up at you, you could see legitimate tears pooling at his cross, expression full of remorse. "I'm so sorry," he croaked, "this shouldn't've happened...If we-"

"Oh Dei, nonono, it's not your fault," you hurriedly reassured him, giving the others a warm look afterward. "If anything, it was mine. I'm the one who wasn't paying attention and fell." You gave them all a stern glance when they looked like they were going to resist.

There was silence for a moment, only broken up by Deimos' sniffles as he tried to regain his composure. But then Sanford asked you a question, voice still thick with worry. "But you're still in pain, aren't you?"

You avoided his gaze at that, but before he could do anything else, Hank decided that it was the perfect time to intervene. He shoved past Sanford to swoop you up in his arms, bringing you close and cradling you to his form protectively. You yelped, flailing for a moment before wrapping your arms around his neck for stability, " "Wha-Hank! I can walk!"

He just tightened his grip somewhat, a silent message of refusal. He didn't know how to convey his concern, or how to make you realize how guilty he felt. At least, not vocally. But he hoped this would be enough for you to understand. It was better than you walking around, either way.

Sanford shot Hank an annoyed look (having planned on doing that himself), but his expression eased somewhat when he looked at you. "We know it might not be the most..convenient thing to do, but please let us. Just this once?"

You looked at his pleading face for a few seconds before your resolve broke (how he managed to do puppy eyes without having them was beyond you, but it worked). "Alright, alright," you acquiesced with a heavy sigh, though the slight upward tilt of your lips showed that you weren't all that angry with them.

The walk back to the base was a bit tense. Until the topic of who'd treat your wound came up, that is. You could only watch with amusement as Deimos and Sanford bickered with each other about why they should be the one to bandage you. They only got more lively when you asked why Doc wouldn't be the one to do it ("Are you kidding? He isn't even a real doctor!"). Hank kept an eye out in the meantime, ensuring that no enemy would go unnoticed as they "escorted" you back home. You happened to fall asleep like that, comforted by Hank's warmth and his absent-minded purring.

(Though this gave Doc a heart attack when they returned with you, bleeding and unconscious. You're lucky he had half a mind to get you onto a bed before lecturing the boys. Never mind the small wound you sustained when alone with him-something he'd failed to mention before.)

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

Text

Phantom Children Pt. 5

Hey guys, it's been really busy for me at university so I have no idea when I'll have free time to write this month. Chapter 5 is actually still unfinished, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging, so here's the first half of chapter 5.

In Which: Another deal is struck upon the ice

AO3 | Prologue | 4 | [ 5 ] | 6

THE PIT SINGS. A low, groaning thing. Muffled like how sounds distort underwater. It reminded Danny of the sounds of Jupiter he would listen to when he really needed to study; the sounds heavily mixed to be more ambient yet still echoing traces of the original, haunting melody of the universe.

The Pit calls for him. No, not the pit—the ectoplasm in the pit is what calls him. Pulls the waves toward him as if he were the moon, bright and full, whispering with garbled voices hello-hello-hello. His core whispers back the same words every time he is near it. Hello-hello-hello. The Pit lingers in the back of his mind and sings in familiar words he does not understand.

Talia calls it a fascination. Ra’s calls it a connection.

A visceral link. Like calls to like. Strange ectoplasmic middle fingers to the laws of the universe—to the great equalizer that is death.

(Danny thinks Ra’s is wrong. Not completely wrong, but not right either.)

When his ghost form is no longer trying to cannibalize his human self, Talia dials up his training. Before, she was merely an observer. Now, she fights him in the ring, teaching him how to dodge with bruised ribs and broken bones. Brutally correcting his stances with harsh jabs and quick strikes. Sweeps him off the floor with a twist of her leg when he forgets how to use his feet. Each day left him with such bone-deep fatigue that mor more once he fell asleep during his sixty minutes in front of the monitor.

They know, now, that the Pit has no adverse effect on him. That he can use the pit more than once.

Bruises and fractures, cuts and scrapes; injuries mean nothing when a dip in green waters will wash everything away.

Even the possibility of insanity starts to feel far-fetched.

Danny should hate this. He should really hate this.

He loved it.

Phantom had always been a fighter. A protector. An underdog matched up against bigger and stronger foes but always somehow coming up on top. He was popular. Liked by the citizens of Amity Park despite his dumpster fire of a reputation near the beginning. Somehow in the year and a half since Phantom’s conception, he went from town menace to this larger-than-life figure. (Ha!) The hero of Amity Park with all of the expectations and responsibilities that came with it.

But Danny—plain, ol’ Danny Fenton—wasn’t any of that. Wasn’t allowed to be any of that. Because Danny Fenton was a wimpy kid who tripped over air and regularly got shoved inside lockers. He was the ghost hunters’ son who was deathly afraid of the paranormal. A C-average student in a family of geniuses.

A persona unwillingly crafted and carefully maintained, because at least this way no one other than Jazz or Wes will be able to connect Fenton to Phantom. Who would believe it?

But here, in Nanda Parbat, he was neither Fenton nor Phantom— he was something more. He had no secret identity to keep from the people who have vigorously researched him. He had no need to hold back.

Here, Danny was free to be Danny.

“Daniel.”

Even if he was called by the wrong-right name.*

Danny floated up from the pit, his transformation seamless as he stepped onto the edge on quiet feet. Tahlia threw him a knapsack. “Ready yourself, we have places to be.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I get my sixty-minutes after the Pit, remember?”

“I did not forget.” She smiled, resting her hand on her hip. “I simply thought that by beloved child might relish a change in scenery.”

Danny perked up, hands tightening around the straps of the knapsack. “We’re going outside?” Tahlia nodded. “Like—outside-outside. With the sky and trees and—and the stars?”

Amusement softened her sharp features, jade eyes sparkling with mirth. “The very same. Though the place we are going to is quite fickle in nature, and I am unsure if we will get another chance to go. But if you really insist on it then—”

“Wait!” He snapped his mouth shut, clutching the bag closer to his chest.

(Family, his core whispered. Family-safe-safe-protect-need-see-confirm-family-home)

The sixty minutes he gets to see his family was…precious. One of the few times the restlessness in his core would draw back; melt away like frost in the spring, leaving some sense of contentment behind. It was his refuge. Sanctuary. Physical proof that what he was doing here—(staying away-away-why-go back-back-return-home-family-home-protect)—meant something.

But.

Outside.

The Pit might have increased his training regiment, but it also allowed him to leave (escorted) the walls of his rooms. And this—

Danny could go outside.

He could go outside.

If he didn’t accept this now, then who knows when the opportunity would arise again? His family wouldn’t mind, right? Jazz did say something about how spending time outdoors is good for one’s health.

He swallowed a lump in his throat. “My…my family will be alright, yes?”

Tahlia cocked her head. “Why wouldn’t they be? You have done nothing wrong that goes against our agreement, and you have progressed wonderfully in your training. I am quite proud.” At Danny’s disquieted expression, she sighed. She raised her hand. “I swear on the blood of the demon—on our blood—that I will honor our agreement and do no harm to the Fentons and your friends during our trip.”

She lowered her hand. “Are you satisfied, habeebi?”

Reluctantly, Danny nods. An agreement from Tahlia is probably the best he could do at this point. “How much time do I have to prepare?” “Everything you will need is in that back. Though, it might do you good to dress very warmly.”

----------

Danny’s first breath of fresh air was biting. It filled the lungs crisp and clean, chilled him to the bones though he could feel no cold. Each warm exhale expressed itself in swirling mists, disappearing into the slate gray clouds above. A facsimile of his own ghost sense.

Fenton did not think much of breathing; Phantom did not need it.

Danny had never realized how wonderous it was to breathe.

“We head northeast,” Tahlia called out. Like him, she is bundled in thick black layers with long leather gauntlets strapped at the end of the sleeves. Her bag secured tightly, and a sword strapped to her back. Her long black hair is bound in a tight braid beneath her fur-lined hood.

The path is covered with snow, deep enough that his first few steps past Nanda Parbat’s gates sinks his leg midway up his calf with a loud crunch. It was hardly as deep as some parts in the Far Frozen, but over there Danny had the choice to simple float over. Tahlia trudged through the snow with a preternatural grace. The path ahead was marked only by the faint traces of footprints almost—but not quite—covered with fresh snow.

Among the many things the League had taught him, this was one: the devil is in the details.

They speak little on their trek. Not that Danny particularly minds, absorbed that he was with world around him. Nanda Parbat, he learned, was built high in the mountains. Cocooned from the rest of the world by the snow-capped mountain ranges that surrounded it. A fortress of wood and stone that seemed distinct yet so carefully hidden. The high walls protected the buildings within from view. Its roofs—elongated and curved—and tall towers modelled after east Asian architecture. Though which country, Danny does not know.

Their destination—past a large protrusion of stone that covered the fortress from view once crossed—was a lake. Frozen a pale blue with ice, surrounded by more mountain walls and the opening of a cave off to the side.

Perplexed, he said “What, are we gonna go ice fishing? Just so you kno, I’m not that big of a fan. The last time I went with my dad I was nearly eaten by a sea monster.”

“We should have enough food for this exercise, Daniel. And you need have no fear of sea monsters, this lake is devoid of any such creatures.” Once they reached the mouth of the cave, she unstrapped her bag, setting it against the stone wall. Danny mimicked the motion. “We are here to train.”

“With…?”

She gestures to the katana strapped to his back.

“With swords.”

A nod.

“On the ice?”

She smiled, leading him to the edge of the frozen lake. “It has become something of a family tradition of the al Ghuls, to cross blades upon the ice.” She plants a steady foot on the lake, walking towards the center with long strides.

Danny followed behind her with some trepidation. He wouldn’t die from frostbite, he was sure, and if he fell he could always fly himself out. But that didn’t stop him from flinching at the rumbling sounds the ice made beneath his feet.

“My father trained both your father and I on this lake.” Tahlia unsheathed her sword as she took her place across from Danny. “And as your father no doubt trained Damian on his own lake, I have the pleasure of training you.” She slipped into a stance. “On your mark.”

Danny slipped into his own stance, feet apart, both hands on the hilt. Then, something nudged at the back of his mind. “Who’s Damian?”

Tahlia tilted her blade, the polished sword gleaming and sharp. “Your brother. Now—begin!”

“Wait, wha—” Danny barely managed to parry the blow.

Sparks flew as blades crossed and Danny twisted off to the side.

He slipped. Head meeting the ice, the deep crackling sound of the lake making him tense.

Tahlia points the tip of her blade against his chest. A single elegant brow arched high in dissatisfaction. Danny glared at her, brushing the fringes of his hair away from his face. “To be fair, you shouldn’t say stuff like that right before a fight. You caught me off guard.”

“If you find yourself in a fair fight, you have failed to prepare enough.” She sheathed her sword before extending an arm to help Danny to his feet. “The goal of a fight is to end it—no matter the cost. Now, take you place.”

Danny picked up his sword, then, hesitates. He looked up at Tahlia. “Did you mean what you said?” Do I have a brother?

Tahlia smiled, drawing her blade once more. “Impress me and you’ll find out.”

Danny narrowed his eyes.

“Now—”

He adjusted his stance. You’re on.

“Begin!”

Danny lunged.

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #dp fic #phantom children.txt

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notyourordinaryrandomgirl · 3 years

Text

Silva's Revenant

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Chapter 3

The next day, you made sure to visit your friend, Vanessa Enoteca, to their headquarters which is so weird because according to the Magic Emperor it changes randomly. Now, you are roaming endlessly to the forest trying to decipher where the hell is Black Bull’s headquarters.

“Excuse me?”

A voice interrupted your lost thoughts when a small muscular guy talked to you. He is somehow upper body naked with a band on his hair.

“Hey, Black Bull?” You asked taking notice of the logo on the band on his hair.

“Who are you?” His eyes changed into a scrutinizing one that almost made you laugh.

You grinned, “Y/N. I am a Magic Knight. I believe that you are at Captain Yami’s squad, right?”

“Right!” He went back smiling, “My name is Asta. Nice to meet you.”

Oh.

“Asta, huh? So you’re the one with the five leaf clover, anti magic and has no magic?”

He frowned, “You make it sound like it’s a bad thing!”

“No, no,” You chuckled, “I didn’t mean to but I heard stories about you.”

He wore his robe and looked back at you.

“I was looking for your headquarters and I think I am lost.”

“Alright. I’ll bring you.” He politely said and walked.

You followed him. A moment of walking and you come across a silver-haired girl with her hand on her hips and the other flipping her hair. She arrogantly asked Asta where he went as she was looking for her.

“Bakasta!” She said.

You smile. The memories of a small child is playing in your mind as you watch the two argue over the trivial thing. She was so small when you left, just walking around the castle and has no responsibilities. Though looking at her now, she seems very matured and has experience of battles already.

“Who is she, Asta?”

“Oh, she’s Y/N. A Magic Knight. She’s looking for our headquarters.” Asta answered.

You saw Noelle gaped upon hearing your name. You didn’t think she would remember you as years have already gone by.

“Bakasta! She’s the one we went for last night. The one where all the squads gather for her return!”

You guess she didn’t remember you.

Asta looked at you gaping now as well upon learning the information. You didn’t think what should be gapable on having your return but probably the gathering of the captains is a great deal.

“I knew you won’t remember me, Noelle Silva.” You directed your eyes and attention to her.

“You know me? Well, I’m a royal.” Then she flipped her hair again.

You chuckled, “You’re definitely a Silva, but I am here for Vanessa. Is she at the headquarters?”

“Vanessa senpai? You know her?” Asta asked.

“We were at the Entrance Exam the same year.”

They let you follow them. You smiled seeing the two bickers on your way. Later on, you saw the black building where you recognized as Black Bulls’ headquarters. Nothing much has changed.

You followed their lead and they opened the door for you.

“Vanessa senpai, someone is looking for you!” Asta’s loud mouth echoed, you sure that it resonated in the room.

“To me?” You heard Vanessa, and you took it as a cue to show yourself, “Y/N! I know you will come for me!”

“So, that’s why you didn’t bother welcoming me?”

She grinned, “Of course, but we had a mission yesterday and it was late when we got back. Anyway, what’s important is that you’re now here!”

She didn’t change but you can see that she somehow matured.

It was late before you noticed that the whole squad was staring at you. You mustered up a shy smile to them and gaze to Vanessa.

“Oh right,” She jolted, “Everyone, this is Y/N. She’s a friend of mine. A Magic Knight too and we entered the same year.”

“Y/N? That sounds familiar…”

“Isn’t she… Well, I don’t remember.”

“Who cares? Is she strong, Vanessa? Can I fight her?”

“You can’t fight a beautiful woman, I think we can date later!”

“Marie is the only beautiful person!”

“I...I don’t t-think he m-meant t-that w-way, Gauche.”

“Hey brats, she’s an important Magic Knight. She’s definitely at captain level.”

You almost want to roll your eyes when Captain Yami appears from the hall. He smirked when he looked at you to the silver-haired girl.

“Noelle, have you met her?” He teased. Oh my god.

Noelle looked at him confused, “Yeah, we met outside.”

“You don’t remember her?”

“She told me that I might not remember her, but who is she exactly? Is she a royal?”

Yami smiled, “Nothing. You should ask your older brother about her.”

“Who? Nozelnii-sama or Solidnii-sama?”

“Maybe both.” Captain Yami grinned.

“I sort of met you when you were younger, I mean I always see you or sometimes babysit you.”

You decided to interject because it seems this is inevitable and it might as well come from you than anyone else. Some people might inject ideas to her.

“Just that?”

“Captain…” You stressed.

“Alright! Alright, I will stop!” Captain Yami laughed.

“Oh, I don’t remember.” Noelle only said.

“It’s fair enough. If not for your hair and your distinct feature I wouldn’t recognize you either, you’ve grown so much.”

There’s a blush that creeped into her cheeks upon your praise. The smile that crossed your lips was almost motherly-like. She grew up beautifully, almost identical to her mother. Acier Silva must be so proud watching her.

“You should’ve come to my squad. Definitely, you are an addition to this weird squad.”

You grinned, “I know that you already expected me not to change my squad, I don’t know what you are fussing about.”

A smirk graced his lips. You and Vanessa decided to leave and went to a restaurant to catch up. You’re talking while eating when the crowd made whisper noises that caught your attention, when you checked out what they were looking at you saw Nebra and Solid Silva there. They just arrived and as Solid sat down your eyes met.

You looked down, “Vanessa, I think we should go.”

“Hey, we came here first and they don’t own this restaurant. We’ll be fine. You will be fine.” Vanessa told you back.

As much as you want to believe her, but you caught Solid’s playful smirk before he stood up. Eyes were following him as he made his way to you. You can almost hear Nebra’s protests.

When he stops at your table, you don’t have any choice but to acknowledge his presence.

“Solid Silva. Nice to see you well.” You said.

His eyebrow raised, “I am indeed well, Y/N. I am not going to waste time, I just want to ask why did you still come back? Everything’s going pretty well here without you.”

“Hey!” Vanessa stood up, anger displayed on her face. People started to watch the scene, even the people outside were peeking.

“This is my homeland, of course I will always come back where I came from.” You bravely answered him, although his words stinged you.

Solid laughed at your words, “Homeland? Who even voluntarily leaves their homeland, huh?”

“I did that to-”

“To prove something? To hurt people who will be left behind? Isn’t that selfish?”

You stood up, “You have no idea what I’ve been through and I would never wish that to someone, even for you.”

“Don’t give that to me. You want to leave! You left my brother, right? You chose that! So, don’t give me crap about what you’ve been through because you also have no idea what he's been through!”

“Solid!” Nebra stood up and dashed her way to his brother, “Stop making a scene!”

Your breathing became violent, “I-I’m sorry.”

“No, do not apologize for something you don’t regret.” Nebra told you.

“Just don’t come near our brother again, or else you’ll deal with me.” Solid points at you. He brushed off Nebra’s hold on his arm, “I don’t want to eat here anymore. Let’s go.”

They both left the restaurant, and you felt your knees weaken making you sit back on your chair. Vanessa went on about you apologizing and how you shouldn’t have done that. The people’s look at you made you extremely uncomfortable. The two of you decided to leave and went to a forest near Black Bull’s headquarters.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Vanessa asked after a long silence.

You looked at her and smiled, “Yeah. I expected that, actually.”

She sighed and told stories, changing the topic which made you thankful of her. The nightfall came and Vanessa although hesitant parted ways with you. You decided to take a leisure walk in the Royal Capital for hours, a lot of thoughts coming to you. The years of your travel brought you to the results that you needed before you left and it made you happy.

“No, do not apologize for something you don’t regret.”

Maybe Nebra was right. You don’t regret that you left because it gains you something irreplaceable, something that you lacked before you left.

You decided to go back to the headquarters as you noticed the stalls beginning to close up and the crowd was dissipating. As you walk at an average phase, someone’s presence was made known to you. It was familiar, and felt almost like a comfort to you.

“Y/N.”

That brooding low voice and a man with purple eyes appeared from the alleyway on your way to the headquarters. You are frozen on the spot. The silhouette of that man changed into his own physical self.

“Nozel…” It hit you and you looked down, “Captain Nozel.”

He did not talk for a lot of seconds and you did not dare to look at him. You have no right to. Instead, you wait for his words. He called you, it means he needs something.

“I… I wanted to extend my apology to you.” His words were enough to make you look at him. Your mind went on a trip to the memories thinking of the cause of his apology in seconds. You found nothing, it should even be the other way around.

“F-For what?”

“I learned about the incident earlier with Solid. I assure you that I already talked to him and made him promise to not talk to you like that again. That is not how a royal acts.”

Oh.

“It’s nothing. I understand where he is coming from. You should not apologize for that.” You said.

“Understanding the reason doesn’t make the course of action appropriate.” He said, without the familiarity of softness and affection he usually uses to you. It was all gone. You are only colleagues now.

“Of course. I understand. Thank you… for apologizing. It’s alright.” You stammered.

He paused, “Very well. I won’t keep you for long. Thank you, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome,” Your eyes on his purple one. The one you felt so bare everytime it turned to you. The one who looked at you like you’re a goddess. The one you felt the most loved. The one you love the most, “Captain Nozel.”

It is not the same. It changed. Everything has changed.

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#nozel silva #nozel #nozel silva fanfics #nozel fanfics #nozel fanfiction #nozel silva fanfiction #black clover #black clover fanfiction #black clover fanfic #silva's revenant #asta black clover #yami sukehiro #fuegoleon vermillion

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happy-whumper · 3 years

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For sale

I'm back! Before anything else, thank you all so much for all your support and all the positivity!!!! You are all so kind and sweet alkshahaga this really made me so happy!!!!! CW: referenced pet whump, people being referred to as pets, slight dehumanisation (I think? Not sure), Auction whump

The guards disappeared from his view and the lights got dark. Through the curtain Rain could hear people laughing and chatting, though he couldn’t make out any words. He felt himself starting to shake again, it was getting harder to keep the tears from falling down now. The girl who had talked to him earlier looked over to him, he couldn’t see her facial expression clearly but she seemed...almost calm. “Hey, don’t be scared! They are going to open the curtain any minute now, it will probably get really bright but don’t worry, that’s just the spotlight. Nothing bad is going to happen, they will just introduce you and there will be a lot of people looking at you, but you probably won’t even see them. Just try to stay calm and don’t forget to breathe alright?”. Even in the dark he could see a reassuring smile on her face and while his heart was still racing, he felt a bit calmer now. Knowing what was going to happen helped a lot with his fear. “T-thank you...What’s your name?”. But before she could answer, they heard a rattling sound and the curtain slowly slid open. The show began.

“Mr. Bennet! How nice to see you here!”. Nicolas turned his head towards the man who had approached him, a polite and well trained smile on his face. “Mr Lewis. What brings you here? You didn’t seem like the person who was interested in those kinds of events?”. The older man just shrugged and laughed, though it almost seemed a bit forced. “Oh you know how it is, times are changing and if you don’t change with them you’ll get left behind!”. Nicolas nodded, tilting his head slightly to the side. “I suppose you’re right. Now, while I would love to continue this conversation, I believe the auction is about to start, so if you excuse me…”. Luckily the other man got the hint and immediately retreated, taking a few steps back. “Oh of course, I don’t want to take up any more of your time! It was a pleasure to see you here today, maybe we can meet somewhere more official soon?”. He had to try his hardest to suppress and eyeroll, it was painfully obvious that Lewis had planned this meeting long beforehand. But he kept his smile, nodding slightly. “Of course. I will have my assistant call you right on monday. It was lovely to see you, enjoy the rest of your evening.” He waited until he was out of earshot, before turning around again, grabbing his drink from the table. That was exactly why he didn’t like these kinds of crowded events. To be fair, there were ones that were even worse than this particular one, but still. Lewis had been trying to get into business with his family for a long time and so far he had always managed to avoid a meeting but now...He sighed and took a large sip from his whiskey.

Usually he preferred to get his pets over private sellers but he had gotten an official invitation from a good friend of his, saying that this might be one for him and since it would have been rude to decline well...here he was. There had been a few pets presented already, but nothing had caught his interest just yet. It was a real shame that he had to throw out his last pet but it had just been too broken. Useless to him. He shook his head, letting his eyes wander over the crowd, looking for any familiar faces. The room smelled like alcohol and perfume, almost everyone there would be considered “high society”. The kinds of people who had enough money to get away with just about everything. The thought brought a smile to his lips. About a minute later, he was joined by a blonde man in a suit. Nicolas smiled, finally someone whose company he genuinely enjoyed.

“Ethan! So glad you finally managed to show up.” The other man grinned. “Hey Nick, glad you could make it! So, what do you think so far?”. He tilted his head slightly to the side. “There were some that looked like they might have potential, but nothing too interesting yet. I am starting to wonder why you invited me in the first place?”. Ethan laughed and put an arm around Nick's shoulder. “Well, I heard that you had some issues with your last pet and now I don’t want to spoil it for you, but I do have some new pets that might be of interest for you!”. The taller man raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”, hoping he would get a bit more than that. But his friend's grin just widened, causing his dimples to show. “You’ll just have to see for yourself. Actually…”, he pulled out a neat list from his pocket, “Yep, they should be the next ones out.”. Before Nicolas could question the plural, the curtain opened and revealed three pets kneeling on the stage, tied down securely. The bright light that was pointed towards them and his position near the stage allowed him to get a good look at them. With interest he noticed how different they all looked, not just their physical appearance, but their posture and expressions. First there was the girl on the far left, she had long brown hair and a scar on her right cheek. She looked like she wanted to kill everyone in the room, jaw clenched and a distinct fire in her eyes. Intriguing. Next to her was a boy, who seemed a bit older, his dark blond hair was just short enough to not fall into his eyes. From his expression Nicolas couldn’t tell much, it seemed rather neutral, as if he just didn’t care anymore. But from his posture, the way that he was leaning a bit to the left, it seemed as though there was something causing him pain on his right side. He quickly wondered what the cause for that might be, when his attention shifted to the young boy on the far right. Out of the three, he looked the most scared, looking around nervously, shifting on his knees and squinting his eyes together to get a better look at the audience. The most distinguishing feature about him though was his light blue hair, the curls falling over his freckled face. Nicolas smiled, he was cute. Ethan noticed his smile, nudging him with his shoulder. “Told you.” Now a man, seemingly in his early forties, stepped onto the stage, the auctioneer. He had a piece of paper in his hand, gathering the key information about the three pets. “Dear audience, may I present to you our last group before we take a short break! As always, they can be bought together or alone, whatever fits your needs.”. This was the routine and Nicolas was only half listening, his attention focused on the blue haired boy who looked like he was about to break into tears every second now. Nicolas guessed that he was fresh out of training, this was probably the first time he was ever sold. “Let’s start from the left. The name is Olivia, she is 21 years old and was in training from age 16 to 18. She got trained as a Fighter and sent back”, he looked at his notes for a moment to make sure he said the right number, “three times already for refusing to obey. Bidding starts at 400.000$.”. There were a couple of murmurs coming from the crowd, people looking at the girl with interest. She glared at them, pulling on her chains, clearly not a fan of the sudden interest of the audience. “She’s definitely a tough one, at least from what I heard. So far no one has managed to break her or even get her to listen to any orders, really.” “Nicolas turned his head, a slight smile on his face. “Sounds like a challenge.”. The auctioneer waited a moment for the mumbling to calm down, before continuing. “Next, in the middle, is Theodor, 25 years old and first was sent to the academy at 17. He was in training until shortly before he turned 19. Was first sold at 19 and stayed with his owners until he was 24, when he got sent back because a knee injury made him useless.”, the man said it in such casualty and Nicolas could see the boy, Theodor, flinch, the first time he had seen any

reaction to anything at all. A knee injury...That explained his posture. “He was also trained as a fighter. Bidding starts at 350.000$”. Another wave of mumbling washed over the audience. “That one is interesting.”, Ethan leaned over to him, to make sure he could hear him without having to raise his voice. “See, he didn’t make too much trouble when he got first sold, not more than the usual at least. Sure every now and then it was a bit difficult, but you know how it is with Fighter pets.”, Nicolas nodded, urging him to continue. “Everything was fine, he’s a pretty good fighter actually from what I heard, until his injury of course. I don’t know exactly what happened, but at first they tried to get him back up on their own, but apparently it didn’t look good and if he was going to fully recover it would take a long time. So he got sent back. Now comes the interesting thing though, ever since then his behaviour really changed.”. “How so?” “Well, he doesn’t talk back much, he just...doesn’t follow orders. At all. They tried to send him to get retrained but that was difficult because of the knee, so now the plan is to try and sell him again, see if anyone can work with that.” Interesting…So far Nick was most definitely intrigued, though he wasn’t sure if it was enough yet.

“Moving on to our last pet. His name is Rain and he is 19 years old. Got to the Academy when he was 17 and just finished his training. This is the first time he is being sold. He got trained as a regular pet. Bidding starts at 500.00$. We will start the bidding in 5 minutes.” As the conversations around them picked up again, Nicolas rested an arm on the table, turning his face towards Ethan. “Those sure are some interesting candidates you picked up there…”. The younger man smiled smugly. “Well, I do know my friends. You like a challenge and if I’m being honest, when I saw that Rain kid I just had a feeling you might like him.”, he winked at him, causing Nicolas to roll his eyes, not able to hold back a smile. He had been right, he did like Rain. There was just something about him, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. And for the other two...he did like a challenge and especially Olivia seemed to be just that. Theodor as well, even if it was in a slightly different way. He straightened his back, getting ready for the bidding to start. He glanced over to Ethan, a smirk on his face. “Alright. I’m in.” Taglist: @starnight-whump @froggywhumpy @whumpasaurus101 @as-a-matter-of-whump @jordanstrophe

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istgimamess · 3 years

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Reaction: [ S t r a y K i d s ] finding out their s/o is a [ S u p e r n a t u r a l C r e a t u r e ]

"...hi it's the anon from yesterday! so I'm not sure what way you do your reactions but something i haven't seen yet but would like to is a reaction to finding out that either their s/o or friend, whichever you'd prefer, is a supernatural creature (like werewolf, fae, witch, shape shifter, mermaid, demon, angel, anything really) for stray kids!

let me know if I didn't give you info that you need for a reaction or... if there are any problems with my request, I'm kind of shooting blindly since you don't have rules or anything right? so yea, i hope this is fine tho..."

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[ C h a n ] finds out you’re an [ A n g e l ]

His initial reaction: [ C o n c e r n e d ]

^ he’s logical, fair and patient—he’s known for having a logical minds and a fair judgment. He strives for fairness and justice constantly. This makes him a wonderful mediator. He’ll analyze every situation with his little legal eagle brain and logical mind; with the help of that he can organize all things well and eliminate the irrelevant. So when you finally admit to being an angel, show him your wings, he’ll most like keep quiet.

^ also, he’s a great listener—he’ll most definitely listen to your side of the story before making any irrational decisions about your relationship. This goes back to his logical, fair and patient way of thinking; he’ll most likely just sit there quietly and let you do the talking, the explaining. ^ he soaks up all the ideas and information around him like a big brainy sponge. He hates conflicts and confrontations and always watches his words while communicating, talking in a way as to not offend you. When he finally does say something, his words will be well thought out, calculated.

^ he always knows a lot more than he lets on, most likely he already knew you were abnormal—a bit different—from the very start of your relationship. And he was just waiting for you to get comfortable enough to admit it to him, to officially let him in on the secret.

^ he’s very understanding. He’s very thoughtful and interprets things that most people miss out on. This will be beneficial to you when you begin to try and explain to him why you kept this a huge secret for such a long time. He’ll see that it, your unwillingness to tell anybody your origin story, has nothing to do with him not being worthy of knowing. He won’t take it personally.

^ he’ll tell you like it is, straight up, because he’s an honest and upfront person. He’ll wait until you’ve finished explaining and when you question him on his thoughts and feelings in the moment, he won’t sugar coat it—which can be both good and bad.

^ but, also, he can smell bullshit from a mile away. If you omit any significant details, or lie in any way, he will catch on almost instantly. And he won’t be happy.

^ he’s loyal to the bone and fiercely protective of you; finding out you’re an angel won’t change that. If anything, he’ll feel even more protective of both you and your secret. ^ he’ll forgive but never forget. Even though he won’t show it on the surface, he’ll be extremely hurt that it took you so long to tell him. Logically he knows it has nothing to do with him, but emotionally it will feel like you just don’t trust him enough. He’ll forgive you for keeping such a monumental secret, but he’ll never forget that feeling. But once he listens to your story, does his own research, his concern for you will outweigh those hurt feelings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So I did some research,” he trailed off, you jerked at the echo of his voice in the otherwise silent room.

“Research? On what?” you gaze over at him, not quite meeting his eyes.

“You. Well, angel’s in general, but mostly you.” his voice is much lower, the silence drags on for a moment too long. It’s suddenly stifling.

“And?” you breath out, still caught off guard.

“What does Éloa mean?” he questions, taking a step around the bed to face you, get a better look. You narrowed your gaze, heart suddenly in your throat. How did he find that name? Did he know? Was he just testing you? You take a deep breath, eyes dropping down to the carpet beneath his bare feet. You decide to just answer him, literally. “It’s the name of an angel.” He tilts his head, contemplatively. And there is something dangerous in his eyes, something you can’t quite place. “I’ve never heard of him.” “You wouldn’t have.” you pull the blanket closer to you, resisting the sudden urge to spread your wings, stretch them wide and flee. “Was he a fallen angel?” his eyes are darker now, assessing, he definitely knows. You know he knows. So why wasn’t he saying? “She was, yes.” you hesitate, not wanting to give too much of your past away, but unable to stop yourself. “Lucifer tricked her into falling from heaven.” “Tricked her how?” he was still standing above you, he wouldn’t approach you, hasn’t since the night he caught you in full form. You meet his gaze. “She fell in love with him.” His eyes narrowed, his face pulled into a grimace. How disgusting must it feel to find out your girlfriend is not only a fallen angel, but also a fallen angel who was once in love with Lucifer. You shrink, your wings drawing in closer to your body. “Did he love her?” Like an addict loves his addiction, you think, bitterly.. “The only way he knew how.” He must have been able to see the pain in your eyes because, for a moment, pure concern crossed his features. He shook his head, schooling his expression once again. “How could he trick her?” “He never told her his name.” you whisper, your voice breaking. And suddenly he wasn’t across the room, standing above you at a distance—he was right in front of you, knee on the bed, arms around your shoulders. “Shhh, it’s okay, we don’t have to talk about it now.” He reached forward to cup your cheek, the touch surprising you. "Please understand that no matter what you are or what has happened in your past, I am yours. I am devoted to you above all else, including my own life."

You exhaled after holding your breath for what felt like forever, tears spilling over in excess. "That's pretty heavy, Chan." His expression was impassioned, and the backs of his fingers brushed the side of your neck, thumbs wiping away the wetness on your cheeks. "It is a burden I am glad to carry.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ C h a n g b i n ] finds out you’re a [ W e r e w o l f ]

His initial reaction: [ C u r i o u s ] ^ he’s kind and protective. He feels responsible and is always willing to help you out when you’re in need. He will go to great lengths to make sure that you feel loved and you’re happy. He will always stand up for the underdog, (no werewolf pun intended.) This is beneficial to you because his compassionate heart will win out over his logical mindset.

^ he’s extremely loyal. If there’s one trait imbedded in him, it is his loyalty. He physically won’t be able to turn his back on you—werewolf or not.

^ he’s also very honest. He tends to be extremely direct and straightforward with you. He gives honest feedback to you when you ask for it. He would never speak a white lie just to avoid conflict, or be deemed reasonable, so you wouldn’t have to worry about him bottling up his true thoughts, opinions and emotions on the subject.

^ that being said, his honesty often comes off as excessive bluntness. Therefore, at first, you might catch some heat in that department.

^ he, at times, can be very inflexible. When he has committed to something, in this case a way of thinking, he’ll fight tooth and nail to stick to that way of thinking. Regardless of how much proof he has in front of him, it will be difficult to convince him otherwise—especially when he grew up believing that werewolves were myth, not real.

^ once he has a significant amount of proof, though, he’ll be insanely curious on the matter and his crazy sense of humor will resurface.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wait, are you an alpha? An omega? Do you turn when you feel threatened?” his wide eyes, his random questioning—it all catches you off guard.

“I’m considered a dominant amongst my pack. And, yes, I guess I would if I felt threatened.” you nod slowly, holding his gaze. You’re the werewolf here, the freak of nature, but this boy—this human—is the weird one.

“What’s a dominant? Are they more important than a submissive?” he crawls closer to you, his jeans catching on the carpet beneath you.

“Not necessarily. A submissive wolf is not incapable of protecting themselves: they can fight, they can kill as readily as any other. They are a treasure in a pack, just as important. A source of purpose and of balance.” you catch yourself quoting your great grandmother, the very first female dominant in your pack, a rare, smart, capable wolf.

“Then why does the dominant wolf exist? If a submissive wolf is just as capable, just as important, why make the distinction?” he interjects, your baffled at his level of curiosity.

“Because even through submissives are just as capable and important, they’re very different. It’s a dominants job to protect those beneath them.” you pause momentarily, watch a multitude of expressions cross his face. “Protecting a submissive is far more rewarding because a submissive will never wait until you are wounded or your back is turned to see if you are truly dominant to them. Submissive wolves can be trusted. And they unite the pack with the goal of keeping them safe and cared for.”

There is a long moment where you just stare at each other, his eyes glazed over, a childlike expression on his face. “So you’re a werewolf trapped in a human body?”

You stifle a laugh, unable to control your facial expression. "Well, yeah, that's kind of the definition."

"No, really. You’re trapped?” his eyes widen slightly, he leans forward, anticipating your answer.

"Oh? Are you trying to ask me the last time I shifted?" you voice, confusion written all over your face.

“Yes.” he nods enthusiastically. You briefly debate telling him about the traffic incident, but ultimately decide against lying.

“On your birthday.” you admit, sheepishly. “There was a lot of traffic and I was running late.” you trail off, suddenly awkward. But then he laughs, big and loud, throwing his head back.

“That’s so cool! I want to be a werewolf. How do I get a werewolf to attack me?" he smiles wide. And you roll your eyes, shake your head in pseudo disappointment. “Stand in the middle of a forest under a full moon with a raw steak tied to your face, holding a sign that says, 'Eat me; I'm stupid'?”

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[ H y u n j i n ] finds out you’re a [ M e r m a i d ]

His initial reaction: [ P r a c t i c e d ]

^ he’s very empathetic with a lively imagination and a friendly disposition. He has a boundless capacity for empathy even with those who he barely sees eye to eye with. This is great for you because, even if he is initially angry that you kept such a secret from him, he’ll still empathize with your situation, your story.

^ he’s more emotional than your average guy. He is intune and prone to the infectious emotion of those around him. If he see tears, he will likely cry. If he can sense hurt in your voice, it will sadden him also.

^ he will love you unconditionally no matter what or who you are. ^ he’s selfless and generous. No matter how big the secret, how hurt he is from your omission, he will always be there when you need someone. Because he is so practiced in the idea that he can’t live without you, he will always show up when you need him.

^ that being said, because of his idealistic nature, you can often find him walking alone. He can be overly trusting and it often leaves him feeling betrayed, hurt and vulnerable. He might view your lack of openness, truthfulness, as a betrayal within your relationship. And that might make conversation with him, for a while, very stilted. He’ll seem impassive at first, but he will eventually warm back up to you.

^ he’s not one to give up easily. He puts in the work to get what he wants in life and he won’t let it slide away without a fight. He won’t let you go over something like this, not after he’s just got you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There, with bare feet and drenched hair, you were crouched like a child. Upon hearing him approach, you looked up, peered into his dark, hesitant eyes. You wore only an enormous men’s sweater, his sweater—with no extravagant pattern or color, the sweater was a dull beige. Your knees were pulled up inside of it, thin pale ankles peeking out from underneath. The wool sweater alone was dry, as the rest of your head, hands, and feet were as wet as if you’d just been pulled from drowning. Tiny rivers flowed off your hair and pooled on the wool sweater, leaving it dark in splotches. Water droplets glistened on your skin, not running off, as though they couldn’t quite bear to leave you. His eyes held yours in a way his hands did not. His empathetic gaze schooled, his expression practiced, controlled.

“So...a mermaid?” you twist your head the other direction, his voice breaking your concentration momentarily. At this he took a sudden step forward, as if compelled. He had caught a glimpse of pink gills under your chin, his busy eyes dancing along your neck with a new found curiosity. You became overwhelmingly self conscious, tucking your chin, keeping your neck hidden from his view. It had always taken your gills longer to disappear than your tail.

“My mother told me stories of mermaids. She said they sometimes sing to humans to lure them underwater.” his voice trailed off, momentarily. “But you have a horrible voice.” your gaze snaps up, catching the mischievous look in his eye, his grin.

His teasing catches you off guard, you fumble with your words, “Yeah, well...I've been practicing. Want to hear?” you glare at him, halfheartedly.

He lets out a soft laugh, “I'm always happy when I'm surrounded by water, I think I'm a Mermaid too...or at least, I was a mermaid in a past life.” he crouches down, he’s much closer to you now.

“Are you in pain?” you choke out, the idea of him hurting, in any way, unbearable to you. You don’t know why you asked that, he’s obviously just joking—keeping a steady conversation with you, trying to keep you calm.

“Pain? Why would I be in—” he trails off, eyes snapping in your direction. “Wait, are you in pain?” the absolute, genuine concern in his voice has you pulling up short. Your breathing shallow.

“Mermaids hurt when we’re in human form.” you admit, quietly, eyes glued to the rocks on the horizon.

“But...but you never look like you’re in pain, you’re always smiling, always so...graceful—” he cuts himself off abruptly, eyes narrowed. It’s as if he’s angry at himself for not catching on to your discomfort much sooner. “What does it feel like?”

“When your tail divides and shrinks until it becomes legs, it’s very painful. It feels as if a sharp sword is slashing through you. Everyone who sees a mermaid on legs will say that they are the most graceful human being they’ve ever laid eyes on—” you remember, vividly, all the times you were complemented for your gliding movement; not even a seasoned dancer is able to tread as lightly as you. “But every step you take feels as if you are treading upon knife blades so sharp that blood must flow.”

There is silence, the ocean waves brushing against the sand, caressing the shore—it’s the only noise you hear for a moment.

“Then shall I take you home and put you in the bathtub?” his unsystematic question is enough to pull you out of your thoughts completely, his brand of humor easily calming you in your panicked state. You’re suddenly very thankful.

“How do you always know just what to say?" you ask, a smile on your lips. His laugh rumbles through you as he puts his arm around your damp shoulders. "Practice, I guess."

You pull back and give him a quizzical look.

"I spent three years imagining what I would say to you if you were mine," he says, tugging you closer. “I should hope I know what to say now that I've finally got you.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ J i s u n g ] finds out you’re a [ D e m o n ]

His initial reaction: [ B e w i l d e r e d ]

^ he’s very intelligent and he’s always ready to expand his knowledge reserves. He usually has a systematic approach to life, he always ensures that he doesn’t miss any loophole behind. So when he finds out about you being a demon, he’s both bewildered and inquisitive.

^ he’s usually very calm and collected on the surface. But underneath he has a great intensity that demands he bring order to his world. He struggles with the need to rearrange his frantic interior beneath the calm exterior until everything is perfect. This might make him seem more freaked out, frightened, than he actually is.

^ he is highly patient with you and always tries to find the good in everything around him. So in reality, even though he initially seems frazzled at your confession, he will actually give you enough time to fix up your act—explain yourself—when need be.

^ he can, at times, be very judgmental. He tends to appraise and judge people based on one particular viewpoint in that person’s life—especially if he doesn’t know that person well enough. That being said, your relationship is solid enough to outlast his initial judgment.

^ he can also be very fussy, as sometimes he gets lost in the details. His strong likes and dislikes make him quite finicky at first. And he’ll definitely feel some type of way that you kept him in the dark for so long. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ All the demons of Hell formerly reigned as gods in previous cultures. No it's not fair, but one man's god is another man's devil. As each subsequent civilization became a dominant power, among its first acts was to depose and demonize whoever the previous culture had worshipped. The Jews attacked Belial, the god of the Babylonians. The Christians banished Pan and Loki, the respective deities of the ancient Greeks and Celts. The Anglican British banned belief in the Australian aboriginal spirits known as the Mimi. Satan is depicted with cloven hooves because Pan had them, and he carries a pitchfork based on the trident carried by Neptune. As each deity was deposed, it was relegated to Hell. For gods so long accustomed to receiving tribute and loving attention, of course this status shift put them into a foul mood.

And when Hell, itself, was in a foul mood, demons—specifically the ones planted here on earth—got the brunt of it. So to say you were in a bad mood would be an understatement. In hindsight, it might not have been the best decision on your part to agree to speak with Jisung about your origins in that moment.

“It’s not fair.” his voice wavers, the emotional confrontation taking a toll on him.

“What, that I’m a demon or that you managed to date me?” you bit out, tersely. “Don’t.” his voice was abruptly dark.

“No, you’re right, it’s not fair—but what makes earth feel like Hell is your expectation that it should feel like Heaven. Earth is earth. Dead is dead. Good is rarely good and bad is always bad. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough. It won’t help the situation for you to get all upset.” you snap back at him, voice just as dark.

‘‘What’s that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me now?” his eyes narrow.

“How miserably hypocritical,” you respond with a growl. “You think it’s such a burden for you to be tricked into dating the devils servant? What about the burden of me being me?” your voice is much lower now, your practically spitting venom in his direction. “No sooner am I offered a chance to flee Hell than I yearn to stay.”

“I didn’t want this.” his dark eyes, his bewildered gaze reflecting a huge amount of regret.

“Few families hold their relations as closely as do prisons. Few marriages sustain the high level of passion that exists between criminals and those who seek to bring them to justice. It’s no wonder the Zodiac Killer flirted so relentlessly with the police. Or that Jack the Ripper courted and baited detectives with his—or her—coy letters. We all wish to be pursued. We all long to be desired. That’s what I did, I pursued you, I desired you. Anything beyond that is your fault.” you turn, ready to flee out the door, the overwhelming urge to hurt something, someone, frightening you.

“My fault!? Is it my fault that I want you? That I want that feeling of standing with you against all odds and succeeding? That I want it so bad, I’d risk destroying everything I’ve worked for?” he spits at your back, crossing the room in a long stride to block your path to the door. “Is that my fault? I should walk away. But all I want to do is follow you, out that door, down the street, all the way back to hell.” his fists are clenched, his face red, you’ve never seen him so frustrated—with you or himself. “What the hell am I doing, falling in love with a demon?” His sudden confession almost knocks you from your feet. Anger and confusion painting his face.

“You love me?” you whisper in a fit of shock.

“Yes.” he whispers right back, voice matching yours, as if his own confession shocked him as well.

“Enough to follow me all the way to hell?” you’re baffled.

“Well, according to Google, 98.3 percent of lawyers end up in Hell. That's in contrast to the 23 percent of farmers who are eternally damned. Some 45 percent of retail business owners are Hellbound, and 85 percent of computer software writers.” he hums to himself, pausing in thought. “Perhaps a trace number of musicians ascend to Heaven, but statistically speaking, 100 percent of them are cast into the fiery pit. As are essentially 100 percent of journalists and redheads.” he finishes with a satisfied nod. “Readheads?” you cock your eyebrow, completely thrown by the turn of conversation.

“What? I told you! I googled it.” he smiles, oddly proud of himself.

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[ F e l i x ] finds out you’re a [ V a m p i r e ]

His initial reaction: [ P l a y f u l ]

^ like Jisung, he’s appears very calm and collected on the surface; he will struggle with his external facade and his internal need demanding order. This might make him seem very impassive in the moment, as he tends to shut down when confronted with mixed and conflicting emotions.

^ he has an analytical mind that can see things in black and white. He is capable of finding solutions to tough problems, always. He has a keen attention to detail, and likes to absorb everything before making a decision. So he will probably, like Chan, be very quiet and expressionless during your confession.

^ he has a very clever mind. And he will go through all possible elements of thinking before making any decision—so you won’t have to worry about fear, disgust or uncertainty driving him to make an impulsive decision about your relationship.

^ he’s very honest with you, he will always tell you exactly how he feel about you—to your face. He doesn’t like to sugar coat his words. For him, honesty is the best policy, even if the truth hurts. So when he does settle his mind, his inner conflict, enough to respond to you articulately—you might experience some unintentional savagery, but it most definitely will not last for long.

^ he’s pretty old school, a bit conservative and old fashioned. He’s not really into modern changes and prefers things in their old traditional ways. This is beneficial to you, in the given situation, because you are much much older than you seem. Your aura brings that old fashioned feel, and he will still appreciate that—even after realizing why.

^ once he wraps his head around the concept, around the idea of you being a vampire and living off of blood, he’ll be extremely playful. He’ll love to tease you, and honestly, he’s the type to be into a little blood play.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Yeah, I get it, you're a vampire," he said. "Creepy. And okay, a little hot, I admit."

"You don't mean that." you gape in his direction. "Come on. I still like you, you know, even if you... crave plasma." You blink once, twice, and it’s as if you’ve never seen him before. “You what?"

"Like. You." Felix enunciated slowly, as if you might not know the words. "Idiot. I always have. What, you didn't know? We’re literally dating." he sounded cool and grown-up about it, but you saw the hectic color in his cheeks, under the moonlight.

"How clueless are you? Does it come with the fangs?" he sniffs, eyes darting around him, never really settling on you.

"I guess I...I just thought.... I don’t know. I just didn't think...You're kind of intimidating, you know." you finally admit. "I'm intimidating? Me? You’re the vampire here!” he spluttered out. "You're the one who's intimidating. I mean, come on. All that power, and you look... Well, you know how you look."

"How do I look?" you were fascinated now, you moved a little closer to him on the couch. He laughed nervously. "Oh come on. You're a total model-babe."

"You're kidding." you deadpan, completely caught off guard.

"You don't think you are?" he shot back at you, side eyeing your expression. You shook you head."Then you're kind of an idiot. Smart, but an idiot." he crossed his arms, momentarily lost in though. “So? What exactly do you think about me, except that I’m intimidating?” he questioned after a moment of silence.

“I think you’re…you’re…ah, interesting?” your the one tripping over your words now. If you were capable of blushing, you’d be beet red. “I think you’re kind of beautiful...for a human. And really, really strange.” You look away, keeping your eyes on the opposite wall.

“Beautiful? But I’m a boy.” he whines.

“Boys can be beautiful too, it’s not subjective to one gender. Besides, beauty is a state of being—it’s inside—not just physical attractiveness.” you reprimand him for his narrow mindedness.

He smiled and looked down, the color in his face deepened. “Thanks for that,” he murmured, “I thought you only considered me to be bratty.”

“Well, to be fair, you are bratty.” you smile, peeking at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Hey!” he gasps, affronted.

“What? You can be bratty and beautiful,” you shot back, repeating yourself once more. “I think it’s interesting.” There was a beat of silence, “So, your not scared of me? You don’t hate me?” you whispered into the dark room. Before he could even open his mouth to reply, you continue, “I have been stabbed, shot, burned, bitten, beaten unconscious too many times to count, and even staked. None of those would hold a candle to the pain I’d feel if you hated me, if you were scared.”

His dark eyes find you in the light of the moon, his hand reaching out to intertwine with your. He opens his mouth, closes it and opens it once more—as if trying to articulate his feelings properly, as if trying to find the words. “That's pretty hot," his deep voice carries in the otherwise quiet room.

"What? Me being staked?" you admonished, unprepared for the turn of conversation.

"Well, no. Of course not. I meant the idea of getting rough with you is hot. I'm a big fan of full-contact sports." he wiggled his eyebrows in your direction, his voice playful, and you couldn’t help but laugh. Throwing your head back, you squeezed his hand, “I'm sure you are.” ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ J e o n g i n ] finds out you’re a [ N y m p h ]

His initial reaction: [ D e l i g h t e d ]

^ he’s incredibly open-minded and tends to think and do things differently than others. He thinks for himself and likes to keep an open mind about all things. He’s not the type to judge a book by its cover. So you won’t need to worry about any judgment being thrown your way.

^ he’s a true free spirit, meaning any attempts to keep him from being who he really is will make him turn away. This is great, because he has learned to treat others as he wishes to be treated; he won’t ask you to suppress who you are, or change in any way, for the fear that you might do the same to him.

^ he’ll most likely need some space and freedom to work through his thoughts on your unusual upbringing. However, he will be very vocal about exactly why he needs space, as to avoid any miscommunication. He would never up and leave you for being open and honest with him and he wouldn’t want you to think otherwise.

^ like Jisung, he is also quite the intellectual. He can amaze anyone with his original ideas; this is great because, right off the bat, he will be so overwhelmed with curiosity, overflowing with questions, he won’t have the time to be upset with you.

^ sure, he’s a bit of an intellectual rebel and he will loudly defend his opinions, but he’s also willing and open to learning. Ultimately, telling him you’re a forest nymph will be like telling him you had grapefruit for breakfast. He has a great power to form and understand abstract concepts and conform and adapt to new information like he’s known it his whole life—like it’s no big deal.

^ he’ll be delighted with your honesty, insanely curious and extremely playful.

^ he’s also very stubborn at times. It is often hard to change his mind about something once it is set for. But you’re close enough to actually succeed in this area, an area which others have failed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You wake up sudden—a chill crawling down your spine—in a puddle of cool sunlight. Your hands asleep beside you, your hair draped on the lawn like a mantle of cloth. Frost grows on the window glass, forming whirlpool patterns of lovely translucent geometry, and you stare up, momentarily forgetting where you are. Sitting up slowly, you lean forward and breath on the glass, giving the frost more ammunition. Now the winter nymphs can build castles and cities and whole ice continents with your breath’s vapor. In a few blinks you can almost see them moving in, ready to do their seasonal damage to your lovely forest, to your home. That’s when you hear it, a shift in the cool grass. And suddenly he’s right there, crouched down beside you. He rocks forward, and hisses in an attempt to scare you out of your thoughts. But you knew he was there the entire time, you could sense his presence. He could never truly sneak up on you in the forest, not with the many trees and plants and animals—the many eyes and ears.

You turn to him, with a bored expression, “Really? That’s all you got?”

You stretch your wings, hear their crackle, as a show of complete content.

“Not fair! How did you know? I was really quiet this time!” he pouts, whining about how unfair it is. “Also, why are you out here? It’s kind of cold.” he finally sits down, pulling his knees up to his chest.

You shrug your shoulders, resisting the urge to smile. There’s a pause, a beat of silence, where you both gaze up at the outer side of the house; the windows covered in frost catching your attention, yet again. And then you feel his gaze on you.

“It’s nice.” he whispers and you turn your head to face him, confused.

“That you exist.” he smiles at you and you feel your heart drop.

“I think humans don’t want merely to see beauty...we want something else which can hardly be put into words—” he cuts himself off, momentarily, watching your face carefully. “We want to be united with the beauty we see, to pass into it, to receive it into ourselves, to become part of it. I think that’s why we have peopled air and earth and water with gods and goddesses, and nymphs and elves.” he trails off again, and you’re left speechless. His dark eyes catching on the curves and lines of your face. And then the moment is broken, he looks away, back up at the frost bitten windowsill. But your heart still thumps in your throat. “And this is nice," he begins with a sigh. "Like...one of those paintings where a nymph or Athena is drawing the gods and goddesses." your eyes follow his gaze back up to the windowsill, you see that he’s referring to the intricate designs hidden within the frost. Winter nymphs have a tendency to hide such patterns, such art, in their work.

You hum in agreement. “And here I was thinking you were an utterly uneducated human," you said teasingly.

"I am a student," he responded with hauteur. "I am classically educated.”

"Plus, nymphs are pretty," he adds, in after thought.

You laugh. "I could stare at them all day," he continued. His tone was carefully neutral, but his eyes never left yours. And you found you couldn’t look back, and not blush. He reached over, delicately pulling you into his side—it was only then that you realized how closely he held you, and how the gentle incline of the hill brought you almost eye to eye with him.

One side of his mouth twitched. "Your cheeks are like cherries." he chortled, delighted.

You tucked your chin into the wool of his coat. "It's cold," you said, defensively. He shook his head. "I am not complaining. I think they're rather charming. They make you look like a winter nymph.”

“I find that really offensive.” you grumble in response, the forest nymph and fairy blood in you disliking the comparison all together. He laughs, warmly, and pulls you even closer. ✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

[ S e u n g m i n ] finds out you’re a [ W i t c h ]

His initial reaction: [ R e l u c t a n t ]

^ he’s highly reliable, it’s in his blood to keep up with commitments. People often completely rely on him to complete complicated tasks with efficiency and perfection as he is naturally very rational. It’s that rational side of his mind that will force him to listen to your explanation to the end.

^ he would never, consciously, let you down; he consistently gives his best to meet your expectations. He’s the first to answer your call and the last to leave a situation when you’re in need. This will be beneficial to you as he will be compelled to stop, listen and hear you out.

^ like Felix, he is extremely analytical. He will think everything through—weighing the options, good and bad—before making a decision about your relationship.

^ at first he’ll be quite reluctant, hesitant and unwilling to budge in his prejudice. It’s something he can’t help, growing up believing witches are evil, dark, dangerous and manipulative. But deep down he knows you, and this will be all he needs to encourage understanding and acceptance.

^ he’s a problem solver. He likes to tackle problems of close ones and the people around him. At first it might seem like he’s trying to control the situation, but you will soon realize that he is only analyzing your situation to find ways of helping you improve your life.

^ he can be critical at times, overly demanding. It’s because he already has a clear picture in his mind about how things should be done. But he’s also open to change, and once he comes to terms with your witchy ways, he will become the most supportive boyfriend you could ask for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “So tell me about it,” he interjected, pulling you away from your inner dialogue.

“What?” you look up from your study table, eyes meeting his across the room.

“Are you a good witch or a bad witch? Do you practice Black Magic? Have you ever put me under a spell?” his face is blank, expressionless, but his voice gives away his anger and confusion.

“There is no such thing as White Magic or Black Magic.” you turn you head away from him, unable to accept him being so cold and cruel to you. “If you are participating in magic, you are interfering with the natural order of how life would have developed without your hand in it. You are manipulating reality to suit your own personal needs. Regardless of whether you perceive it as "positive" or "white light", you are manipulating life. And just like life, it’s not black and white, all good or all bad.” you trail off, your stomach in knots. It’s best to be truthful, you know this, but it hurts you to think that something like this could damage you relationship. Or worse, end it. You feel the telltale signs of tears forming in your eyes, the heat almost unbearable.

“And no, I’ve never—I would never use it on you.” there is a brief silence and despite him approaching you, stepping much closer, you resolutely keep your eyes lowered.

“Can you tell me about them?” his voice was much softer now, much too close. You look up into his eyes and realize he’s referring to the plants on your bed side table. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, slowly stand up from the chair and turn towards your bed.

“These are tropical palms. They bring strong solar energy into your home that break up stale energy, and keep your home safe from nasty spiritual entities.” you trail off, carefully watching his expression. “This right here is African violet, and it’s associated with love and magic. But I use it because it’s vibrant purple flowers pull lunar energy into your home. Lunar energy is most important to those in my coven.” you whisper, the vivid memory of your grandmother and aunt surrounding themselves, filling their homes, with African violets almost brings tears to your eyes. “Aloe is associated with the water element because the gel inside the leaves. They’re cooling and healing.” you continue on, pulling yourself out of your reminiscing.

Finally you turn to the last plant, your moms personal favorite. “The clusters of star shaped flowers that grow on the long tendrils of the hoya, also called a wax plant, produce truly intoxicating nectar whose aroma fills the whole house. It also bestows blessings on anyone who smells it.” You wait for him to say something, still avoiding his unnerving stare, unsure you want to even see his reaction.

“This stuff? These plants? They really mean a lot to you, don’t they?” his voice is barely there, a whisper, but his words still have the same affect. You blink, once, twice, and the tears you were so set on holding back, fall.

Suddenly he’s there, pulling you closer to him, guiding your head into the space between his neck and shoulder. His warm embrace is enough to comfort you by itself but he still whispers to you, “It’s okay, it’ll be okay. I’m not mad. I won’t leave you. It’s okay.” And, for once, you truly believe it.

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[ M i n h o ] finds out you’re a [ S h a p e s h i f t e r ]

His initial reaction: [ E n t h r a l l e d ]

^ he’s focused and competitive. When he wants something he just goes for it. Also, when he sets his sight on something (you) he allows very few things to get in his way and does anything to achieve his goal (to be with you.) This focus, this competitive nature, will keep him present and attentive during your confession.

^ he’s also extremely brave and daring. He isn’t afraid of challenges in life, so what appears to be a crazy risk to more conservative people is just a normal day for the brave-hearted Minho. Because of this, he won’t be afraid. When you tell him, show him, what you really are—he’ll be more enthralled than fearful or confused.

^ one of the great things about Minho is his loyalty to you. He values trust and honesty making him a fiercely loyal boyfriend, and he expects you to be the same way. That being said, he most likely will be upset that you felt the need to keep such a secret. But he will quickly get over it, dismiss those feelings, once he realizes just how honest you’re being with him in the present. ^ he respects you and treats you with amazing loyalty, generosity and kindness. Him finding out you’re a shapeshifter definitely will not change that.

^ however, it most likely will take him a hot second to be content within your relationship dynamic again, as a part of him perceived your lack of truthfulness as disloyalty. There's a pretty good chance that your actions will cause some big-time resentment to him, at least for a while.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “It’s okay, I mean if you want to, if you need to—” he trails off, his eyes sympathetic. “I’m okay with it.”

You look at him ready to cry again. Not out of pain. Not out of need. But because his words rub that part of your soul that suffers, that wants to be explored like a virgin land that has remained intact for centuries and craves to be occupied, appreciated and transformed. So you let yourself go.

You groan as your limbs lessen into shorter proportions and your neck stretches. Auburn-coloured fur emerged upon your fevered skin, and the sounds of your bones cracking, shifting in an echo around the cold mountain side. Your snout elongates and your teeth sharpen.

You were panting and, with one last shudder, your body slides from human to fox in a crack. Minho stood there, face drawn up in a twisted expression full of empathetic pain, watching the frost dissipate on your hot tongue, sending tiny rivulets of steam into the air. In this form, the world was sharp and clear, he was sharp and clear. You never realized how many different colors of shadow there were, how the angles of his face cast such an array of shade. It made you savor the dark beauty of the cold evening even more.

Minutes passed by—him staring at you, and you staring at him—both of you almost caught in a trance. When a little blue butterfly fluttered up to you, and landed on your snout. You blinked at it and it fluttered to your ear; it was winter, cold and lifeless on the mountain side, why were there suddenly butterflies? A big yellow butterfly gently floats over and lands on your paw, and as if reading your mind, Minho cocks his head to the right, “Well, that’s different.”

Soon a whole swarm of them float up and down around you, like a swirl of multicolored petals. It happened once before, in your backyard, when you shifted on a late afternoon.

Your magic must be strong enough, in that moment, to attract them—despite the weather and location. Butterflies were small and light, and very magic sensitive. For some reason you made them feel safe and they gravitated to you like iron shavings to a magnet. Minho let out a quiet giggle as a bigger butterfly landed on your forehead and you shook it off, affronted. Resisting the urge to fight the assault, you took a step back. They ruined your ferocious badass image, but you’d have to be a complete beast to swat butterflies.

Now if a baby deer frolicked out from between the mountains and tried to cuddle up, you would yip. You wouldn’t bite it, but you would most definitely yip, maybe even growl. You had your limits. Minho slowly approached you and reached out, his fingers hesitant. You tilted your head down, letting him touch your ears. His hand trembled slightly as he caressed the fluffy protrusion. You knew they were warmer than he thought they’d be, a living extension of the human inside. He petted your pelt next, charmed by the coarse fur and the feel of your muscles bunching and moving underneath. Finishing off with your tale, he ran his fingers through it, slowly, thoroughly.

Sitting back, he winked down at you. "You probably get this a lot, but…I like your backside.” he laughed at your annoyed yip. “What? It’s so fluffy.” You stretch back into human form, the change much easier in reverse, and look up at him from the ground. “Always gotta be the smartass, don’t you?” you roll your eyes, with a smile.

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To the beautiful anon who requested a supernatural s/o reaction [Stray Kids,] I hope you like it!!! 😅😅 It was superrrr fun to do, so thank you for the request, loveee! 🥰

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agentnico · 3 years

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The Green Knight (2021) Review

Right, at least there isn’t another 15 minute pie-eating scene, which is already progress. That being said, don’t expect this new David Lowery feature to be any less confusing or perplexing than his previous work.

Plot: An epic fantasy adventure based on the timeless Arthurian legend, "The Green Knight" tells the story of Sir Gawain (Dev Patel), King Arthur's reckless and headstrong nephew, who embarks on a daring quest to confront the eponymous Green Knight, a gigantic emerald-skinned stranger and tester of men. Gawain contends with ghosts, giants, thieves, and schemers in what becomes a deeper journey to define his character and prove his worth in the eyes of his family and kingdom by facing the ultimate challenger.

Similar to Die Hard, this film could be seen as an unconventional Christmas movie. It’s set at that time of year and the catalyst for its events that transpire is kickstarted by a Christmas game (a very messed up Christmas game but still)! So what I’m saying is that the green knight is Santa Claus and he brings the Christmas cheer to King Arthur and his Round-table folk and that’s about it. Okay, no, that is an absolute terrible analogy and I truly apologise for wasting everyone’s time. I’ve wasted your time, I’ve wasted my time, and worst of all, I attempted to tarnish the Christmas name!! That is heresy for my part, though to be fair I see many folks online say that they felt like they wasted their time by watching this film, which is understandable, as it is very slow-paced and the kind of arthouse cinema that isn’t usually enjoyed by mainstream audiences. So in a nutshell if you walked into this movie expecting a sprawling King Arthur epic with big fights and action, you evidently have never seen a David Lowery film before. And no, Pete’s Dragon doesn’t count, of course Pete’s Dragon doesn’t count! Why would you think Pete’s Dragon would count?? If you think watching Pete’s Dragon make you a know-it-all David Lowery expert then you can wrong sir (or madam, I don’t discriminate), and I shall hear no further on this subject! By the way I want to assure everyone that I actually have no problems with Pete’s Dragon and I actually think it’s a very sweet little Disney film featuring a big cute green flying dog that is in no way associated with Clifford the Big Red Dog and it’s pleasant to watch. But it’s evidently a Disney movie rather than a David Lowery movie. You want real Lowery you go watch A Ghost Story. That’s right, I want you to endure that damn pie scene just like I did, and I want you to be pleased about it!!!

So anyway, The Green Knight! A new retelling of the famous medieval poem of the questing Sir Gawain. In some ways it’s a very straightforward story and the movie tells it as such, however as those who know the legend can already tell, nothing much happens in this story. Hence why Lowery prolongs this tale by filling it up with many long takes of Dev Patel’s Sir Gawain riding/walking though dark and eery landscapes (akin to a pilgrim from an Ingrid Bergman film) or various mystical happenings hitting his way such as a spirit who asks him to fish out her decapitated head from a lake or a bunch of naked bald giants howling at him like foxes. Oh, and Joel Edgerton and Alicia Vikander show up as what I can only assume as medieval swingers. Literally. There’s a lot of “what the hell is going on??” moments in this, as typical to Lowery fashion, but naturally there’s meaning behind all of it. It’s simply the question of what that meaning may be. Evidently the big themes here are how does one challenge their own fears and inner demons as well as how does one try and become a better person. For Sir Gawain in this film is not a good guy. He’s a constant drunk who spends his days and nights at the brothel indulging himself in women and booze with nothing to show for himself. So when this whole Green Knight endeavour occurs, he sets out on a journey to hopefully find himself and grow into a better and more courageous person - in essence hoping to become worthy of knighthood and joining the Round-table. But the question is, can something like Gawain become a noble knight? Can he even change his ways? In short, no, he cannot. The movie progresses into a set of failures that Gawain endures, seemingly never learning from his own mistakes. Its a fall into tragedy that ends in very Shakespearean form. This isn’t the heroic Arthurian tale you expect, in fact it is quite the opposite.

The film looks stunning. Thanks to the beautiful cinematography by Andrew Droz Palermo and the accompaniment of haunting compositions and arrangements by Daniel Hart, it’s as if we step into a darker and more gloomier version of The Lord of the Rings, with even the Green Knight himself sharing physical attributes with the Ent creatures from those films. This movie successfully creates its own unique distinct fantasy world, not one that I would even want to live in, but one that I gladly observed from the side-lines like the Watcher from the What If? series. All in all this is not an easy watch. Very much demands your attention and patience, as it expects the audience to analyse and draw their own conclusions as to what everything means.

Overall score: 7/10

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babysizedfics · 4 years

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Little Accidents, Big Developments

Bonus chapter: Yellow

[This is an age regression story]

Chapter Summary: Janus detects a lie.

Chapter word count: 1,800

Other chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / bonus

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

Content warnings: light angst, very mild blood via a bitten lip, and brief, hypothetical mentions of disembowelment and decapitation (Remus, amirite?)

oOo

Janus sipped at his chamomile tea, only faintly registering the bright yellow haze that overcame the left side of his vision. Another lie.

His vision would flare several times a day at least, always informing him of an untruth spoken by one of the sides. He was, of course, accustomed to this alert, having lived with this power for the entirety of his existence.

As the hot herbal drink soothed his aching throat (it was murder on the lungs to reprimand Remus so much), he indulged in his curiosity and closed his eyes. With a practised concentration, he mentally reached out for the false words that had sounded his silent alarm.

It was Patton’s voice. The version of Patton’s voice that Janus had deemed “daddy dialect” in the recent weeks. ‘Nothing will change, sweetheart.’

Janus scoffed.

The lies he was so accustomed to hearing spanned the breadth of significance, from inconsequential white lies (‘I don’t know who finished your Crofter’s jam, Logan.’) to really outrageous fabrications.

Within the past two months, he had heard quite the abundance of silly fibs. Even in the space of a fortnight, some truly ridiculous ones had stuck in his mind:

‘I don’t need dinner!’

‘I-I’m older now. I can do this on my own.’

‘It was a purely tactical approach.’

‘Three, two, one, blow! … You did it!’

It seemed almost every lie spoken by the self-proclaimed “Light Sides” nowadays was riddled with either petulance or condescension. (That is, Janus thought with a roll of his mismatched eyes, at least notably more than was usual for them.) The reason behind it was not lost on him. He may not have been the designated logical side, but it would take an absolute dunce to miss the cues on what exactly was happening in the others’ household; Logan and Patton had evidently taken on caregiving roles for Virgil and, unexpectedly - though perhaps it should not have been, given his childishness - Roman.

Janus had had his suspicions of such after walking in on the household spending time together a month previously. Given how fiercely protective Logan had been of the others and the way Patton had hidden the two younger sides behind himself, it would be hard to ignore the shift in their dynamic. Though the confirmation of it through listening in to the others’ unwitting lies had come as quite an unpleasant shock to Janus, nonetheless.

Every day he sensed silly fibs. The one earlier about baby giggles being a legal requirement under baby law had been… not endearing, per se (that yellow pulse again), but perhaps interesting. Though none of the nonsense he had been alerted to in the past few weeks came close to the idiocy of ‘Nothing will change, sweetheart.’

How self-assured. How naïve. How reminiscent of Janus’ own foolish thoughts all those years ago.

He sighed, lowering his mug to the table and running his cold fingertips idly over the burning hot ceramic. It was not that Janus was jealous (he ignored the faint swell of yellow in the corner of his vision) but rather that he felt an uncomfortable bubble of remorse in his chest, growing and stretching and forcing its way against his ribs.

As he had done countless times before, he wondered what things would have been like had he behaved differently when the youngest side was still part of his household. Had he been more understanding of Virgil’s behaviours. More accepting.

Well, as Patton’s lie had brought up such aching memories, Janus decided a tad more bittersweet self-indulgence would be fitting for the night.

He rose from his seat, tucked the chair back under the table, and slinked through the house fluidly. He thanked his serpentine side for allowing him to practically float up the stairs and through the hallway without making a sound. If either of the other two residents heard him and decided to leave their rooms for a chat, Janus would not be held responsible for whatever unsavoury greeting he may bestow upon them.

A vile feeling clawed at his throat as he neared the perpetually closed door of Virgil’s old bedroom.

With a sharp, short sigh that might have been at least partly a hiss, Janus pushed the heavy door open. The neglected hinges creaked.

Beams of cold light from the hall flooded through the gap of the opening doorway, making visible a thin segment of the abandoned room.

It was unmarred by dirt, slime, blood, or any other disgusting substance, thankfully. Janus had to give credit to Remus. As non-existent as that side’s impulse control was, he had managed to spare this single room from his various antics and pranks at Janus’ sincere request.

The room was entirely unchanged from how it had been left years ago. Small, dotted stains on the walls showed where blu-tac used to hold up punk band posters. Splotches of black on the carpet by the old dresser showed where liquid eyeliner was spilt too many times. Black cotton bedsheets (which now appeared grey with their faint layer of dust) were pulled taut over the mattress where they had only ever used to be in constant, rumpled disarray at a certain someone’s stubborn refusal to make the bed.

Janus gripped the doorframe tightly, clenching his jaw against his growing feeling of unease.

Being a “Dark Side” came with an appreciation of all things, well, dark. True crime stories were common conversation material at dinner, movie nights featured more than anyone’s fair share of fake blood (not always on screen, mind you; Remus had to have some fun once in a while, after all), and family bonding time consisted of debates on the darkest secrets of society and an abundance of teasing of each others’ insecurities and fears - all in good fun, of course. (Though, when Virgil had finally left for good that fateful day with tears streaming down his cheeks, Janus had been forced to reconsider what “good fun” really meant to them.)

As it was, Janus was accustomed to seeing and hearing things meant to turn stomachs, race hearts, and scramble minds. He shrugged at the majority of them and scoffed at the rest. But gazing upon this empty room - the physical embodiment of his failure as a parental figure - was the closest he thought he could truly be to feeling horrified.

Janus’ insides twisted and pulled so much every time his eyes wandered over the sealed doorway, that he had seriously considered asking that Remus follow through on his threats to disembowel him and relieve him of his agony.

Bile had not yet risen in his throat, so Janus considered today to be a good one to bring himself to peek at the old bedside table - or rather what lay upon it.

Once cluttered with makeup products, tangled headphones, and herbal anxiety remedies, the surface now lay mostly bare. Save for a single soft toy slumped across it limply.

The blue stuffed rabbit was a ghastly thing. It was missing an eye, one of its limbs was stretched far longer than the others (probably as a result of its owner’s nervous tugging which was otherwise directed onto his hoodie sleeves), and one of its ears was half-chewed to tatters (another nervous habit of its owner, no doubt). Despite its ratty appearance, the thing was harmless. Such an unassuming object, so innocent.

And yet it brought tears to Janus’ eyes.

He had never even learned the name of the damned thing and wasn’t it utterly ridiculous that Janus, the unofficial leader of the “Dark Sides”, was blubbering over a made-up name for an inanimate object?

It had not mattered to him before. It had made no difference to him what Virgil had named it or how much he had cared about it. Janus had metaphorically and mercilessly turned the thing into a weapon that day. With his careless tongue, he had twisted its existence from an item of comfort and attachment into a source of ridicule and hurt. It was no wonder Virgil had left it behind. It had been tainted.

Janus winced at a sudden sting in his lower lip. He had bitten into it again. One would have thought having fangs would convince someone to be more careful of such a habit.

Delicately dabbing at a drop of cool blood at the corner of his mouth, Janus sighed shakily. That was quite enough emotional torment for one evening.

He released the old bedroom door and let it fall shut. It had barely thudded against the doorframe when that grating, obnoxious sound trilled from the bane of Janus’ existence.

‘What’s up, Jannothy?’

‘Remus,’ Janus greeted with an exaggerated eye roll. It was only partly to rid his eyes of their wetness. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’ Yellow tinted his left eye.

The distinctive scent of burnt paper met his nose. With a jolt of dread, Janus turned to see Remus half-caked in soot. He just about managed to contain a scream. It would have only invited one of Remus’ much-loved screeching competitions.

‘I see you’ve been in the library,’ Janus sighed. ‘Tell me, just how many of my books were charred beyond repair this time?’

Remus blew his cheeks out in a massive exhale, looking up to the ceiling in thought. As the warm breath wafted over his face, Janus was careful to breathe through his mouth.

‘Oh, only about half of them,’ Remus sang then cackled joyously for a short while. ‘But you’ll be glad to hear I sculpted the ashes into the shape of a nine-foot-long decapitated aardvark!’

Janus shut his eyes, shaking his head lightly. He hadn’t the energy to pander to Remus’ whims of fancy. ‘Good night, Remus.’

He silently slipped past the other side in the direction of his room.

‘But it’s only seven!’

‘I’m half cat.’ Yellow again.

‘Jan - wait,’ Remus called behind him, and the incongruous hesitance in his voice gave Janus pause.

He twisted his body back, surprised by the incredibly rare sincerity in the furrow of Remus’ brow.

‘All right. You have my undivided attention,’ Janus drawled, making a point to hold up his hand and inspect his nails thoroughly. He smirked at the yellow tint of his vision.

‘You seem bummed out,’ Remus whined, ‘and the role for resident bum is filled out by me already.’

Janus rolled his eyes again. At this rate, he would get vertigo.

‘So, are you, y’know… okay?’ Remus asked quietly. (Really, what an oxymoron that was.)

Something hard and hot clogged Janus’ throat and he swallowed thickly around it. He dropped his hand and swiftly looked up to meet Remus’ eyes.

‘Yes,’ Janus said in an entirely even tone, ‘I am perfectly fine. Now, if you will excuse me.’

He spun away and marched down the narrow hallway, keeping his gait steady. It was quite a feat, considering the fact he was half-blinded by a bright yellow glare.

oOo

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olliedollie1204 · 4 years

Text

everything fits (2/8)- the follow up

Single father Patton is utterly devoted to his son Virgil. Recently divorced Logan is utterly devoted to his twin sons Remus and Roman. The pieces come together.

Pairings: Romantic Logicality

Word Count: 4,795 words

Tags: Single dad Patton and kid Virgil, Divorced Dads Logan and Janus and kids Roman and Remus (their split was mutual and their relationship is good)

chapter 2 babey! this chapter features that past romantic Loceit-- just a reminder that there’s no drama or conflict regarding their divorce at all!

warnings for general discussion of divorce, siblings bickering, brief descriptions of injury, and arguments between ex-spouses!

(Read it on AO3!)

Logan mostly pushed the morning’s incident out of his mind, switching gears into what Janus lovingly referred to as his “Robo-Teacher” mode. After he relieved the substitute from her position watching his class, he wasted no time in getting the second graders back on schedule.

They were good kids, if a bit rambunctious, but Logan enjoyed the work. Children are so much brighter than society gives them credit for. All they want is what anybody would want: to be heard, and respected, and taken seriously. Logan could understand that; he remembered feeling exactly the same way when he was a child.

So even though he had a reputation as a stickler for rules, order, and schedules, he actually didn’t mind too much when a student would interrupt math time with an unrelated question like, “Mr. Croft, why can’t we drink hand sanitizer?”, or when one would come up to his desk during silent reading with a request of, “Mr. Croft, can you tell us about stars, please?”

He would simply nod and change the subject, giving an impromptu lecture about alcohol poisoning or Alpha Centauri, and within minutes his pupils were satisfied and engaged again.

This attitude was a little unorthodox among his peers, but made him a hit among the children. Every holiday would result in his desk being covered in candies and coffee mugs and handmade cards (which he saved in his bottom right desk drawer— every single one).

So the day was not wholly unenjoyable, even though it had gotten off to a rocky start. Truthfully, he really had never once been late to work, not even when the twins were little.

Logan sighed to himself as his work was once again interrupted by thoughts of his children. At least he didn’t have any reason to worry about them at the moment. They were happy, healthy, and safe— three things that were becoming harder and harder to maintain in his prepubescent sons.

In hindsight, babies are remarkably uncomplicated compared to the minefield that is nearly-teenage children. Babies simply have certain physical, mental, and emotional needs that must be met in order for them to grow up happy, healthy, and well developed. And Logan, not to brag, was very good with babies.

Especially cute little twin baby boys, with their gurgling coos and their sweet smiles and their tiny, pudgy hands, one for each of their daddies to hold—

Logan shook his head, attempting to read the words in front of him for the third time, but he still found his mind drifting to his sons.

That was the main problem, really: Logan was constantly thinking about the twins.

The thing is, there was really no reason for Logan to worry as much as he did. Roman could be a little self-absorbed, and Remus had no concept of a filter whatsoever, but they were generally kind, courageous, and so unbelievably creative, it made Logan wonder where on Earth they got it from. Certainly not him; the arts were admittedly not his forte, although he did know a great deal of trivia about art history. And although Janus was crafty and charming, even he had to admit that he had no idea where the boys got their innate sense of innovation and originality.

Logan hummed, tapping his pen against his desk as his mind drifted from his children to his ex.

His relationship with Janus was about as healthy as ex-husbands could be— you’d think that getting divorced from a lawyer would be hell on Earth, but Janus Sanders had gotten to be one of the top attorneys in the city for a reason. He was so furiously thorough at ensuring everything was fair and just in their divorce papers, Logan hadn’t doubted for a second that everything would end on equal terms.

He’s a good man, Logan thought, not for the first time. They still liked each other, but they weren’t in love, not really— not anymore. It had taken them so long to get to the point where they could make that distinction, and even though they knew it would’ve been easier to carry on in their marriage, neither could deny the somewhat sombering realization that their separation was for the best.

That was a year and a half ago. And things were good between them, sometimes better than they were when they were married, but if he was being honest, Logan just missed his kids.

He had stayed up all night last night thinking about them; their goodnight phone call had been cut short when Roman burst in on Remus’ time, begging his brother to help him add something to their current art project before they had to go to bed. And Logan understood how important their projects were to them, he really did, but he couldn’t deny the twinge of hurt when the line went dead, his sons on the other side of the city. They might as well have been a world apart.

So he had gotten very little sleep the night before, and this morning, he had overslept.

Logan knew, rationally, that it was not a big deal: he had immediately called the school, requesting a temporary sub to watch his class, and set about preparing for his day. He lived relatively close to the school, so despite the increase of morning traffic due to him leaving at a later time, Logan knew he would be there before a substantial amount of time had passed.

But still, it was the principle of the thing, to be on time for work. And then he had remembered that he needed to make those photocopies for his students, and he had been in such a rush to get to his class, until—

He paused, letting his mind drift to the interaction he had had with the man— with Patton— this morning. He found himself flushing a little, even hours after the conversation, as he thought back on the awkward way he had first invaded Patton’s personal space, then spoke to his child without his permission, and then proceeded to continue to converse with him when he and his son were very clearly in a hurry.

And Patton had been so polite, trying to let Logan know he didn’t need to walk them to the office, and he had replied, what? ‘It has nothing to do with you’? ‘I would be going this way regardless’?

He groaned internally. It was not a pleasant interaction to look back on. Normally, he would push it out of his mind altogether, but…

But Patton had been kind, not judging him for his somewhat stilted way of speaking. He had asked him about his kids, a topic of conversation which Logan could never possibly tire of. And he was clearly a doting father to Virgil, who was, in Logan’s professional dad opinion, objectively adorable.

He hadn’t meant to duck out right before the two of them had to leave; he had seen Virgil coming to rejoin his father, and Logan could tell that the boy was at least moderately uncomfortable around him. He had quickly stepped away to give them space, entering the break room and beginning the photocopying process, but when he heard Patton make a comment about getting Virgil to his classroom, he suddenly realized that he couldn’t let them go without saying something.

So when he saw that they were mere seconds away from stepping out the door, he acted without thinking, calling out Virgil’s name on a whim.

He remembered how the two had turned to him, identical looks of confusion on their faces, and how he had scrambled for something to say to the shy boy, something that would perhaps make up for all of the mistakes he had made earlier in the conversation.

So he took a swing, and complimented his hoodie.

In no way could he have predicted the reaction he got. Virgil, who up until this point had barely even looked at Logan, broke into a delighted smile, chirped “Thank you!” in a clear, sweet voice, and waved his free hand at Logan so hard that the hoodie sleeve flopped around in the air.

And Patton— Patton’s reaction was almost as good: the half-second as he registered that Virgil had spoken to Logan directly, and the uninhibited joy in his face as he looked at his smiling son made Logan feel… well. He didn’t know what exactly that smile made him feel. Maybe satisfaction, that he was able to help Virgil in a way that made Patton so happy? He pondered it for a moment more before shaking his head. Feelings were really not his area.

And right before they left, as Virgil practically skipped into the hallway with Patton in tow, the two men met eyes yet again, only this time there was something different in Patton’s gaze— not just friendliness, but like he was… exceedingly grateful. Yes, that was it. His gaze was full of gratitude for Logan, for the small act of kindness that apparently would leave a big impression on his son. Then he, too, raised his hand and waved at Logan, and Logan waved back, and then the door shut, and they were gone.

Logan stared into space for several seconds, picturing Patton’s smile in his mind’s eye, before straightening up in his chair. He would think about this interaction in greater detail after his work day ended. In the meantime, he picked up a pen, continuing to decipher the scrawled handwriting of his students.

He was glad his class had electives for the last section of the day; he had the classroom to himself for 45 minutes up until the final bell, which usually gave him plenty of time to finish his work before the school day officially ended. But today, his attention kept drifting to the clock on his desk, until he looked up as it read 2:03.

His fingers twitched slightly as he did the math in his head: school let out at 2:00 on the dot, his classroom was on the second floor of the main building, and it was approximately a five minute walk to here from the gymnasium; so if two little boys were to, hypothetically, sprint at full speed from the gym as soon as the bell rang, in order to come join Logan in his classroom, then they should be arriving right about—

“Dad!”

Logan dropped his pen, spinning haphazardly in his desk chair just in time to catch the child that was diving in to wrap his arms around his waist.

Immediately he felt himself break into a large smile. “Hello, Roman.”

The boy in his arms pulled back, grinning wildly. Both of his sons were on the scrawny side, but Roman was already building up a bit of muscle mass, while his brother seemed content with somehow becoming even more gangly and bony with each passing day.

“Where were you this morning?” Roman demanded, shifting to sit on Logan’s knee.

“We thought you got hit by a bus!” Remus interjected with glee, running in to give Logan a quick hug before hopping up to sit on a desk.

Roman frowned. “No, we didn’t,” he insisted. “I said you were probably running late, and— oh!”

He suddenly tugged on Logan’s shirtsleeve. “And Remus called me stupid! This morning! He called me stupid, Dad!”

Logan shifted his eyes to his other son.

“Remus?”

Remus shrugged, not looking sorry. “He said something stupid. You’re never late.”

“First of all, although it’s true one might say something which may be qualified as ‘stupid’,” Logan began, rubbing circles on Roman’s back as he lectured Remus, “it’s inappropriate to assume that a single statement is indicative of one’s intelligence. Second, don’t call your brother stupid, you both have big, beautiful brains,” he continued, planting a kiss on Roman’s temple, which the young boy attempted to duck away from.

“And third,” he finished, “Roman was correct. I was running late this morning, and I did not arrive until school had already started.”

“Ha!” Roman exclaimed in a gloating fashion. Remus seemed unbothered by being proven wrong, instead leaning forward to taunt, “I’m gonna tell Papa you were late for school!”

“Please do,” Logan replied dryly. “He’ll probably find it highly amusing.”

As he spoke, he reached into his desk drawer, pulling out two packs of fruit gummies. Both boys gasped as Logan passed one to each of them.

“Thanks, Dad!” they said simultaneously, ripping open the snacks. Logan grinned.

“Now, if my memory is correct, I believe it is Remus’ turn to tell me about his day first.”

Roman’s jaw dropped. “No, it’s not!”

“That was rhetorical,” Logan replied. “I am positive it is Remus’ turn. You went first yesterday, because you wanted to show me your paper mache project. Remember?”

Roman paused, then groaned. “But that’s not fair!”

“Yes, it is!” Remus jumped in, his mouth full of gummies.

“Not!”

“Is!

“Not!”

“Is!”

“Not!”

“Is!”

Logan sighed. The twins would literally keep this up for hours if he let them.

“Time out,” he interjected. The boys shut down immediately, turning to him with matching sheepish expressions, and Logan would have to remember to thank Emile again for suggesting he and Janus implement that technique back when the boys were first learning how to talk.

“Roman, will you please staple these papers for me while Remus talks about his day?”

Roman huffed and slid off of Logan’s lap, sticking his tongue out at his twin as he did so.

“What would happen if I stapled myself?” Remus asked Logan with idle curiosity. “Would it hurt?”

“Depends on where, exactly, you stapled yourself,” he replied as he passed Roman the stapler and stack of papers.

“My finger?”

Logan hummed. “It would hurt like a pinch, but as long as you pulled the staple out smoothly and made sure to disinfect and bandage the wound afterwards, you would be fine.”

“Can I try it?”

“If you feel like you need to experience the pain in order to learn why you shouldn’t staple yourself, go ahead, but I will not feel sympathy for you when you get a booboo.”

Remus wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Don’t call it that, I’m not a baby!”

Logan bit back a smirk. “Of course not.”

Roman cleared his throat.

“Excuse me,” he interjected. “Will you start talking about your day, so that I can talk about my day?”

Remus made a face at his brother, but he did turn to Logan and begin rambling about his day, from the bus ride to school to the food they had for lunch to the game he, Corbin, and Sloane played at recess. He was halfway through explaining the increasingly incomprehensible rules for the game (something about who could perform the most dangerous stunts on the playground equipment while simultaneously answering trivia questions about their favorite cartoons) when Logan caught sight of the clock, realizing almost fifteen minutes had gone by.

“Switch,” he interjected the next time Remus took a breath.

“Aw, what?” Remus protested as the two boys swapped places, Roman hopping onto the desk while Remus grabbed the stapler.

“Your bus arrives at 2:30, and I still need to hear about Roman’s day.”

“But I didn’t even get to tell you about the bee that got in the classroom,” Remus grumbled.

“Save it for tonight,” Logan commented absentmindedly. Silence followed for almost two full seconds, which was a clear sign of trouble with the twins.

Logan looked up from his gradebook to see the two having a silent conversation. Whether it was from growing up attached at the hip or a genuine case of twin telepathy, Logan couldn’t be sure, but very often the twins could convey rather convoluted ideas to each other using only their faces.

“What are you hiding?” he asked bluntly. Both children jumped.

“Nothing!” Roman insisted, turning and giving him what he probably thought was a winning smile (it was, but Logan would not be distracted).

He turned to his other son, who was suddenly very interested in sorting the papers into neat piles.

“Remus?”

“Hm?” he replied, looking up innocently. “Did you say something, Father?”

“Boys—”

“We’re going to a sleepover tonight!” Roman blurted out. Remus groaned.

“Why did you say it?” he asked accusingly. “You suck at lying.”

“Stop.” Logan held up a hand. “Explain, now.”

Roman took a deep breath. “It’s Sloane’s birthday today, and he invited all of us—”

“He invited me, and told me you could tag along—”

“Falsehood! The invitation had both of our names on it!” Roman shot back with a dirty look at his brother. He turned back to Logan, continuing, “He invited us and Elliott and Corbin to a sleepover at his house, and, um, he said we could come over at six, and we know we usually do our goodnight call at nine, but—”

“You will ideally be busy gorging on pizza and playing video games at that time,” Logan finished, giving them a measured look. “That’s why you didn’t want to tell me?”

The boys looked down in guilt, nodding.

Logan toyed with the pen in his hand.

“Come here,” he said suddenly, patting his lap.

Roman and Remus hesitated, glancing at each other for a moment, before Remus bound over and sat down on Logan’s left leg. He leaned his head on Logan’s shoulder, and Logan’s hand instinctively came up to stroke his hair. Roman soon followed, taking his spot on Logan’s right leg.

Logan gave an exaggerated groan. “You’re almost getting too big for this,” he said, bouncing his legs as much as he could under the boys’ weight. They both giggled at the movement, each clutching onto his shirtsleeves to avoid falling off.

Logan took a deep breath. “I love you.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “We know, Dad.”

Logan leaned forward to kiss Remus’ forehead, causing the young boy to squawk.

“I love you,” he said again. He turned his head, catching Roman with a kiss on the cheek.

“Ew, Dad!” Both boys were blushing at the display of parental affection, but they were smiling, too.

“I love you,” he repeated once more. “Nothing you can do will ever change that. Even missing our goodnight call.”

Both boys seemed to relax, and Logan felt his heart swell a little bit.

“Don’t lie to me again,” he finished sternly.

“We won’t!” the twins chimed in unison. Logan fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Falsehood,” he muttered, before asking out of pure curiosity, “What was going to be your excuse for when nine o’clock rolled around and I didn’t get a call from you?”

“Rats chewed the phone wires,” Roman and Remus replied instantly. Logan registered this for half a second before he let out a bark of laughter.

“That makes perfect sense.”

“So, the boys are at a sleepover tonight.”

“Yes, I walked them over to Sloane’s house about an hour ago,” Janus replied, his smooth voice losing its hypnotic effect over the phone.

“And when, exactly, was I going to be informed of the whereabouts of our children for approximately the next 18 hours?”

Silence came from the other end of the call before Janus gave a huff of annoyance. “They told me they told you about this days ago.”

Logan smirked, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear as he carried his dinner to the dining room table. “I’m beginning to see why we should not trust our children to act as go-betweens.”

Janus heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, Croft. I don’t have any idea why they would lie about something so minute.”

“Falsehood, we both know they were doing it to protect my feelings,” Logan replied in a clipped tone.

“You know, I did think it was weird when they insisted they would be okay making their goodnight call from Sloane’s house,” Janus remarked idly. Logan could picture him sitting in his home office, his feet propped up on his desk as he spoke. “I had assumed they had reached some level of maturity where it’s not embarrassing to love their parents.”

“An obvious mistake on your part.”

Logan could also picture the smirk Janus was currently trying (and failing) to suppress. “Clearly.”

Logan resituated himself as he sat at the table, turning on speakerphone and placing the phone next to his plate.

“Speaking of our children being liars,” Janus continued, “Remus had this crazy story about you being late for work.”

Logan reached over to pour himself a glass of water from the pitcher. “Crazy indeed. I didn’t arrive until almost eight.”

“And the school descended into anarchy and chaos,” Janus deadpanned.

“My students were merely happy for a break,” Logan replied. “I should’ve slept in a little longer to give them the entire morning off.”

The conversation fell silent for long enough that Logan leaned over to check that the call hadn’t dropped.

“You overslept?”

Logan blinked in surprise at Janus’ incredulous tone. “Correct.”

“You. Logan Croft. Overslept.”

“Is our connection failing? Are you having trouble hearing me?”

“Logan,” Janus said with the air of someone who was explaining something very simple. “I have known you since you would bike to school on four hours of sleep and three energy drinks, stay awake in all eight classes, go to at least one extracurricular after school, work retail for a few more hours, do homework until you passed out, and then do it all over again the next day. You have never overslept in your life.”

“Falsehood,” Logan replied. “In fourth grade—”

“Why did you oversleep today, Croft?”

Logan paused. “I was… thinking,” he admitted.

Janus waited a few seconds before prompting, “About…”

“About the boys,” Logan confessed, suppressing a sigh.

Immediately Janus dropped his overcasual schtick. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Nothing at all,” Logan rushed to reassure him. “I was merely reminiscing about some of their childhood antics, and it prevented me from going to sleep on time.”

“… Antics like when they accidentally ripped a book of stickers they’d been fighting over for an hour, and proceeded to scream like banshees in the middle of a crowded Walmart?”

Logan smirked. “Antics like when they ran around the house with pull-ups on their heads, calling themselves aliens and demanding we take them to our ‘leader-ers’.”

Janus snorted with laughter. “Oh, God. I’ll have to find those pictures for their next birthday party.”

“I’m sure they’ll thank you for bringing up such delightful memories in front of their friends.”

“Snarky today, aren’t you?”

“Only for you, Sanders.”

A companionable silence fell as Logan finished his dinner.

“Are you okay?” Janus asked, gentle in the way he only got when he spoke to Logan or the twins.

Logan hesitated for just a moment before answering, “Of course.”

“Because if you want to take the boys out somewhere tomorrow night, I’m sure they’d—”

“It’s important we stick to the schedule,” Logan interrupted, a touch more defensively than necessary. “It’s your weekend with them, and I don’t wish to complicate things.”

Janus paused, and then scoffed. “It’s not… complicating things if you want to spend time with our children, Logan.”

“You’re already sacrificing one of your nights together for the boys to attend this sleepover,” Logan insisted, feeling himself becoming increasingly irritated that Janus wouldn’t drop the subject. “I don’t want to take another night away from you.”

His ex-husband’s voice dripped in derision as he cooly remarked, “I love how it doesn’t even cross your mind to consider that the two of us could possibly spend an evening with our children together. So glad to know you would rather spend your night alone than have to be near me for even a sec—”

Logan hung up, his hands shaking as he attempted to hit the button to end the call. He hadn’t realized he was clenching his jaw until he forced himself to release the tension in his body. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth.

Logan had known Janus for over half his life. They had been married for almost as long— 18 and fresh out of high school, Janus insisting he was only doing it for the tax benefits right up until Logan had kissed him in the middle of city hall. They had spent the last decade raising their sons together.

Logan did love Janus. Which is why moments like this, moments that reminded him why they shouldn’t be together, were so particularly painful.

He continued to fume for a few moments, replaying his ex’s callous tone and harmful accusations, but his mind also drifted to how he had shut down Janus’ genuine attempt to be considerate of his feelings, how abruptly Logan himself had left the argument when he didn’t know what to say.

The anger seeped out of him, replaced with something akin to shame. Logan curled inwards, leaning his head on his hands.

It made sense that all of their worst fights in recent history had been over their children. Janus was an excellent father, Logan recognized, his thoughts turning somewhat bitter as he continued, a better father than me—

Suddenly he saw Patton’s face in his mind. Patton smiling at him kindly when Logan had slipped up and made his divorce obvious. His quiet voice, telling Logan, ‘I reckon you’re probably a really great dad’. Logan focused on the words, allowing himself to remember the sincerity in Patton’s voice.

It didn’t make sense how much comfort Logan found in the memory. Patton didn’t even know him, had never seen him interact with any children besides Virgil, and even that had started off poorly.

But for some reason, when Patton had reassured him, Logan wanted to believe him.

Logan realized he had been staring into space for a few minutes, finally shaking his head to bring himself back to reality.

He reached over to grab his phone, muscle memory taking over as he dialed the familiar number, but when it rang in his hand Logan remembered that his ex was just a little bit faster than him when it came to self-reflection.

“I’m sorry, Logan,” came Janus’ voice as soon as Logan answered. “I didn’t— I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

Logan sighed. “I apologize, as well. Ending the call in that manner wasn’t productive or healthy.”

Again Logan could visualize the way Janus was waving his hand in the air dismissively.

“Pobody’s nerfect.”

Logan’s lips quirked into an involuntary smile. “What a ridiculous statement. I had assumed an attorney would have a more advanced vocabulary than that.”

“Lawyer, shmawyer.”

Logan laughed lightly, and he swore he could hear Janus’ grin through the phone.

“While I do appreciate your offer,” Logan eventually continued, breezing past the topic of the previous argument, “I have plans tomorrow evening regardless.”

“Oh?” Janus questioned casually. “Hot date?”

Logan scoffed. “An all-day teaching seminar,” he replied with distaste, “in which a group of corporate-funded administrators are going to spend twelve hours lecturing the faculty of the top school in the state about how we need to be making them more money.”

Janus clicked his tongue in sympathy. “Plus on Monday, you’ve got that parent-teacher meet and greet thing at the school.”

Logan paused for one, two, three seconds, before letting out an unceremonious, “Fuck.”

He heard Janus laughing on the other end of the call. “Sorry I said anything.”

“No, it’s fine.” Logan heaved a sigh. “I had forgotten that was this week as well, and I still have to prepare packets for all of my students’ guardians—”

He froze midway through his sentence.

“Logan?” he faintly heard Janus ask. Patton’s smile flashed through his mind again.

“Yes,” he responded, a little too quickly. “I apologize. I just remembered I have more work to do than I thought, and I will need to hang up now to complete it.”

“Uh huh,” Janus replied slowly, sounding unconvinced. “Cough twice if you’re being held hostage.”

Logan coughed once, pointedly falling silent.

“... Oh, you’re funny, you know that? Just absolutely hilarious.” The sarcasm in Janus’ voice was palpable, making Logan grin.

“Goodnight, Janus,” he said with affection.

Logan could hear the fondness in his ex-husband’s voice as he responded with a quiet, “G’night, Croft”, before the line went dead.

Logan turned his phone over in his hands, his mind far away. The likelihood that Logan would see Patton again at this event was causing him to feel a strange sort of tension. He didn’t understand it. Why was he still thinking about this man, this stranger, really, who he had spoken to for less than five minutes?

Logan couldn’t answer that question. All he knew was that he would most likely have trouble falling asleep again tonight.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logicality #logan sanders #patton sanders #janus sander #remus sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #my writing #my posts #everything fits

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this-is-my-canon · 4 years

Text

For @kakaobiweek prompt, Spies and Secret Agents

All’s Fair in the Line of Duty

Explicit, read here on Ao3

“Our timeline has moved up.”

Obito eyes the grinning pale associate sitting across from him, who clasps his hands over the table and sits upright, favoring a lean toward the briefcase pressed against his left leg. Even while delivering news with urgency, this man can maintain an air of control. He seems to have no fear, or maybe he’s oblivious. Obito sighs and pans his gaze across the bar. People come and go from dark and alluring places like this on a regular basis, which usually works in his favor in this line of work. But right now, he’s not the only one using this locale to his advantage.

“My employer is not a lenient man, Tobi.” Zetsu leans forward this time, his grin finally faltering as he eyes Obito with displeasure. “Are you hearing me? He expects to know what is in Room ten’s safety deposit box by tonight. We can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Obito raises his chin toward the bar. “How long has that man been sitting there, Mr. White?”

[[MORE]]

Zetsu follows Obito’s gaze with a glance over his shoulder and a dismissive shrug. The man in question has been there since before Obito’s arrival and hasn’t moved. His head rests on the bar, silver wisps of hair shadowing his eyes, concealing what few features aren’t hidden behind a bent elbow. His hand is cupped around a half-filled glass of amber liquid, but he hasn’t moved beyond the slow and subtle rise and fall of rounded shoulders.

“You mean how long has that drunk been lounging on the bar?” Zetsu asks, his smile returning as he meets Obito’s eyes. “Hours.”

“Since before you arrived here?”

Zetsu raises a brow. “Something you’re not telling me?”

“That drunk,” Obito spits, keeping his voice low and eyes fixed on the unmoving figure, “is in fact Konoha’s top agent. It’s no coincidence that he's here.”

Zetsu frowns. “A spy? For Konoha? But that’s where you-“

“How much have you said here?” When Zetsu doesn’t respond immediately, Obito presses a clenched fist into the wooden table. “Mr. White.”

Obito remembers Kakashi Hatake well enough to recognize him even with his face hidden. He also knows better than to underestimate him. Positing himself at the bar like this is the perfect way to gather intel unnoticed. If Madara’s plans are to be carried out, Obito needs to do some damage control before he moves on to illegally examining safety deposit box contents.

“Oops,” Zetsu says with a coy smile under the heat of Obito’s gaze. “I can’t say I recall. I did take a call from...him when I arrived here.”

Obito presses his fingers into his eyes, because this is most certainly going to be a problem. He has a long night ahead of him. Fortunately, he does have some advantage when dealing with his former rival turned enemy.

“Maybe I should-“

Obito stops Zetsu with a raised palm. “I’ll take care of this. You just...stop talking for tonight. You’ve revealed too much as it is.”

“But you’ll be able to meet the new demands?” Zetsu narrows his eyes. “I won’t be the one in the line of fire, Tobi, if you can’t deliver.”

Obito gnashes his teeth. “I let you do your job. Now let me do mine.”

Obito stands without giving Zetsu a chance for another stupid comment. He strides to the bar as if he has no aim, taking a carefully chosen seat several empty barstools down from Kakashi’s. He waves over the redhead behind the bar, who flashes him a stunning smile beneath eyes just beginning to show the lines of her age, and props a hand on her hip.

“What’ll it be?” she asks, rather loudly, considering her customer inches away from them is passed out on her bar. Apparently.

Obito gives her his best smile. “What’s this guy having?” He nods his head toward Kakashi. “It’s gotta be good. I’ll have one of those.”

“You think you can handle it?”

As the redhead’s eyes light up and she spins her head toward Kakashi, Obito reins in the unwanted feelings that come about from hearing that voice after so long. He remembers that voice low and heady in his ear, the taste of that wicked tongue, the feel of being in Kakashi’s arms. If Obito hadn’t changed so much, he would be petrified when Kakashi looks at him. Kakashi would be pissed, seeing him now, knowing what he’s doing. But as he expects, there is no recognition in Kakashi’s deceptively hooded eyes when Kakashi throws a glance his way. He can’t see through the new facial scars earned by close calls, the eyepatch hiding Obito’s nearest and most distinct eye, the orange hat concealing his hair. Mostly, it’s the complete change in Obito’s demeanor that makes him unrecognizable. He’s a new man now, one Obito doesn’t expect Kakashi to want or to understand.

Obito meets the bartender’s blue eyes clouding with doubt and scoffs at Kakashi’s challenge before telling her. “Yes.”

She gives a nod, in spite of whatever doubt Kakashi’s questioning has triggered in her. “I’ll have to get a new bottle of gin from the back, y’know. Just a minute.”

As she skirts away and through the back door, Obito side-eyes Kakashi. “Finished off the bottle yourself?”

“Now that’s a rude assumption,” Kakashi drawls, slowing raising his head from behind his folded elbow and revealing to Obito the handsome face that hasn’t changed a bit. “Maybe the bottle was nearly empty when I arrived.”

“Or maybe it wasn’t,” Obito says with a grin.

Kakashi frowns and casts a glance over his shoulder where Zetsu still sits. “Isn’t your friend going to be disappointed you’ve left him?”

“He’s not a friend.”

“Date, then.”

Obito grins and leans across the empty stools between them. “You know that’s not what this is. Now cut the shit.”

Kakashi’s eyes don’t widen, but there’s a flicker of surprise that quickly fades away. If Obito didn’t know him so well, maybe he wouldn’t have seen it. But he does, and he enjoys the feeling of sparking that reaction in him far too much. Maybe it can’t hurt to get a little sidetracked tonight. He’ll pull off the heist of the safety deposit box in no time. He can enter and withdraw from a place these days undetected with more ease than his employers realize. And seeing Kakashi again is an opportunity he can’t pass up. Obito turns his smile to the bartender returning with his drink in her hand, appreciating the excuse for the smile betraying his face.

“Okay.” Kakashi narrows his eyes. “Tell me what you and your associate are doing here.”

Obito snorts as he slides the drink toward himself. “Fat chance.”

He sips the icy liquid. It burns as it slides down his tongue. He’s never understood how Kakashi can drink these types of drinks. Immediately, he regrets his stubborn decision to have the same. When he sets his glass down, he catches from the corner of his eye a smug smile on Kakashi’s face.

“How’s the drink?” Kakashi says.

“Shut up.” Obito bites his tongue just in time to stop himself from tacking on the insult that would reveal his identity to Kakashi, in spite of all the physical alterations.

Of course, Obito will have to reveal his identity at some point now that he’s decided he wants to see more of Kakashi. There’s no way Kakashi won’t recognize his skin.

“Are you familiar,” Kakashi says, swirling his finger around the rim of his half-empty drink, “with that man’s other associate? Black?”

“Can’t say I’ve heard the name.”

Can’t say, but definitely heard it. Black is an elusive man, even more than Madara. Perhaps he is the one truly pulling the strings in this organization. If Kakashi even knows about him, Konoha may be onto Madara more than they realize.

“Well, he took something of mine,” Kakashi continues with a note of hostility in his voice. “And I want it back.”

“I’m sorry,” Obito says, knowing the something is Konoha’s list of secret agents whose identities are now exposed to Madara. “I can’t help you.”

“Can’t?” Kakashi raises a brow. “Or won’t?”

Obito meets his eye, shakes his head with a huff of a laugh and sips his terrible drink again. It goes down even harsher this time. When he sets his glass back down, watching its caramel colored liquid swirl with the blocks of ice, Obito tenses at the feeling of breath against his neck. Kakashi has moved in, the sly bastard, and is literally breathing down his neck. From this position, he could put a gun to Obito’s back without anyone in the bar the wiser. He could kill Obito in a single move, not that Obito expects him to. So Obito remains still and waits.

“You’re not getting into that deposit box tonight.”

“What deposit box?”

“It belongs to a friend of mine.”

“Oh? And what about this?” Obito turns and lifts his eye patch, revealing the red eye that speaks volumes to Kakashi’s memory.

He’d damaged it when they were young together in the same agency, working side by side in Konoha before Obito left, quitting the field - as far as Kakashi knew. Obito’s tired of playing this game now, though. It’s too easy. It’s time Kakashi knows who he is and Obito prepares himself for the backlash.

Daringly, he meets Kakashi’s eye. “Does this belong to a friend of yours as well, Kakashi?”

Kakashi’s eyes are wide with horror. Obito has never seen him like this. If he enjoyed the reaction he pulled from Kakashi before, he is reveling in this current reaction. Kakashi slowly shakes his head, staggers over a barstool before catching his balance with a hand bracing him against the bar, and exhales.

He’s still shaking his head when he says, “This can’t be you.”

“It’s me,” Obito says resignedly, reaching again for his drink. “I’ve changed, Kakashi. You seem to be up to the same game as always, though.”

“You’ve changed alright,” Kakashi says venomously. “Madara? You’re working against Konoha? I thought you were-“

“Dead?” Obito shrugs. “Madara faked my death. Easier to take me on as his agent that way.”

“You bastard,” Kakashi says, tossing a few dollars on the bar as if they could strike out at Obito. “If you think you’re getting anywhere near that deposit box now, you’re mistaken.”

In spite of the dark tone to Kakashi’s threat and the fact that he leaves without another word, Obito feels no concern. He feels disappointed that it had to play out this way, but what did he expect? He was stupid for thinking this could work out differently with Kakashi knowing what he is. A goal is a goal, though, and Obito has no intention of failing to meet his.

“You’re the one who’s mistaken,” Obito murmurs into his drink before throwing back one last sip and dropping a few dollars on the bar.

[explicit parts only on Ao3, read continuation via the link]

#kakaobiweek2020 #spies and secret agents #Kakashi Hatake #Obito Uchiha #Naruto #fanfiction

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hardlylace · 4 years

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CHARACTER SURVEY –

BODY AND APPEARANCE 1. DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER’S HEIGHT AND BUILD. ARE THEY HEAVYSET, THIN, SHORT, RANGY? Scout Harding is an average dwarven lady: short, stocky, and sturdy.

2. HOW OLD ARE THEY? Anywhere in her 20s. Her official age is unknown.

3. DESCRIBE THEIR POSTURE. DO THEY CARRY HIMSELF WELL OR DO THEY SLOUCH? Harding has excellent posture and often holds her hands behind her back at attention, military style.

4. HOW IS THEIR HEALTH? ARE THEY FIT OR OUT OF SHAPE? ANY ILLNESSES OR CONDITIONS? ANY PHYSICAL DISABILITIES? She’s in good health and insanely good shape. After all, she’s out exploring almost every area in Thedas! No illnesses or physical disabilities to note.

5. HOW DO THEY MOVE? ARE THEY CLUMSY, GRACEFUL, TENSE, FLUID? She’s sneaky and silent -- as any good rogue should be. You will not hear her approach unless she wants you to hear her.

6. HOW ATTRACTIVE IS THIS CHARACTER PHYSICALLY? HOW DO THEY PERCEIVE THEMSELVES IN THE MIRROR? Lace is attractive. She’s gotten a mix of compliments ranging “cute” to “beautiful” thanks namely to her eyes and her freckles. She sees herself as nothing special in the mirror, but that’s not a bad thing. She likes her appearance as it is, scars and all, and remains humble (and flustered) if she ever receives a compliment.

7. DESCRIBE THEIR COMPLEXION. DARK, LIGHT, CLEAR, SCARRED? Fair, rosy skin loaded with freckles. Her most prominent scar is on her face, but she holds several more across her body and obligatory stretch marks.

8. DESCRIBE THEIR HAIR: COLOR, TEXTURE, STYLE. Her red hair is typically braided and pinned into a bun so that it doesn’t get in the way while she works. However, if she were to take it down, it would be pretty long (reaching her mid back). She cut it short once, before the Inquisition, but ironically it kept getting in the way. It’s more manageable at a longer length where she can pull it back and pin it down.

9. WHAT COLOR ARE THEIR EYES? Hazel green.

10. DOES THE CHARACTER HAVE ANY OTHER NOTEWORTHY FEATURES? In modern verse, the most visible tattoo she has is a compass on her forearm. She also has a watercolor type tattoo at the top of her back and a small one on her ankle.

11. WHAT ARE THEIR CHIEF TENSION CENTERS? Her upper back and her feet. Her hands as well, from archery. Scouting’s hard work.

12. WHAT IS THE CHARACTER’S WARDROBE LIKE? CASUAL, DRESSY, UTILITARIAN? BRIGHT COLORS, PASTELS, NEUTRALS? IS IT VARIED, OR DO THEY HAVE SIX OF THE SAME SUIT? In canon, she wears her standard-issued scout uniform. In modern verse, her clothes are casual -- things she can move around in with ease. Her wardrobe is comprised mostly of earthy neutrals and denim but that’s not to say other colors don’t pop up.

13. DO THEIR CLOTHES FIT WELL? DO THEY SEEM COMFORTABLE IN THEM? She’s short so some clothes can be too long or roomy for her. Thankfully her mother’s a seamstress, so she’s picked up a thing or two with a needle and thread.

14. DO THEY DRESS THE SAME ON THE JOB AS THEY DO IN THEIR FREE TIME? IF NOT, WHAT ARE THE DIFFERENCES? In canon we only ever see her wearing her scouting outfit, but she probably defaults to a simple linen shirt and trousers when she’s not working.

15. YOU KNEW IT WAS COMING: BOXERS, BRIEFS OR COMMANDO? Comfy undies.

SPEECH 1. WHAT DOES THIS CHARACTER’S VOICE SOUND LIKE? HIGH-PITCHED, DEEP, HOARSE? Listen for yourself! (Bonus: MAYHEM)

2. HOW DO THEY NORMALLY SPEAK? LOUD, SOFT, FAST, EVENLY? DO THEY TALK EASILY, OR DO THEY HESITATE? She speaks evenly, although it's a little fast because she normally has a lot of information to convey in a short amount of time.

3. DOES THE CHARACTER HAVE A DISTINCT ACCENT OR DIALECT? ANY INDIVIDUAL QUIRKS OF PRONUNCIATION? ANY, LIKE, YOU KNOW, VERBAL TICS? She has a distinct “dwarven” accent (read: American).

4. WHAT LANGUAGE/S DO THEY SPEAK, AND WITH HOW MUCH FLUENCY? Common tongue: native level. Throughout her travels and research, she’s picked up on bits and pieces of other languages, but none even near fluent level.

5. DO THEY SWITCH LANGUAGES OR DIALECTS IN CERTAIN SITUATIONS? Nope. No need.

6. ARE THEY A GOOD IMPROMPTU SPEAKER, OR DO THEY HAVE TO THINK ABOUT THEIR WORDS? She’s sharp as a tack.

7. ARE THEY ELOQUENT OR INARTICULATE? UNDER WHAT CIRCUMSTANCES MIGHT THIS CHANGE? She can speak well but keeps it simple and doesn’t waste time with flowery or overly technical jargon. It’s hard to get her tongue-tied (unless your flirting gets heavy-handed) and such moments are few and far in between.

MENTAL AND EMOTIONAL 1. HOW INTELLIGENT IS THIS CHARACTER? ARE THEY BOOK-SMART OR STREET-SMART? Very, very street-smart. She knows all the secret places, and then some.

2. DO THEY THINK ON THEIR FEET, OR DO THEY NEED TIME TO DELIBERATE? As mentioned before: she’s sharp as a tack.

3. DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER’S THOUGHT PROCESS. ARE THEY MORE LOGICAL, OR MORE INTUITIVE? IDEALISTIC OR PRACTICAL? Logical and practical, although she does rely on intuition -- especially if she’s feeling uncomfortable in a situation.

4. WHAT KIND OF EDUCATION HAS THE CHARACTER HAD? Nothing formal by way of being in a school. She learned from the people around her: her parents, her neighbors, people passing through the village, and what she’s picked up along her travels. Harding is a self-taught lady through and through.

5. WHAT ARE THEIR AREAS OF EXPERTISE? WHAT, IF ANYTHING, ARE THEY INTERESTED IN LEARNING MORE ABOUT? Exploring! She’s not the lead scout for no reason. Harding also loves learning about others, hearing their stories, and seeing what makes them tick. It saves a lot of money on travel, too.

6. ARE THEY AN INTROVERT OR AN EXTROVERT? Ambivert. She likes talking to other people and has no trouble striking up conversation, but she can also thrive in a solitary environment.

7. DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER’S TEMPERAMENT. ARE THEY EVEN-TEMPERED OR DO THEY HAVE MOOD SWINGS? CHEERFUL OR MELANCHOLY? LAID-BACK OR DRIVEN? She’s cheerful, optimistic, and driven. Her temperament is serene for the most part, and mood swings don’t often occur. She’s cut from the same cloth as everyone else, though, so don’t think you can pick on her without a reaction.

8. HOW DO THEY RESPOND TO NEW PEOPLE OR SITUATIONS? ARE THEY SUSPICIOUS, RELAXED, TIMID, ENTHUSIASTIC? She’s almost always on guard (you never know what could happen), but otherwise enjoys meeting new people and discovering new areas.

9. ARE THEY MORE LIKELY TO ACT, OR TO REACT? Act.

10. WHICH IS THE DEFAULT: FIGHT OR FLIGHT? Fight. She’s not one to start them but she will finish them.

11. DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER’S SENSE OF HUMOR. DO THEY APPRECIATE JOKES? PUNS? GALLOWS HUMOR? BATHROOM HUMOR? PRANKS? She’s no stranger to a terrible joke, a bad pun, and a good-natured prank.

12. DOES THE CHARACTER HAVE ANY DIAGNOSABLE MENTAL DISORDERS? IF YES, HOW DO THEY DEAL WITH THEM? No.

13. WHAT MOMENTS IN THIS CHARACTER’S LIFE HAVE DEFINED THEM AS A PERSON? The day she learned how to use a bow and arrow. A traveller coming through her village taught her, and she latched onto the weapon like white on rice. It’s light, fast, and precise -- just how she likes to be. The day the Inquisition came through was another moment. She figured The End was nigh, so why not capitalize on seeing as much of the world as she could before it all came crashing down? Coming from a family that never left Redcliffe’s outskirts, signing on to be a scout irrevocably changed her.

14. WHAT DO THEY FEAR? Losing the people she calls friends.

15. WHAT ARE THEIR HOPES OR ASPIRATIONS? A nice, long vacation would be a start.

16. WHAT IS SOMETHING THEY DON’T WANT ANYONE TO FIND OUT ABOUT? Her first name. It’s not that she hates it per se; it just doesn’t fully align with her actual personality. Call her Scout Harding, Harding, or even Scout. Those are fine. Don’t call her Lace unless she explicitly tells you to. Don’t tell anyone else her name, either.

RELATIONSHIPS 1. DESCRIBE THIS CHARACTER’S RELATIONSHIP WITH THEIR PARENTS. She is very close with her parents despite the fact she’s always on the road going somewhere. She routinely sends letters back to her family and her mother tracks her trail across Thedas on some old maps she bartered off of a neighbor.

2. DOES THE CHARACTER HAVE ANY SIBLINGS? WHAT IS/WAS THEIR RELATIONSHIP LIKE? Lace is an only child.

3. ARE THERE OTHER BLOOD RELATIVES TO WHOM THEY ARE CLOSE? ARE THERE ONES THEY CAN’T STAND? No, her only close family is her parents.

4. ARE THERE OTHER, UNRELATED PEOPLE WHOM THEY CONSIDER PART OF THE FAMILY? WHAT ARE THEIR RELATIONSHIPS WITH THEM? Her elderly neighbor from her village became something of a grandmother to her, regaling her with many tales and glimpses into a wider world.

5. WHO IS/WAS THE CHARACTER’S BEST FRIEND? HOW DID THEY MEET? Do sheep count? There’s also Contessa, her family’s mabari.

6. DO THEY HAVE OTHER CLOSE FRIENDS? Many acquaintances, few truly close friends.

7. DO THEY MAKE FRIENDS EASILY, OR DO THEY HAVE TROUBLE GETTING ALONG WITH PEOPLE? She can make acquaintances easy. Friendship status is a little harder to achieve because she has so little time to foster strong relationships with others.

8. WHICH DO THEY CONSIDER MORE IMPORTANT: FAMILY OR FRIENDS? Both are important.

9. IS THE CHARACTER SINGLE, MARRIED, DIVORCED, WIDOWED? HAVE THEY BEEN MARRIED MORE THAN ONCE? Single and ready to mingle~

10. ARE THEY CURRENTLY IN A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP WITH SOMEONE OTHER THAN A SPOUSE? Not at the moment, no.

11. WHO WAS THEIR FIRST CRUSH? WHO IS THE LATEST? Her first crush was [redacted]. Her latest is [redacted].

12. WHAT DO THEY LOOK FOR IN A ROMANTIC PARTNER? She’s on the move a lot and wants someone who can keep up with her, someone with a thick skin and a good sense of humor. Physically, she doesn’t have a preference.

13. DOES THE CHARACTER HAVE CHILDREN? GRANDCHILDREN? IF YES, HOW DO THEY RELATE TO THEM? IF NO, DO THEY WANT ANY? No, no, and probably(?) in the far, far future.

14. DOES HE HAVE ANY RIVALS OR ENEMIES? She’s worried Leliana might try to kill her, but other than that, no.

15. WHAT IS THE CHARACTER’S SEXUAL ORIENTATION? WHERE DO THEY FALL ON THE KINSEY SCALE? Harding is a 3 (equally heterosexual and homosexual). She can and will love anybody.

16. HOW DO THEY FEEL ABOUT SEX? HOW IMPORTANT IS IT TO THEM? Sex is not that important to her, nor does she treat it as some sacred act. It doesn’t preoccupy her thoughts and she’s not going to go out of her way to fulfill any desires. If it happens, great. If not, that’s fine too.

17. WHAT ARE THEIR TURN-ONS? TURN-OFFS? WEIRD BEDROOM HABITS? She’s not hard to please, but primary turn-ons are confidence, a sense of humor, affection, and reciprocity. Douse her in attention. She doesn’t have bedroom habits out of the norm but she’s willing to try out what her partner wants.

BELIEFS 1. DO YOU KNOW YOUR CHARACTER’S ASTROLOGICAL (ZODIAC OF CHOICE) SIGN? HOW WELL DOES IT FIT THEIR TYPE? Harding’s birthdate is unknown. I’d pin her as a fellow Sagittarius, so on the Thedosian calendar that’s Firstfall/Haring. She’d also fit as a Gemini (TC: Bloomingtide/Justinian). She’s a very take-charge, jovial type of person, so I think these line up well for her.

2. IS THIS CHARACTER RELIGIOUS, SPIRITUAL, BOTH, OR NEITHER? HOW IMPORTANT ARE THESE ELEMENTS IN THEIR LIFE? She is agnostic and doesn’t subscribe to any one belief.

3. DOES THIS CHARACTER HAVE A PERSONAL CODE OF MORALS OR ETHICS? IF SO, HOW DID THAT BEGIN? WHAT WOULD IT TAKE TO COMPROMISE IT? Lace doesn’t go out of her way to antagonize others or treat them with disrespect. As a surface dwarf, she realized early on how petty and cruel other people can be and learned how to defend herself because of it.

4. HOW DO THEY REGARD BELIEFS THAT DIFFER FROM THEIRS? ARE THEY TOLERANT, INTOLERANT, CURIOUS, INDIFFERENT? She’s curious and interested in learning more.

5. WHAT PREJUDICES DO THEY HOLD? ARE THEY IRRATIONAL OR DOES THE CHARACTER HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR THEM? She tries not to be prejudiced towards anyone but she seems to regard the Avvar a bit lower than others. They’re considered “barbaric” to many outside of the culture who don’t understand their practices; this includes Harding.

DAILY LIFE 1. WHAT IS THE CHARACTER’S FINANCIAL SITUATION? ARE THEY RICH, POOR, COMFORTABLE, IN DEBT? She’s making far more in the Inquisition than she ever did at home, for a start. She’s not rich but she’s comfortable with what she’s got. It’s not like she’s going shopping all the time.

2. WHAT IS THEIR SOCIAL STATUS? HAS THIS CHANGED OVER TIME, AND IF SO, HOW HAS THE CHANGE AFFECTED THEM? She’s an average gal like everyone else.

3. WHERE DO THEY LIVE? HOUSE, APARTMENT, TRAILER? IS THEIR HOME A CASTLE OR JUST A PLACE TO CRASH? WHAT CONDITION IS IT IN? DO THEY SHARE IT WITH OTHERS? Verse dependent. Skyhold is a literal castle but not a place she’s at frequently. In modern, she shares a place with two other people. She doesn’t mind having flatmates because she’s rarely there herself. She keeps her area in good condition but it’s definitely “lived in.”

4. BESIDES THE BASIC NECESSITIES, WHAT DO THEY SPEND MONEY ON? She syphons money back to her parents to help them move from the Hinterlands to Denerim, and continues to support them afterwards. In modern: cameras and SD cards, travel, and concert tickets.

5. WHAT DO THEY DO FOR A LIVING? ARE THEY GOOD AT IT? DO THEY ENJOY IT, OR WOULD THEY RATHER BE DOING SOMETHING ELSE? Harding is a lieutenant and lead scout. She loves her job and no one could take it away from her, anyway! Without her expertise, the Inquisition would suffer a huge loss. In modern verse, she’s a travel photographer and has a pretty sizable blog following.

6. WHAT ARE THEIR INTERESTS OR HOBBIES? HOW DO THEY SPEND THEIR FREE TIME? Outside of scouting for the Inquisition, she teaches dance lessons (when she can find time), enjoys hanging out at the tavern to chat with people, and going to the library to read/research what she’s found out on the field.

7. WHAT ARE THEIR EATING HABITS? DO THEY SKIP MEALS, EAT OUT, DRINK ALCOHOL, AVOID CERTAIN FOODS? She eats when she can and does her best not to skip meals, although it can’t be helped sometimes. She does drink with others at the tavern but not to the point that she’s getting drunk all the time. Her favorite food is her mother’s turnip-goat stew.

ASSOCIATIONS WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING DO YOU ASSOCIATE WITH THE CHARACTER, OR WHICH IS HIS FAVORITE: (I DID BOTH, ASSOCIATION/ FAVORITE)

1. COLOR? yellow / green 2. SMELL? magnolia / her mother’s cooking 3. TIME OF DAY? early afternoon / sunrise 4. SEASON? summer / " “ 5. BOOK? not sure for either 6. MUSIC? pop / ??? 7. PLACE? anywhere / a group of friends 8. SUBSTANCE? lace :D / wool 9. PLANT? sunflower / succulents 10. ANIMAL? cat / ???

#character survey #headcanon #long post

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petalsbloomed-a · 4 years

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VERY LONG CHARACTER SURVEY !! RULES. repost , don’t reblog ! tag 10 ! good luck ! TAGGED. stolen !!! TAGGING. anyone who wants to do this tbh cuz this is long as shit and i dont want anyone to do this who might not be able to aljdhfskjdhkj

BASICS. FULL NAME : galo thymos NICKNAME : himbo, idiot, rookie, newbie, #1 firefighting idiot AGE : 21 BIRTHDAY : june 30 ETHNIC GROUP : japanese (+ korean / western european) NATIONALITY : american LANGUAGE / S : english / japanese / studied french and spanish SEXUAL ORIENTATION : demisexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : biromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS : single HOME TOWN / AREA : promeopolis (i envision this being around nyc / tri-state area) CURRENT HOME : lives with older sister and niece PROFESSION : firefighter, undergraduate student

PHYSICAL. SKIN : pretty fair tan, but he sometimes appears a little darker than usual. his skin does a strange thing where it changes shade in different lighting. his skin is usually smooth, but right after getting finished with work, he sometimes is covered in dust and appears somewhat dried out. EYES : slightly upturned, deep-set, wide and somewhat of an almond shape. irises are usually very round, and are a bluish-cyan color. pupils often alight with mischief. in intense lighting, you can see a little red dot reflecting off his eyes. LIPS : pretty thin and nude, hard to notice. matches his skin tone very well. usually quite smooth. tends to get chapped after working. COMPLEXION : pretty fair, but in different lighting, he can look a lot tanner than what he really is. BLEMISHES : he has a few moles here and there, but overall his skin is fairly clear and clean. he doesn’t suffer from acne nearly as much as he did when he was in grade school. SCARS : he has some tiny, barely noticeable acne scars on his face, chin, and neck. the most noticeable ones are on his left arm from when he was practically set alight by a burnish flame. these are thick and quote coarse, and can cause some discomfort when touched. he also has a very small nick in his left ear, which was how his sister identified him when he found her after being separated from their family after the burnish incident when he was a kid. TATTOOS : an arrow that goes right below the nape of his neck to the middle of his back. the point is at about the small of his back, and there are a few decorations along the arrow. HEIGHT : 6′0, 183 cm WEIGHT : 165 lbs, ~75 kg BUILD : very muscular, quite athletic. very beefy arms, strong chest, well-built abdominals. however, his thighs and waist are pretty thin and trim. FEATURES : his most distinct features are his dramatic haircut and scars on his left arm, as well as the small white line on the outer helix of his left ear. his chest and shoulders are also quite broad in comparison to his rather thin waist. ALLERGIES : slight peanut allergy, dust, pollen. USUAL HAIR STYLE : undercut with a dramatic, spiky blue mohawk. USUAL FACE LOOK : mischievous smile or smirk; sometimes looks a bit wistful, like he’s thinking about something. USUAL CLOTHING : is normally shirtless, wearing thick red firefighter pants with a yellow “3.” most often wears black rubber boots, black gloves, ear lobe piercings, and an industrial piercing. sometimes wears a black tee-shirt.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : spiders, bugs, needles, being in love (kind of), losing his sister or niece, finding out his parents are dead. ASPIRATION / S : to continue his firefighting career, to receive a masters in emergency medical technology / fire prevention & safety technology. POSITIVE TRAITS : brave, caring, friendly, modest. NEGATIVE TRAITS : daring, reckless, sensitive, over-attachment. MBTI : entertainer (ESFP-A) ZODIAC : cancer TEMPEREMENT : choleric / sanguine SOUL TYPE / S : performer ANIMALS : zebra VICE HABIT / S : twiddling thumbs, jiggling leg (usually the right), twirling & playing with hair, biting nails, chewing lips, swearing, sighing, pen clicking. FAITH : none; would consider himself agnostic. GHOSTS ? : yes. AFTERLIFE ? : not sure. REINCARNATION ? : not sure, but leaning towards no. ALIENS ? : yes. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : independent, opinions slightly more left-leaning EDUCATION LEVEL : graduate student

FAMILY. FATHER : nikanor thymos MOTHER : agape thymos SIBLINGS : danai thymos (older sister) EXTENDED FAMILY : james (ex-brother-in-law), aria (niece) NAME MEANING / S : his first name is of an unknown meaning, but it could mean “from gaul” in greek. his last name comes from the greek word “thumos”, which means “spiritedness” or “the need of recognition.” HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : not that we know of, i think ???

FAVORITES. BOOK : harry potter / hunger games MOVIE : the lion king 5 SONGS : rick astley - never gonna give you up, lady gaga - born this way, beyonce - countdown, ariana grande - god is a woman, pitbull - timber (feat. kesha) DEITY : zeus HOLIDAY : christmas MONTH : july SEASON : summer PLACE : his bedroom / the lounge at work WEATHER : partly cloudy SOUND : meditation sounds SCENT / S : coffee, flowers, fresh baked desserts, fresh pizza, light cologne TASTE / S : coffee, vanilla cake, milk chocolate, parmesan cheese, green tea anything tbh FEEL / S : soft blankets, comfy pillows, loose-fitting clothes ANIMAL / S : dogs NUMBER : 13 COLORS : teal blue / flame red

EXTRA. TALENTS : piano, singing, writing, linguistics, thinking quickly, firefighting BAD AT : drawing (sort of), getting himself organized, following orders (sometimes) TURN ONS : kindness, sensitivity, acceptance, openness, agreeableness TURN OFFS : irresponsibility, lack of free time, ignorance HOBBIES : piano, singing, writing (stories, poems, etc), karate TROPES : ambiguously gay, antiquated linguistics, broken tears, calling your attacks, the chosen one, firemen are hot, going commando, hunk, idiot hero, innocently insensitive, large ham, mr. fanservice, oblivious to love, the protagonist, rookie red ranger, scars are forever, shonen hair, you gotta have blue hair (found here, there’s a lot more actually) QUOTES : “medals are made to be awarded to and from people who deserve them.” / “you can’t just kill for no reason!” / “[i’m] the universe’s #1 firefighting idiot!”

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 : honestly??? i think i would keep it the way it is, BUT i would like to have seen some more canonical information about galo’s family. as of right now, we know that kray saved him after his family was attacked by the burnish. if i were to direct a new movie about galo, i would focus it mainly on his family. Q2 : what would their soundtrack / score sound like ? A2 : i think it would be a mix of melancholic music as well as more upbeat stuff. on my blog’s main page there are links in the sidebar to both a soundtrack playlist as well as a pop music playlist; i definitely think it’s fair that a variety of genres would suit him and his experiences. Q3 : why did you start writing this character ? A3 : when i first watched promare, i was instantly drawn to this buffoon himbo. i’ve always had a thing for upbeat, energetic characters who are also quite caring and a bit dumb (which yes galo is very smart but he has his moments). while their personalities differ greatly (despite having the same personality type), he reminds me a lot of lance from vld, who i absolutely adore as well (and i also rp him too oops) Q4 : what first attracted you to this character ? A4 : again, probably his personality. while i’m not as energetic and upbeat as galo and i have a very, very different personality type than him, i feel like i definitely do understand him. i understand why he feels he needs to be overly confident, and i also have my moments where i just need to storm off and be alone. god i could write paragraphs and paragraphs about why i like galo but i wanna keep it short and sweet and just stick with those two points, which i consider to be the biggest points. Q5 : describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. A5 : look, i know i said i liked confidence, but something about galo that annoys me is the fact that he can often seem too confident. like yeah he seemed pretty humble in that pizza scene at the beginning of the movie, but i can’t help but feel a twinge of annoyance towards people who put themselves right into the center of attention and be all like “yeah i know i’m great.” like my boy i love you but do u have to announce urself every time u appear on the scene??? and pls stop being so reckless u honestly might die too soon one of these days we want u to be around for us to enjoy u Q6 : what do you have in common with your muse ? A6 : i definitely feel like we both have our moments where we just need some peace and quiet. of course, everyone needs this, but when galo talked about running off when he was pissed reminded me of me; i tend to go and cool off and vent to myself if i’m annoyed about something. we’re both naturally people-oriented and love to be around others, even though galo likes being the center of attention a little bit more than myself. Q7 : how does your muse feel about you ? A7 : in the sense that if galo were real, i honestly think we would get along fairly well. we have different ways of dealing with things, but we have similar habits and personality traits. however when it comes to rp blogs, while i do like to headcanon things about my muses that mirror my own opinions and beliefs, i do consider the mun/muse relationship fairly symbiotic. we as real people can learn so much from fictional characters and in how we play them, and of course, the mun will determine some things about the muse that will deter from canon. Q8 : what characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ? A8 : i just started this blog and have had very minimal interactions, so it’s hard to say ! i’d say that an interaction with a kray muse would be the most interesting. part of me wants galo to forgive kray and to have a better relationship with him post-movie canon, but there’s still so much about galo and kray’s relationship pre-movie as well; what was their relationship like? was kray like a father to galo? how can i describe the psychological mindset that galo had after finding out that kray betrayed him? there’s so much about these two that i really want to discover and look at, while of course providing my own insight (cuz that’s what muns do, right?). Q9 : what gives you inspiration to write your muse ? A9 : i like to study galo’s actions in the movie, and try to find the underlying cause of the actions he takes. however, when it comes to headcanons, i will often think of a scene or an idea in my head and then internally apply it to galo and see if it works. this is usually what kindles my writing fire: the thoughts that often rush through my head. Q10 : how long did this take you to complete ? A10 : like two whole days lmao im so slow

#heart of fire and soul of passion. (headcanon)#noah rambles. (out of character)

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musikat18 · 6 years

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Star Trek: Schism Chapter Seven (Bones x Reader)

Pairing: AOS Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy/Reader

Summary: Ever since the Academy, Bones has known that Lieutenant Commander Y/N Y/L/N was not the ordinary security chief. Something about her secretive, aloof nature and red-tape-coated files make him more than a little wary of her friendship. When the core of the Federation is shaken, she’ll have to cope as her friends realize that some secrets are better off buried in the past.

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence and blood, emotional turmoil, feelings

A/N: GOLLY GEE WHIZ IT’S BEEN A WHILE? Anyway, long-awaited Chapter Seven! I’m probably going to focus on series stuff (and a two-shot in the works) for a while, just because they’re a little more easy for my brain right now with all the Madness Month wind-down, and I’ll probably stitch something together for free week of Trek Fest...really disappointed that it’s not really working out to be able to do it this year.... This chapter also features a short flashback in italics, so that’s where that comes from. Enough rambling from me-- enjoy!

Star Trek: Schism

Chapter Seven: The Things We Do For Love

You kept your eyes firmly schooled on the open torpedo, not really sure how to reconcile what you were seeing with your entire career.

Was this what you had chosen to fight for? Was this the grand product of it? Humans frozen in torpedoes, effectively killed by their sole survivor?

Did this really make you just as bad as him?

“So bait,” Jim frowned at the body that was still laying in the cryotube. “Marcus set us up as bait.”

“Not bait,” you shook your head, “he fully expected you to actually pull the trigger on these people, and you almost played right into his hands. If anything, it was the change of heart that made us bait. It’s my fault.”

“You had no way of knowing what would happen,” Jim said. “What happens on this ship is my responsibility.”

You disagreed, but you chose not to say anything.

“Think you’re gonna talk to Khan about it?” Bones asked. He was asking Jim, you were sure, but he kept his eyes on you. He had nearly the entire time that you and Jim watched him and Carol get a better look at the man in the missile.

You blamed yourself for that, too. You had lost control of your emotions; it was your fault for getting both of your hopes up.

“He’s not worth any more of your time,” you advised. “We know what he’s trying to do. He wants the torpedos, and who knows what he wants to do with them once he gets the people out of them.”

“We could theoretically just let him leave with them. Go far enough away that he’s not a problem.”

You couldn’t keep the ice out of your eyes as you finally turned to face thoughtful and set hazel ones.

“Speaking from personal experience, I don’t think Khan is willing to just take his ball and go home. I don’t think Marcus is willing to let sleeping dogs lie, now, either. We’re in this mess, and I don’t know how long we have before Marcus comes after us for it.”

Carol’s eyebrows quirked in realization.

“The Vengeance. That’s our next obstacle.”

“I know Lieutenant Commander Y/L/N is a little less generous than usual at the moment, but--”

“No. My father,” Carol shook her head, “he’s been developing a ship with enhanced warp capabilities-- including mid-warp tracking and firing capabilities.”

“Then he’s certainly already started after us. I’m going to go check on Chekov, see if he’s got things up and running down in engineering.”

“Y/N!”

You didn’t stop when Bones called your name, no matter how much you wanted to. You had a new mission-- protect your crew and the Federation from not one, but two madmen. Protect Jim, protect Carol. Protect Bones….

You had failed at protecting your loved ones once. You would not do so again.

“Y/N, I want to talk to you.”

Damn that doctor. You paused in the corridor at the feeling of Bones’ hand around your wrist, gentle but insistent.

“Doctor--”

“You’re gonna call me Doctor after kissing me like that?”

You had to measure your breath before you turned and responded to him.

“I’m not very interested in talking about that kiss right now. It was a mistake.”

Your heart wrenched at the hurt that surfaced in his eyes, “Mistake?”

“I’m supposed to keep my emotions in check, Leonard!” you snapped quickly. “It wasn’t-- What I feel isn’t important. I have a duty to this entire ship. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. I put my emotions above my duty, and I can’t afford to...I shouldn’t...I don’t deserve to have you. Kissing you was...selfish. Just like it was selfish of me to run from my sisters...and now they’re dead. All my selfishness has cost me, no matter what I did to keep it from doing so.”

You didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You didn’t have to, though, to know that his whole heart was breaking at your words.

“Y/N…”

“Do you know why I don’t talk about Archanis? Do you know why I can’t bear what I’ve done?”

He looked down at your hands. He wanted so desperately to take one and hold it and reassure you.

“It’s hard to answer that when you still haven’t told me anything, darlin’.”

You drew in a long breath before you spoke, but even then, your voice was shaky.

“Because it makes me just as bad as Khan. He was right. One hundred percent right…”

Bones’ brow furrowed, so you went on to explain more….

“The Klingons took the whole damn research base on Archanis, Galatea!”

Marcus’ voice boomed as he spoke, but you remained perfectly still. You had heard much worse screaming from your own throat.

“I understand, sir.”

“That’s one hundred hostages, and two hundred Klingons this much closer to closing in on us. Do you know what could happen if we get tangled up in war with them?”

“We can avoid it,” you insisted. “It’s one base. I can extract the hostages.”

“One base is one base too many.”

“Admiral, I just need a ship large enough to--”

“You’ll be seen.”

You smirked. “Have I ever been caught before?”

“Hostage situations are different. Extraction isn’t enough.” Your brow furrowed at Marcus’ cold and firm tone. “All two hundred of them...dead. They have to go. It’s too close to call.”

“Sir, you think the Klingons won’t notice two hundred missing soldiers?”

“Scientists, Galatea,” Marcus corrected. “Though, you might not be all that wrong. Don’t know if they have much of a distinction.”

“Two hundred bodies is too much to cover,” you set your jaw hard. “It’s easier to just get our people out.”

He walked the length of his desk, silent. It wasn’t a good sign.

“Three hundred people on Archanis, Galatea. Do you know what it’s like to have three hundred lives in the balance?”

“Is this the part where you tell me how hard it is for you to run the Amazon Corps, sir?” you asked, voice dripping with bitter sarcasm.

He turned slowly back to you, but you couldn’t read his expression.

“If they got here, you know, that would be three hundred deaths on your hands-- one for each of the Klingons. And I’m certain they’d find a way to take care of those one hundred hostages. Three hundred lives, gone.”

You didn’t like where he was taking this.

“If you’d like to wait, I can help you understand what three hundred deaths feels like.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You would sacrifice almost three hundred lives just to prove a point?”

A fist slammed down on his desk, and for the first time in a long time, you physically jolted at the noise.

“We are constantly teetering on the edge of life and loss, Agent Galatea,” he glowered. “If I can’t make you understand with words, I’ll make you understand with your sisters. I need two hundred dead Klingons. You can make it happen.”

You nodded, still barely breathing.

It made you less disgusted by the blood that coated your hands, your cheeks, your uniform when you returned home a week later.

You could almost feel the blood dripping from your chin again when you recounted the story, but it was just tears rolling down your cheeks. The wetness was quickly brushed away by a soft pad on your face; when you were more aware of yourself, you quickly realized that Bones was wiping them away.

You gently pulled his hands away. You didn’t deserve his kindness.

“Khan’s doing it by choice. You did it under threat,” he said.

“But the blood on our hands is still the same,” you shook your head. “Don’t you see? This is why this isn’t going to work. This is why it wasn’t fair of me to kiss you. I can’t put you in my line of fire. I can’t be selfish because it’s going to hurt other people. My sisters are dead, anyway. It didn’t matter. I can’t let that happen to you now when it does.”

He didn’t know what to say. What you had confessed, and all your terror and breaking down...it was the one wound he couldn’t heal, a scar he couldn’t dermal-regenerate away, a gash he couldn’t seal up.

It may not have been him driving you away, but he wasn’t entirely certain that was a good thing.

“I told you knocking down walls was a bad idea,” you murmured, arms crossed in front of you, not in defense, but in weakness. Leonard never remembered seeing you so vulnerable before.

“Well, I don’t care what’s behind your walls,” he said firmly, taking your hands. “It’s still you. We’ve both made mistakes. Some are a little bigger than others, sure, but they’re ours. And they’re yours. And I love all the parts of you, so I’m not afraid of whatever it is Marcus or Khan or whoever wants to throw at me. I just want you to let me in.”

Your lower lip quivered as you looked up at him; god, he wanted so badly to capture it with his and soothe all your pain. Maybe he always had. Maybe it had just started with the headquarters attacked, as his heart had suspected.

All he knew was that he wasn’t going to let you go it alone with this burden anymore.

But instead, you just smiled, sadness dusting your vision.

“That sounds lovely. But impossible. So I’m sorry for being selfish.”

Weighing down his heart, you took back your hands and walked away.

You can’t help pacing on the bridge. Marcus is coming. He has to be. By this point, it’s only a matter of when.

“Calm down, Y/N,” Jim looked over at you. “We’re going to be fine.”

He didn’t sound confident.

“Jim, please don’t,” you exhaled heavily. “Don’t lie like that.”

“Listen, I may not be a super-soldier, but that won’t stop me from trying to help the crew. We’re going to make it out of this together.”

You didn’t believe him, but you stayed quiet for the sake of the uneasy crewmen around you.

“Well, if you’re really that confident, at least you have another super-soldier on hand in the brig.”

Jim shifted in the chair instead of answering you.

“What’s that about?”

“I...might have moved Khan from the brig.”

“To where? The warp core? I hope it’s the warp core.”

The blond was more quiet than he’d ever been before, and that made you look at him.

“What?”

“Well…” he measured his words, “it’s not the warp core...I mean, I’m happy to tell you where Khan is, it makes sense for you to know, I mean, safety hazard, he’s your brother and all, but, well…”

“But what?”

“Well...first you have to promise not to get mad.”

You slowly narrowed your eyes; Jim felt the ice freeze his bones.

“James Tiberius Kirk, do not tell me you put my psychopath blood brother in the medbay.”

Jim opened his mouth, thought better of it, and closed it.

“JIM!”

“YOU PROMISED NOT TO GET MAD!”

“NO, NO I DIDN’T! YOU JUST ASKED ME TO, AND I DIDN’T, BECAUSE NOW I’M MAD!”

“Captain,” Uhura interjected nervously, “it’s the admiral.”

Jim took a moment to decide whether he would rather face an angry you or a looming admiral. He looked back over at you with your crossed arms and steam practically pouring out of your ears.

“Uhura, answer the hail from the admiral.”

Marcus’ face was promptly emblazoned across the viewscreen. It made you want to spew blood and venom and worse.

“Captain Kirk,” he greeted coolly, “it’s been a while since you checked in. You were due back an hour ago...I was worried that you ran into trouble with the Klingons.”

“No trouble, sir,” Jim answered, not missing a beat. “I have an excellent security chief.”

“Yes,” Marcus turned frigid blue eyes to you, “yes, you do. I’m seeing extraneous numbers on board...take any prisoners?”

“Just one. In engineering.”

You understood Jim’s plan immediately: keep Khan from Marcus, stall as long as possible, and hopefully talk his way out. You knew your captain, that much was certain, but whether or not you trusted him to be able to outfox Marcus was another story.

“Great work, Captain. Prepare to beam him over, and we can call it a day.”

“And what about the missiles?” Jim asked, shoulders back and jaw firm.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek. So much for outfoxing Marcus.

“Oh, shit,” your former boss sighed flatly and leaned back in his chair, “you talked to him. I don’t suppose Lieutenant Commander Y/L/N had anything to do with that.”

“Not intentionally, sir,” you said, keeping your tone dry and your gaze cool, “you learn to just roll with the punches under Captain Kirk. I’m sure he’s as much a nuisance to me as I was to you. ...That’s a compliment, by the way, sir.”

He had that very Jim smile on, “As expected, Y/L/N.”

Marcus huffed, “Look, let’s make this easy. Turn over the prisoner, and we can forget this little lapse in subordination, Captain.”

“No can do, with respect, sir,” Kirk said. “Promoting war with the Klingons isn’t something the other admirals would approve of, I’m sure. Especially not if it means execution without trial.”

A beat. A long, painful, tense beat. You weren’t even sure anyone around you was breathing anymore. You kept your eyes trained on the viewscreen, hoping for mercy and knowing none of you would get it.

“Son, you are aware there’s a helluva lot easier way to erase this problem. Granted, it’d be a real shame to blow so many fine officers to ash, but if this is what it comes to….”

Your stomach dropped, and Jim looked like he had about the same feeling.

“No, sir, understand this was my decision. None of them knew what they were getting into when we left. If— if you want to punish anyone, let it be me, but don’t do this to my crew. Sir, please. I’m the captain. It’s my responsibility. This is all on me.”

Your heart broke for Jim. Marcus would never budge, but his selflessness struck you. This was not the roguish, childish cadet that had walked into your basic training course.

No, as young as he was, Jim was a real captain. You certainly had no reason to doubt him or mistrust him.

You’re snapped from your moment of pride as you see that Carol has made her way to the bridge from the medbay. Your knee-jerk question is what did that sick bastard do to Bones, but you hold your tongue; you’ve gotten very good at doing so.

“Dad?” she earnestly looks at the viewscreen with restrained but pleading eyes. “Dad, it’s me. It’s Carol.”

“Carol?” Marcus is thrown off his game, you can tell. “What are you doing?”

“Your missiles. They worried me. Looks like I was right...Dad, I...I know you’re trying to do what feels right to you, but...I can’t believe that you would sacrifice hundreds of lives for one. And I know that the man who raised me would never do something like this. Please, Dad. You don’t have to do this.”

Your heart leaps at Marcus’ pause. Who would’ve thought the old bastard actually had a heart?

“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t.”

The look of concern that flashed across Carol’s face as gold light began to envelop her, even as she dashed away, put a pit in your stomach, and your hand went to your station as Carol fully beamed over to the Vengeance.

“What’ll it be, son?” Marcus asked.

You were running out of options. What options did you even have left, other than explode in space? Jim very well couldn’t turn over Khan, but….

The words tumbled from your mouth even with your plan half-formed.

“Take me instead.”

All eyes available turned to you.

“You?” Marcus frowned. “That still leaves a loose augment and a very mouthy security officer, Galatea.”

You pretended the name didn’t make you flinch as you strode forward, “But taking and ending Khan leaves you without anyone left to fight your Klingon War. No more Amazons, remember? Not only am I as smart as Khan, but I’m strong. You know that. I’m the perfect woman, after all. With me in your pocket, it won’t matter if you let them go.”

“Y/N, I can’t let you do this,” Jim grabbed your arm.

“I’m not asking your permission, Captain,” you said seriously. “As Chief Security Officer, it’s my duty to protect the crew. This is me protecting the crew.”

“You make a good point, Agent,” Marcus decided. “You have fifteen seconds.”

“Y/N…” Jim looked distressed, but he was clearly keeping it muted for the crew.

You smiled sadly, “I’m too dangerous, anyway. It’s better this way. Just tell Leonard I’ll be okay. And give him this for me.”

You leaned up and kissed your captain’s cheek before golden light rearranged you onto the bridge of the Vengeance. Carol was looking on in silent sadness.

“Agent,” Marcus nodded at you, “welcome back to service.”

Three guards surrounded you; insurance, you decided.

“Let’s just go,” you said flatly.

“Hold on, Agent. Let me say goodbye to your friends.” Marcus looked back at Jim on the viewscreen, “I have what I need, Kirk. You have an hour to turn over Khan or die.”

“NO!” you snarled, paying no mind to the phaser rifles pointed your way, “YOU GOT ME, YOU ALREADY GOT WHAT YOU WANTED! LEAVE MY CREW!”

Sickness settled in your stomach, knowing that didn’t matter.

Jim had better hope for a good way out, because you certainly weren’t going to pull it off from here.

Tagging: @goingknowherewastaken @annathewitch @tellmeoflegends @ha-tep @ncc-1701mccoy @jelaha @southernrebel12 @phanofmanythings @eyeofdionysus @mad-girl-without-a-box @feelmyroarrrr@yallneedtrek @all-stars-allign @flowerbunbunny @one-to-beam-up @mysterymegal @musicmandy1991 @the-super-walking-wholock @bluebird214 @reading-in-moonlight

Tags for this fic are open!

#leonard McCoy x reader #doctor McCoy x reader #bones x reader #st:schism #leonard McCoy imagine #doctor McCoy imagine #bones imagine #star trek imagine #star trek fic #star trek aos imagine #star trek aos fic #star trek into darkness imagine #star trek into darkness fic #so we're all good?#this is fine?#it's fine #everyone is fine #I promise it will be fine

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lovemesomesurveys · 5 years

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PHONE What is the last game you played on your phone? It’s been forever, but it was likely a murder mystery/hidden object game cause I was obsessed with those at one time.

What kind of phone do you have? An iPhone XR. Do you have it in a case? Yes.

Do you have a screen protector? Yep.

Who is the last person you messaged? My mom.

What’s the last app you downloaded? I got this phone for Christmas, so I had to download all the apps I use onto it.

Who is the first contact in your phone? Amanda.

Do you give people personalized ringtones? Nah. I used to do that, though.

What percentage is your phone battery? 45%.

Does your screen have any cracks? Nope.

LOOKS What color is your hair? Naturally it’s dark brown, but I dye it red.

How tall are you? 5′4/5′5.

Are you happy with the way you look right now? No.

Describe your outfit: A black Linkin Park shirt and black leggings with two white stripes down the sides.

What makeup products are you wearing, if any? None.

What tattoos or piercings do you have? I just have my earlobes pierced.

How would you describe your skin tone? Fair/pale.

Are your nails painted? Nope.

What color eyes do you have? Brown.

What is your favorite physical feature about yourself? I like my hair after it’s been recently dyed.

OUTSIDE Why were you last outside? Christmas Eve morning my mom and I had to run out to Walmart to get our ham and stuff for dinner.

What’s the last outdoors concert you went to? I’ve never been to an outdoor one.

Do you own a tent? No.

What’s the weather like today? It’s been really windy and cold.

Do you have distinctive seasons where you live? Where I’m at it’s like spring, summerrrrrrrrrrrrrrr, fall, winter.

What is your favorite kind of tree? Pine.

Are you allergic to any plants? No.

Did you play any outdoor sports in school? Nope.

When’s the last time you got rained on? I haven’t been out in the rain in awhile. The last couple times it rained recently I stayed indoors.

Do you go to parks frequently? Nope. I don’t like going to parks or being outdoors at all, really.

FACEBOOK Do you have your full birth name on there? No.

Describe your profile picture: It’s the same photo I have on here. I need to change that soon, I guess.

What’s the last notification you got? A YouTube one.

Do you ever upload videos? No.

How many friends do you have? 100 something.

Who is the last person you added? I don’t recall.

Do you use Messenger a lot? Nope.

What is the last thing you posted/shared? Some meme.

According to your Facebook memories, what did you post last year? I checked my Timehop app earlier, but I forgot.

What groups are you in? This one for local crime reports and such.

FOOD What’s the last thing you ate? 2 bean burritos from Taco Bell.

How about drank? Coffee.

Do you have plans for dinner tonight? I’ll have Ramen later.

Do you have any food allergies? Tangerines.

Are you on a diet? I’m supposed to be on a high protein, high caloric diet.

What’s the last fast food place you went to? Taco Bell.

What foreign cuisines do you enjoy? Italian, Mexican, and Chinese.

What is your least favorite fruit? I’m not a big fruit eater in general.

How many meals have you had today, so far? Just those 2 bean burritos earlier.

What side dishes do you love? Fries or mashed potatoes.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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emptinas-a-blog · 6 years

Text

TAGGED: stole from @moonichor !! TAGGING: @purestkey - @windedkey / @masteredkey - @willfulkey / @celestkey / @layersofuntruth / @vividfica / @waerot

LAYER ONE: THE OUTSIDE.

NAME. VANITAS. no middle or last name given. latin for ‘ emptiness ’ ( noun ) : ‘ the state of containing nothing. ’ / ‘ the quality of having no value or purpose; futility. ’ latin for ‘ vanity ’ ( noun ) : ‘ excessive pride in or admiration of one's own appearance or achievements.’ / ‘the quality of being worthless or futile. ‘ EYE COLOUR. golden yellow. something that is usually seen as something cunning, confident, or powerful, but holds a specific meaning in the kingdom hearts series. yellow eyes are, firstly, the easiest way to determine if a character is associated to or is one of ‘ the nort’s ‘. as vanitas’ hair still stays an unwavering jet black and is not stained silver, the other telltale sign of a ‘ nort ‘, it’s safe to say xehanort hasn’t planted part of his own heart inside of him, most probably because that empty space inside his chest is reserved for ventus and the summoning of the x-blade. HAIR STYLE/COLOUR. obsidian black. there is no special significance attached to vanitas’ hair, but rather the way he got the hairstyle in the first place. vanitas upon first creation, only held the anatomical resemblance of a human, he appeared more like some form of heartless with red eyes and no other distinguishing features. after he and his counterpart ventus almost lost their lives simultaneously, due to being separated from each other and not being able to properly live with half a heart, the heart of a newly born child to be called ‘ sora ‘ found its way to the heart of ventus, and after that, followed the connection between them to vanitas, and granted them both a place in his own so they could regain their strength to one day live on their own once more. because of this young heart connecting to the remains of vanitas; own, his being somehow copied the physical appearance sora would soon grow up to have, thus granting him his spiked hair and similar facial features. HEIGHT. 157cm ( 5 feet 2 inches ) naturally. 165cm ( 5 feet 5 inches ) with his boots on, preferred height. CLOTHING STYLE. whatever he’s given. vanitas has never really had the luxury of picking his own outfit, having worn nothing but his mask and bodysuit for the majority of his existence since his initial creation, he was given a coat to wear atop for a short amount of time, and after being discarded by xehanort after the successful summoning of the keyblade war and instead picked up by sora and his companions, he was granted a new attire by the three fairies to match the others. although they did allow him a fair amount of input and gave him the boots, pants, and shirt that he wanted. vanitas doesn’t have much of a preference for clothing considering his minuscule exposure to different kinds, but he has a distinct fondness for turtlenecks, tight clothes, and long, platform boots to make him taller. BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE. his eyes. even though his body is strong and impressive, his most compelling and demanding feature are his eyes. they’re the kind of eyes that send a jolt of electricity surging through you when they meet, the kind that can hold your gaze in a blistering stare and keep you there no matter how desperately you want to look away. they demand attention, and, since they were hidden away for the majority of his life, vanitas never meticulously trained himself to control what they do and do not express, as he has with his body language and voice. in other words they are his most expressive physical feature.

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

YOUR FEARS. never being happy with his existence, his own emotions, YOUR GUILTY PLEASURE. pain. over the years he has become increasingly numb to it due to his own self inflicted torture and the abuse of others, namely xehanort, as well as those who set out to hunt his unversed. despite absolutely hating it in his ‘ youth ‘ the stronger and more resilient he got, and the more he failed to understand himself, his emotions, and the universe at large, pain became a constant understanding. he often turns to pain when he is desperate to feel something, something he can grasp. he knows what pain is. he understands how it works. and to someone as lost as vanitas that is an incredibly grounding thing. YOUR BIGGEST PET PEEVE. others assuming they understand him. he gets easily aggravated when people think they know exactly how he works or everything about his life and person. his background is grossly unique to most others and isn’t something that’s going to be replicated often if ever. on top of that, vanitas barely understands a thing about himself, the prospect that someone who has only seen a small factor of his life thinking they know him inside and out without being exposed to his inner struggle with his emotions infuriates him. YOUR AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE. to find his salvation. in other words, to find a reason to live and be happy with his existence,

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

YOUR FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP . wondering if recent events really happened. if sora’s friends really have given him a chance to change or if life is the same as it always has been. he more often than not wakes up emotionally exhausted. WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT MOST . overthinking emotions. he’s trying desperately to understand, to make some sense of himself. he also somewhat frequently mourns the loss of his past life, he misses having the sense of understanding and wishes he got to experience the same freedom his other side has. though most recently, he has started to consider ways to improve kairi and lea’s skills with their keyblades. WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED . how tiring everything is now. and how much he simply doesn’t understand the others. it’ll take him a long time to get used to this new life. YOU THINK YOUR BEST QUALITY IS . his body. more so his top half. vanitas is very aware of how strong he is and holds pride in his muscles. the only thing he distinctly doesn’t like is his height and the unversed symbol etched into his back.

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES. single. though vanitas isn’t one for dates either way. if you’re close enough to get him on single dates there’s a chance he could get close enough with others to go in a group. ( i could see him doing group ‘ dates ‘ with kairi and lea once they become close ) TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED. respected. vanitas wants to be accepted, maybe even liked, but love isn’t a concept he really understands. BEAUTY OR BRAINS. brains. strength is near everything to him, whether it be physically or mentally. DOGS OR CATS. dogs. for no specific reason, though they both have their up and down sides.

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU…

LIE. yes. BELIEVE IN YOURSELF . depends. though usually. BELIEVE IN LOVE. yes. though as something he could never attain. WANT SOMEONE. coughs / hiccups

LAYER SIX: EVER BEEN…

BEEN ON STAGE. no. DONE DRUGS. no, CHANGED WHO YOU WERE TO FIT IN. not until recently. and even now it’s not much. vanitas tries to tone himself down and / or hold himself back more, and although it doesn’t always work, he’s actively attempting to better himself and not simply lying to keep his life or something similar. vanitas truly does want to find a reason for living and will give sora the benefit of the doubt until proven wrong. ( which he expects will happen sooner or later )

LAYER SEVEN: FAVORITES

FAVORITE COLOR. gold and red. FAVORITE ANIMAL. ravens and rabbits. FAVORITE MOVIE. hasn’t seen many. or at least, not as ‘ vanitas ‘. doesn’t yet know if he has a preferred genre or movie. FAVORITE GAME. fighting / roughhousing.

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

DAY YOUR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE. thursday, 14th of march. ( actual birthday. the day he was split in two. ) wednesday, 9th of january. ( personally celebrated, ventus’ birthday. ) HOW OLD WILL YOU BE. about 13 - 15 years existing solely as vanitas. total age unknown ( thanks khux ). physically around early 20′s AGE YOU LOST YOUR VIRGINITY. 16. DOES AGE MATTER. depends on the scenario. vanitas doesn’t care much if at all for age unless the topic involves anything sexual or romantic, in which the age of consent is important.

LAYER NINE: IN A PERSON

BEST PERSONALITY . someone who can understand or at least accept him. not too touchy. confident. outspoken and clear. someone who isn’t scared to be rough with him when he needs a push in the right direction. BEST EYE COLOR . no preference. BEST HAIR COLOR . red. BEST THING TO DO WITH A PARTNER . simply being near one another / playfully bickering - bitching / sexual activities

LAYER TEN: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I LOVE. balance / chaos I FEEL. light / heavy / chained / caged I HIDE. nothing / everything I MISS. my understanding of emotion. I WISH. for salvation.

#( character study. / ᴅɪᴠᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ. )#( isms. / ᴡᴏʀᴋɪɴɢs ᴏғ ᴀ ʙᴀᴛᴛᴇʀᴇᴅ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ. )#( this took a gross amount of time to finish IUSDHFIUSDF #i'm very pleased with it tho )

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