#Yes Autumn is irish | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

slytherinn-xo · 6 days

Text

St Alban's Local- Steph Catley

Steph Catley X Primary School Teacher! Katrina Gorry Sister! Reader

Synopsis: A cute morning café run sends you and Steph viral when Lorraine gets there.

1172 words.

It was definitely weird being an Australian in England, the difference in temperature. Having a cold Christmas. A warmish summer off from work.

Following your footballer fiancée half way across the world and finding a new job in England as a Primary School teacher.

But one thing I couldn't get my head around was the telly over here, and the British obsession with morning television, and these talk shows like Lorraine, This Morning and Loose Women.

Not that I got to watch any of them as I was either at work already dealing with classes of up to 35, 5 year old children. Or in the holidays I took lie ins very seriously as I refused to leave the bed I shared with Steph until at least 10 o'clock no matter how much she tried to get up she wasn't moving either.

So it was a surprise during the School Holidays, when Steph was able to drag herself, me and our giant dog Calvin out of the house and to Mulberry's Café. Mulberry's Café was literally the only place you would find me in a morning.

The owner of the cute little café was such a cute lady, and she was also Australian, she felt like she was another mother to me. And she loved it when I brought in Calvin or Harper. But DO NOT and I mean DO NOT bring in Kyra or Katie.

Why? Because last time I came in with either one of them just after Kyra moved here, Kyra broke two mugs somehow, and Katie is ............................ Irish and that's enough of a reason for Mrs Mulberry.

But really I loved going to this little cafe on our morning walk with Calvin, as we get to sit in the little garden with him, and he gets to have a few biscuits with a bowl of water.

So for once when I get there with Calvin and Steph in tow, as I swing open the door to the cafe, the bell jingling into the open space.

"Mrs Mulberry!" I cheer as I see the older lady, going to give her a hug as she leaved the counter unattended to on this empty morning for her.

"Kaitlyn!" The older lady cheered out to me with a smile, hugging me as she kissed my cheeks lightly. "And I've told you it's Dot."

"Dot, it's so nice to see you for once." I finally told the older lady as she held my cheeks in her hands with a smile. Having a little moment with my mother figure over here.

"Yeah I was finally able to drag her out of bed!" And Steph just had to ruin it. Really this was a sweet moment and now she ruined it.

"Oh shush you, you're no better!" I turned and finally spoke to my fiancée as I pointed at her, as she held Calvin back from jumping onto Dot.

"Come on girls, now give me a hug Steph my girl." Dot finally turned to Steph and held her arms out wide for her to walk into for a moment.

"It's lovely to see you Dot." Steph told her with a smile as she looked at me and locked eyes with mine over the shoulder of the lady as she stuck her tongue out at me.

"Stop it you!" I told Steph pointing at her a cheeky smile on my lips, with Steph coming over to stand by me, with her hand in mine.

"But......." Dot told us both with a smile as she looked at us both.

"Oh no what do you want?" I asked her as I leaned my head on Steph's shoulder, as Calvin was finally let loose to go over to the older lady, as he jumped up at her.

"Oh yes, good boy......." Dot focussed on Calvin for a moment. "Oh yes. We have Lorraine coming to the café this morning to interview someone about what they would do with 100, 000 pounds."

"No." I just muttered.

"And I said I would find someone for them, and since you're here, they're going to be here any minute, and I need someone for them to film." Dot told us both as she finally gave Calvin his biscuit.

"I'm in St Alban's today and going to see what the locals would do if they won big this Autumn." The woman told the camera. Before it panned over to us two and Calvin.

"Well we got engaged last New Years so we'd save it up for the wedding I'm sure." Steph told the camera with a nod.

"That is a lot more expensive them we thought." I added in with a nod, and luckily that was all we would have to do.

But what we didn't know was that over the next few days the clip would go viral for Steph being called a St Alban's local, but also as I was finally showed to the public with Steph.

Our relationship has been private but not secret. Like the public know who I am if they follow Steph or any of the Aussie gals but this was different.

A lot of WOSO fans knew who I was now.

But my kiddo, my students all over the school, parent's included also knew. And I knew it would be a bugger coming up this Monday, with the kiddo's coming back to school.

And this was the first reaction when I came back to school on Monday morning, and the kiddo's we're running in, like they had all planned to come in all at once and just bombard me with questions upon questions.

'Miss Miss were you on the telly yesterday!'

'Miss Gorry why were you at Mulberry's Café yesterday?'

'Miss are you seeing Steph Catley the footballer?'

'Miss why are you a St Alban's Local if you're Australian?'

"Guys, breathe and we'll do this one by one, now hands in the air and I'll get you through all of this!" I told them all as they went to their assigned seats around my class room.

"But first in case this covers your questions, I am currently engaged to Steph Catley Arsenal and Matilda's defender." I told all of the kiddos with a smile. "She proposed to me last New Years, and you guys should all be excited, because thanks to me, we've got our guests coming in next week."

I has organised a day next week on their day off, and some of the Arsenal girls had agreed to come in and visit us all and have a fun day at the school for the kids. It wasn't just my class but for all of the year groups.

"But Miss, who proposed to who?" I heard one of the kids asked, and honestly I wanted to laugh.

People think the kids wouldn't accept this or would ask inappropriate questions but really they didn't care, and I was just happy they didn't ask me about how I looked as I looked so tired and dead in the clip.

#woso x reader #woso #woso imagine #steph catley #steph catley x reader #auswnt #auswnt x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal wfc x reader

206 notes · View notes

huramuna · 5 months

Text

selkie's song - chapter 1.

night's watch aemond x wildling shapeshifter ofc work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

this is wholly inspired by @lonelymagpies depiction of Night's Watch Aemond. please go check out their beautiful work here!

i am also partial to selkies bc irish 🤭 i'm going to take some liberties with wildling lore since we don't know too too much about them and mix some of my own heritage into it (indigenous american and irish) , which i feel would meld really well.

previous | next chapter

word count: 2.2k

content: smut (eventually, specifics will be under the cut of chapters with it), enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, canon divergence, ofc is a menace to Aemond and he kind of likes it

who is she? - I MONSTER • dead! - my chemical romance

The blood of the dragon runs hot and thick, pulsing through Targaryen veins like molten lava. His mother always snuggled him as a child, citing him as her own personal furnace.

If only that would come in handy now. Aemond thought he knew cold, way up in the skies, skimming the clouds upon Vhagar’s back, feeling the chill away from the heat of the earth. A frigid autumn breeze going through his window, causing him to bundle up in two blankets— although he usually kicked them off sometime during the night.

But this— this was cold. Ball freezing, bone chilling, blue lipped cold. He was stuck up in the ass of the North, stationed at the wall, dressed all in black. He puffed up the collar of his cloak, trying to find some respite from the gales of glacial air.

“Saddle up, Targaryen,” the lord commander grunted. He was a broad man, some disgraced Northman who rose his way up the ranks of the Night’s watch. Aemond could hardly remember his name, “We’re goin’ beyond the wall. Scouts said wildlings gettin’ too close.”

“Mm.” Aemond grumbled in response, not wanting to waste his energy talking to the ogre of a man when it could be better used for warmth.

The stable boy, no older than nine name days, tugged his palfrey to him, “I’ve got ‘em all tacked up for ya, prince.”

“Oy, Ryam,” the lord commander snapped. Lord Ennard Fir, that was the commander’s name, “He ain’t no prince anymore, so stop callin’ him as such. He’s just one of us now, eh? A man in black.”

Ryam nodded slowly, handing the reins to Aemond. The boy’s face was tinged red as he puffed air into his cupped hands, trying to keep warm. He was a boy from the south, just like Aemond— a butcher’s bastard boy, Ryam Waters. He had accompanied the now scorned prince on his ride up the Kingsroad. He reminded Aemond greatly of Daeron.

“Stay warm, boy,” Aemond said, giving the youngster a stiff nod of his head, “Take the fur from my bed, it’ll help.”

Ryam puffed out his chest, “Uh huh, your grace,” he giggled, speaking the title in secret.

It almost made a smile come to Aemond’s lips. Almost. He tried to remember the last time he smiled– it was on that fateful day near Storm’s End, over Shipbreaker’s bay. He was taunting Lucerys, finally being the stronger one, the one who had control. He laughed and smiled like a madman, chasing his nephew on his puny hatchling of a dragon. He felt like a god.

Then Vhagar snapped her jaws, ignoring Aemond’s commands. The sickening crunch of Lucerys Velaryon and his dragon still lived in his mind. It played in his dreams, making them into nightmares. He constantly woke up in a cold sweat, muttering, “It was an accident, it was an accident, I didn’t mean it.”

His eye began to ache and he clenched his jaw as he mounted his horse. Glancing around, he saw that five other men were joining him. He tugged his hood up slightly before his hand rested on his blade. He donned two weapons; a standard issue castle-steel short sword, and the Catspaw blade. He had watched his father carry it for years, he watched his mother brandish it in his name and cut Rhaenyra— and now it was his.

Not by precedent or bestowment, he actually stole it. When he was being sent to take the black, he pilfered it from Daemon’s chambers. The old fucker already had one ancestral blade, he didn’t need two. It was the only thing he had left of home, besides the sapphire in his socket and his eyepatch. It was gorgeous crafted Valyrian steel and he always kept it on his person.

His thumb grazed over the ruby gem on the hilt of the dagger absentmindedly as they descended on their journey, spurring their horses further across the threshold of the wall. Lord Fir was at the front, with Aemond holding up the back in their procession of ingrates and outcasts.

If he told his younger self that he was to be lumped in with bastards, thieves, rapers and ne’er-do-wells, he would’ve laughed in his own face. It was a ridiculous notion for a Targaryen prince to be even entertaining the idea. And yet, here he was. Living it out.

He wondered what his mother was doing currently. Had she taken Helaena and Aegon to Oldtown with the children? Did she stay in the Red Keep to be squashed under Rhaenyra’s heel?

“Aemond Targaryen, you stand before Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, protector of the realm,” Ser Westerling had shouted, “You stand accused of treason, conspiracy to commit usurpation, and nepoticide. You murdered Lucerys Velaryon in cold blood above the skies of Shipbreaker Bay.”

Aemond had been in chains, his face haggard and stubbled from not being able to shave. They stripped him of his eyepatch and sapphire at the hearing, sending him down to his knees with his barren eye socket to behold.

“How do you plead to these charges?” Ser Harrold asked.

Aemond said nothing.

Rhaenyra sat upon the Iron Throne, tapping her finger incessantly against the metal, “Brother. I’ve granted you the courtesy of allowing a hearing to your… crimes, rather than simply sending you to the block. Mayhaps I was too lenient on my decision to let you say your piece.”

Aemond still said nothing, looking down at the ground. He heard his mother shuffling near him, off to the side in the throne room, murmuring something hurriedly to someone.

“I have nothing to say. Lucerys is dead— nothing I can say will bring him back or undo what’s been done.” he finally grit out, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“So, you have no objection to being punished for your crimes? The crime of Kinslaying is the most cursed,” Rhaenyra said, leaning forward, “Mayhaps I will grant you a death by dragon— I would honor you the same way you so graciously honored Lucerys, hm? Mayhaps have Syrax and Caraxes rip you limb from limb and scatter your parts over Blackwater Bay.”

Aemond didn’t respond.

“Y-your grace,” Alicent spoke up, walking to Aemond and standing in front of him, “Please, have mercy upon him. Your son wouldn’t have wanted this—“

“DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME WHAT MY SON WOULD’VE WANTED,” Rhaenyra bellowed, standing up from her seat, “Your son took away his ability to want anything, and for that there should be repercussions! A son for a son.”

“Rhaenyra, please,” Alicent murmured, “Please, I can’t lose him— it… it was an accident. Aemond, tell her it was an accident!”

He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to admit their family’s greatest fear was true; they did not have complete control over their dragons.

Rhaenyra gazed at Aemond’s pained expression, then at Alicent, “He will be punished. But I would not become a Kinslayer— I do not wish to be as accursed as you, brother,” she strode back to the throne, twisting the rings on her fingers, “He will take the black and be sent to the wall. He will have no titles, no land, no wife or children. He will have nothing for the rest of his life except for the Night’s Watch.”

Alicent was stunned, as was Aemond. He wondered if he would’ve preferred death.

“In addition,” Rhaenyra continued, “His claim to his dragon, Vhagar, will be severed. He will undergo the Valyrian ceremony for it.”

“You can’t,” Aemond growled, “You can’t!” he panicked— Vhagar had been the only thing he ever achieved in his life, truly. He lost his eye for her.

“Take him back to his cell and prepare him for the ride up the Kingsroad.” she said with finality, looking down at her hand as she sat back on the throne.

Aemond saw— she had been pricked by the throne, blood beading at the tip of her finger.

Mayhaps there are still small mercies in this world.

A particularly strong gust of cold air snapped him back to reality, his hand still itching over his dagger. They reached the thick treeline that stretched out for miles, their horses trudging through the snow.

They were at least ten miles out from the wall now, the Seven Kingdoms left truly well behind them. A small river trickled near them and Aemond saw the shadows of fish— large ones at that.

He had been in the Night’s Watch for at least seven moons now, and this was his first expedition outside of the wall. It felt like a whole different world— a world without laws, without political duty, without fights of succession over a throne made of swords— there was something freeing about being here. It was only a remnant of what he felt soaring the skies on Vhagar, but it would have to do.

The wind whistled through the branches of the trees, fresh snow beginning to fall. He heard a fly buzzing near his ear. No, that couldn’t be right. Surely there weren’t flies in the cold?

It wasn’t right— another fly whizzed past him, sticking into the man in front of him. Those were the arrows.

“Ambush! Wildlings!” Lord Fir shouted, reeling in his horse.

Aemond went to unsheathe his sword when his horse went haywire, rearing up on its hind legs. “Lykiri, lykiri!” Be calm, be calm. He shouted at the horse, tugging at the reins as the wildlings descended upon them. He felt like he was above Storm’s End once more, screaming for Vhagar to heed his commands—

His horse bucked him off, sending him tumbling into a deep snow drift. He dropped his sword somewhere aside— his hand immediately went to his waist, gripping around the Catspaw dagger.

A breath of relief washed over him as he rolled and hid behind a tree, unsheathing the dagger. He twirled it around, waiting for someone, anyone to cross his path.

He then felt the cool pressure of a blade against his throat.

“Don’t move, crow,” a voice said. It was almost diminutive, soft in tone— but it was threatening all the same, “I don’t need to paint the snow red with your blood just yet. Drop the dagger.”

Begrudgingly, he dropped the Valyrian steel into the snow.

“Now turn around, slowly. Keep your hands out.”

He turned around, expecting to see an ugly wildling in his gaze. He had only heard the tales of them, that they were more ugly than not.

His breath caught in his throat as he looked upon her— she was small, much smaller than he, her skin somewhat pale and cool toned, freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. It was her eyes that caught him— one was a deep, rich brown, and the other was a light blue, with fragments and shards of brown in it, like a mountain against a clear sky. Her hair, dark chocolate brown with one streak of white in it, was tied into a haphazard braid. She wore earrings made of the lower jaw of some small mammal, inlaid with opals. She was holding a dragonglass dagger to his throat, the hilt of it carved from a deer’s antler, encrusted with a matching moonstone.

She wore a long, white coat— it looked to be the skin of some animal, but Aemond couldn’t tell which. It was spotted and fluffed.

His brow narrowed as he noticed that she was soaking wet, dripping water from her nose and hair, the sheen of moisture shining from her skin.

He could only imagine how astonished he looked staring at her— but she stared back at him in the same manner, her eyes wide. She had huge eyes, Gods be good.

“Fucking hell, you’ve got a purple eye.” she murmured.

“You should see my other eye.”

A harsh crack across his face— she had slapped him, “Don’t be a pig.”

Aemond blinked profusely, “By the Seven— I meant my actual other eye,” he grunted, “May I?” he gestured to his eyepatch.

“… better be worth it, crow.” she murmured, nodding slowly.

He lifted his eyepatch off, revealing the sapphire underneath.

Her lips were slightly agape as she ogled at him, “You’re a fancy crow, aren’t you?”

“Hm.” he grumbled.

She retrieved the Catspaw dagger from the ground, stowing it at her hip, “I’ll be keepin’ this for right now.”

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” he asked, perplexed as to why he wasn’t dead yet.

“Not yet— you got interesting eyes, I wanna show my papa,” she retrieved a leather cord from her belt and wrapped it keenly around his wrists, “Caught myself a crow.” she hummed, seemingly entertained with herself.

Aemond rolled his eye, letting her hoist him up into a standing position. He towered over her, to which she didn’t seem too bothered about.

She led him past the battle, which was now over. He saw three of his Night’s Watch brothers slain, and it looks like two others had run off like cravens, including Lord Commander Fir.

“Where are you taking me?”

“My tribe,” she replied, stringing him along.

“Your… tribe,” he repeated, “And what is your name?”

“Euna. And you, crow?”

“Aemond.”

#aemond fic #aemond x oc #aemond fanfiction #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x fem!reader #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond fanfic #aemond fandom #my writing #selkie's song

207 notes · View notes

etz-ashashiyot · 3 days

Text

I'm bored and stuck waiting and happened to remember that on my old blog I had made this statement:

Since I have a minute, I figured I'd finally drop the list with some brief explanations:

1. By Way Of Sorrow - Coyote Grace version

This song and its lyrics, especially as sung by a queer/trans bluegrass band, could not be more Jew-ish in vibe. I am aware this is a cover, but I have only ever heard their version and that's the one that matters to me. I love love love this song, so much, and it perfectly captures how I feel about having been welcomed into the Jewish people after years of exclusion and othering from numerous other quarters. Am Yisrael has taken me in, treated me like family, connected me to the Divine, healed my wounds, and helped me feel as whole as one can in a broken and unredeemed world - while giving me the tools to join the work of tikkun olam myself.

2. The Farthest Field - The Lumber Jills version

This is the best version I could find; the original I was shown I can't find but will link if I do. This song was actually introduced to me by one of my orthodox rabbis, and I agree with him that it can be understood as a beautiful image of geulah.

3. Hallelujah - Coyote Grace & Girlyman

This one just makes me happy, and the words, message, and themes are very on-brand for Jewish vibes as well in my opinion.

4. Be Thou My Vision - old Irish Hymn (this version and this version are my favorites)

This one is very obviously a hymn and therefore decidedly Not Jewish. On the other hand, the words aren't so explicitly Christian that it rules out use by Jews (in my opinion) and especially if you translate the words into Hebrew, it sounds just like a traditional piyyut. (@springstarfangirl if you want to add your beautiful translation, please feel free!)

5. Down to the River to Pray - Alison Krauss

This is one where I do think the lyrics are a lot closer to being Christian specific, but it makes the list for a couple reasons: first, I've encountered it in Jewish-specific contexts without modification (one of our rabbis actually had us sing it like a regular song during zemirot), and second, there's a modified version by Nefesh Mountain that's quite enjoyable.

6. Whither Thou Goest - traditional

Yes, this one is a hymn too, but the words are directly quoting the Book of Ruth - her famous vows to Naomi, and to the Jewish people - and so it's already practically a Jewish song. It also has a special place of pride for me as a ger, and also because I used it as my wedding song in both the English (as heard in this version) and I also transliterated the Hebrew for our singer to do as well. It works nicely in both languages!

7. Roll the Ol' Chariot - David Coffin

This one I think is a little less direct, but I love it and included it for two reasons: first, it's a song of getting through it and surviving and thriving under tough circumstances, and second, you could very easily put liturgy to this melody instead.

8. For the Autumn Sky - traditional

Ignoring the last verse, this hymn could be very easily adapted into a beautiful Sukkot melody. For the last verse, I'd either simply leave it out, or one could write a Sukkot or Tu Bishvat themed verse to distinguish it. Incidentally, this was one of my favorite hymns growing up.

9. Sanctuary - Shaker melody

The video for this one is obviously mega-Christian, but it's on the list because we actually sing it all the time in shul and it has a special place in my memory from going to camp as a kid. Our shul is definitely not the only one who uses it in a Jewish context, either: this version by Cantor Julia Cadrain is really lovely.

10. Genesis 3:23 - The Mountain Goats

Where are my fellow Mountain Goats fans?? I know you're out there, lol. Look, I know that John Darnielle is coming at this from a Christian perspective, but two things: first of all, TMG has a number of Jewish fans I think at least in part because the lyrics speak deeply to the specific feelings around life (and other people) being horrible to you, surviving, and thriving even in the wake of deep trauma. Second of all, I think this one in particular brings up a number of interesting ideas about the meaning of home, of homecoming, of returning to a home that no longer really exists in the same way, and of exile and redemption. What would it look like to return to Gan Eden? Is this what geulah is supposed to look like, at least in some interpretations? What does it mean if not?

Anyway, this is it for now, but I may add to this list later, because there are definitely a few more! Please also feel free to add your own in the notes!

#queued post #jumblr #Jewish music #(kinda sorta)#honorary Jewish songs #Jewish Song of the Day #<<not really but for organizational purposes

59 notes · View notes

hannahssimblr · 23 days

Text

It’s been a long time since we were three - Jen, Michelle and I, and nobody else. Really it was two first, them, from the first day of junior infants, when children were seated alphabetically. Smythe sat with Tengu, that was the natural order of things, and for them, that was that.

Plenty of people stay friends with that first kid from that first day, it’s just how it works out. You end up spending eight years or more joined at the hip with that snot nosed kid who borrowed your pencil and chewed off the eraser on the end, or snipped chunks out of your hair with safety scissors. But maybe, even to small children, a special, unbreakable bond is born from the experience of witnessing one another cry softly into your copy books as your parents reverse out of the car park and abandon you in a new, strange place with twenty-nine five year old strangers.

It worked out well for them, though, Michelle, who was bullied for looking foreign, and Jen, the tiny, confident child who had mastered the art of the creative insult by the time she could speak. Boldly, she stood up to anyone who said a word to her new friend, and no, Tengu isn’t hard to pronounce, you just can’t read. And, by the way, you have chocolate smeared around your mouth.

I crashed their party in the autumn of 2002, uncomfortable in my first ever uniform, and made to sit down at the back of the room like an inconvenience with maths worksheets while everyone else participated in their Irish lesson. I didn’t even know that Irish was a language before then and thanked my lucky stars that ten years old was considered too late to learn and rendered me exempt, because the thought alone of attempting to make those foreign, hacking sounds at the back of my throat was enough to make me shudder.

It was Jen, to my left, who nudged me, “are you dyslexic?”

“No, I'm American.”

“What are you doing here then?”

“I moved.”

“Why?”

I was grateful when the teacher told us to pipe down, because I wasn’t really sure how I was going to answer anyway, but it was only a minute before a piece of folded paper landed on my desk.

A note.

Did you ever go to Disneyland? Yes No

I circled yes and tossed it back at her. Of course I’ve been to Disneyland, like, five times. My great aunt took me on every single birthday, and I went on all of the rides I was tall enough for.

The notes didn’t stop, one after another, question after question, and I shrunk a little under her curious gaze at the desk next to me, not really ready to be observed with such intensity, but it didn’t matter what I wanted. Jen wanted answers.

“Do you have Coronation Street in America?” She said, trailing me into the yard as I tried to find a secluded spot to eat my sandwich.

“Hm? Where’s that?”

She giggled, “What about Quality Street?”

“Are they, like, kinda the same thing?”

“Do you know any WWF wrestlers?”

“I know them on the TV, I guess.”

“But not in real life? Have you met any celebrities?”

“Um, I saw the guy who played Screech on Saved by the Bell one time.”

“I dunno who that is. Anyone else?”

She could be pretty annoying, but disarming and easy to warm to nonetheless, but it was never Jen that was the problem.

It was her best friend Michelle.

Michelle Tengu didn’t really talk. Kids in the class would try their best to make her say something, they’d ask her if she was mute, which she wasn’t, she was too shy to speak sometimes, and when she did her voice was whisper quiet, which didn’t help.

“What?” Our classmates would bellow, “I can’t hear you, you have to speak up!” and underneath the table her hands would ball into fists and her face would burn furious red.

Usually kids like Michelle were too much effort for me, I dare say boring, even, I tended to gravitate towards loud, borderline obnoxious types but I quickly learned that wherever my new friend Jen went, Michelle went too, so her presence, I would have to learn to accept.

Once I got over my impatience with Michelle’s quiet nature we tended to get along pretty well, she was the perfect antidote for Jen and I, who would often launch into spirited arguments about stupid things that hardly mattered, but she was so good at being diplomatic, logical, making sense of things that seemed so complicated to us but simple to her. Michelle was very good at being right. All of the time. It was one of the interesting things about her.

There were other interesting things, of course, which I began to discover during the long, humid summer of 2004. Like the way her hair, long, sleek and black, reflected the sunshine, and her pouty mouth and chestnut brown eyes. Girls weren’t gross to me in that way anymore, especially Michelle.

It was her house where we hung out, mostly, because my house had a fussy toddler in it and Jen’s parents were weird and always made us participate in chores, but Michelle’s house wasn’t perfect either. Her parents were always hovering within earshot of the living room as we three friends hung out, and they made sure that Michelle’s bedroom was always off limits to me. Jen could go up there all she liked, to fetch a CD or a teen magazine for us to fill out the stupid quizzes, but not me. I had to park myself on that pale blue couch and listen to my friends giggling through the ceiling while Rahim grilled me about my education.

“I don’t get why they’re like that,” Jen would say in consolation when we walked home together after another summer afternoon in the Tengu’s semi detached. “They’re the same with the sleepovers, even though they’d be so much more fun if you were there too. I honestly just don’t get it."

But I did.

And as time went on the girls would understand too, because by twelve almost everything felt different to the way it felt at ten. There wasn’t only Michelle and her pretty glossy hair anymore, there was Jessie and Alice and Amy, and eventually, my very first girlfriend Holly whose friends used to shove digital cameras into our faces when we tried to kiss at the teenage discos, and who would start dramatic, weekly arguments with me over text message if I dared to so much as ask the girl next to me to borrow a pencil sharpener.

Things became extra complicated when somebody left a handmade card and a packet of gel pens on my desk for my birthday, which I assumed were from Holly, and thanked her, much to her chagrin, because it hasn’t actually been her, no, she’d bought me tickets to see Dodgeball at the cinema.

It was Michelle.

Holly insisted that I give them back to her, so I did, with all the sensitivity and tact a newly turned thirteen year old is capable of, which is almost none, and left Michelle standing forlornly in the yard holding the card I had barely read dangling limply from her fingers.

It was her, eventually, who launched a campaign against me after many weeks of being an obliging boyfriend, claiming that I was spending far too much time with Holly and her friends and had forgotten all about those who had welcomed me with their friendship when I was displaced and alone at the beginning, but I didn’t think of it like that. I still wanted to be friends with her and Jen, they were my main friends, but I needed to make time for my new friends too. There was only so much of me to go around, surely, if she were so reasonable, she would understand.

“You don’t care about us at all anymore,” she hissed at me in the school yard with tears in her eyes, “It’s all about Holly and her gang now. Well, she can have you, you don’t have time for anybody else these days.”

She ignored all my attempts to make it up to her, and we only drifted further apart after that, losing ourselves to the new landscape, the new rules of secondary school, finding different interests, different people, different music, ways to dress and express ourselves to spend our time until eventually the only thing we had in common was Jenny Smythe, the girl who had stood in place while we swirled around her, a rock in a churning ocean of teenage angst. If it wasn’t for her, I know I would hardly see Michelle at all. I’d never have to think about her.

But I do, and now instead of her giggling I hear her sobs through the ceiling of the living room.

Beginning // Prev // Next

Big thank you to @nexility-sims for helping me make sense of this montage scene! It was driving my crazy for weeks <3 <3 <3

#lucky boy 2009 #this scene genuinely nearly killed me dead #idk why i hate montages so much #but they're fun to read i guess #lookit babies #istg I have at least 5 versions of Jude just walking around my save file at this point #tw: racism #tw: bullying

36 notes · View notes

witchthewriter · 1 year

Photo

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: okay now this actually is my ALL TIME FAVOURITE post that I’ve ever done ... I was literally kicking my feet and giggling while writing this ...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ

SFW🌿

Wanda is such a sweet partner. She has so much love and she just needs a person to give her love to. What better idea than to have two people to love?

Nat felt hesitant at first. But got more comfortable with the idea when she saw you and Wanda interacting.

You have Mummy issues? They’re healed. They’re gone.

Wanda is the type of person to call you out of the blue, even when you’re at work. “I just wanted to hear your voice!”

Whereas if Nat called you out of the blue, you’d start to panic

The amount of support and encouragement in this relationship is out of this world.

Whenever you have a bad day, there is always someone ready to make it better

You guys have favourite tv shows and movies that someone will put on randomly, even if no one is watching it. All three of you agree that it’s for comfort; background noise is a must in the household. These are: → Gavin & Stacey: a british tv show that Nat originally thought was ridiculous but now you all do the accents → Modern Family: Wanda LOVES this show, she likes the family dynamics and that they’re always there for one another → Peaky Blinders: This is Nat’s favourite, she loves Tommy Shelby. There are certain aspects of the show that she can connect with → Vikings: all three of you like this show! Especially Lagertha; all of you have a crush on her. → Elf: yes, Wanda knows it’s a Christmas movie, but when she first saw it, she couldn’t stop. So Nat had to put a ban on it unless it’s near Christmas (which Wanda said was November 1st) → Mamma Mia: All three of you know the words to EVERY ABBA song. Once Yelena slept over and you had the movie playing and she became OBSESSED. → Every single Harry Potter movie: Wanda sees herself as a Hufflepuff (is actually a Slytherin), Nat knows and accepts she’s a Slytherin → Practical Magic: comes on during the start of Autumn/Fall and stays playing until the 1st of November

Wanda is an amazing cook, especially when it comes to baking. She usually makes a different sweet at the beginning of the week.

You literally don’t have to lock your house up because you’re protected by the two most formidable women on the planet

Nat’s love language is acts of service and secretly words of affirmation. She absolutely DIES whenever you say “I’m proud of you” or “You did a great job!”

And Nat is always the one to fix tires, lightbulbs and get rid of spiders

You might think that Nat would be against living in a cottage, but she absolutely adores it. It was your idea, and Wanda fell in love with it

There are many pets in your household, Nat felt like they were liabilities at first. She wasn’t used to a breathing thing continuously dependent on her

Wanda was a tad unsure as well, but she folded almost instantly

Your pets are: Trix: the newest addition to the family, she’s a little black kitten who is absolute chaos. She runs up and down the hallways, doing those weird little cat stances. It makes all three of you laugh. Malachi (nicknamed Mal): An Irish wolfhound who had been at the pound for years and was about to be put down Alf: grumpy ol’ fluffy cat who likes to sleep in the sun all day every day. funnily enough, his favourite human is Nat.

Alf bit Sam Wilson when he came to visit and he was so offended because usually animals LOVE him.

There are so many panic buttons around the house in case it becomes a target

Yes, you guys have your own rooms. But they’re basically where you keep your belongings.

Nat works a lot at night, so it’s usually you and Wanda at home by yourselves. When it’s bedtime, you sleep together

Nat’s pet names for you are: ‘sweetheart’, ‘darling’, ‘honey’

Wanda’s pet name for you is: ‘moja ljubav’ meaning ‘my love’. It’s in Serbian which is the official language in Sokovia, where she grew up.

Wanda hums a lot, it’s usually a lullaby from her childhood. It calms her down, especially when she’s worked up

Nat and Wanda like to slow dance in the kitchen. Wanda’s head gently leaning on Nat’s chest, their arms wound tightly around each other. The pots and pans on the stove completely forgotten.

Yelena visits often! She loves Wanda’s cooking, talking with you, and getting to see her big sister. You always beg her to sleep over, and most of the time, she does!

Wanda’s love language is physical touch and quality time. She loves when you kiss her face; peppering small kisses over her nose, cheeks, chin, and forehead.

When Sam comes to visit, he usually brings Bucky and although he starts off as moody, he soon comes to love staying over. He and Nat have a lot in common and chat about their pasts.

Wanda does your and Nat’s nails. She begs Nat to let her do pink but never wins

As a joke you bought everyone matching pajamas, and although it was very funny, you all wear them unironically

Wanda uses her powers for a lot of things, and you absolutely love it. It’s so handy! If something breaks, Wanda can fix it, if you’re out and guys are harassing you, she has the ability to LITERALLY CONTROL THEIR MINDS.

Nat is the least likely to hold grudges, then you, then Wanda...

You’ve all decided that you want to travel the world together. Nat may not appear as excited as you and Wanda (she’s already traveled the world, but that was for missions.)

Wanda wants to go to Disneyland. Can you imagine Nat and Wanda with the mickey ears on?!

Theme Song:

Gimme All Your Love by Alabama Shakes

Relationship Tropes:

✧ Moon (Nat) x Sun (You) x Eclipse (Wanda)

✧ Tragic Past x Ray of Light (this goes for everyone)

✧ The Impulsive (Wanda) x The Hyperactive (You) x The Unheeded Voice of Reason (Nat)

538 notes · View notes

yarrystyleeza · 3 months

Note

Ok actually I didn't have to think long, lol.

What would your ideal first date with Mikey (aka our favorite Irish mob daddy) consist of??? 👀

I am really really REALLY sorry it took me (5) months to finish this piece, a lot of stuff was going on (my life was a complete mess, still tho). But since it's Valentine's day, I HAD to post something, and what's better than a date with Mikey for a Valentine's gift?

Something else I had to say, is that I had no idea how to write HCs—which is the vibe that I got from your ask (hehe), so, I improvised, and made up a whole story of what would your first date with Mikey would be (with a back story as well).

That being said, let's jump right into the act! And thank you, thank you, thank you, so much, for submitting this request and for your patience, please enjoy! 💖💖💖

It's Always Raining In Dublin (M.K)

Requested by @loveroftoomanyfandoms

Pairing and dynamic: Michael Kinsella x female!reader (reader is a bookshop owner), strangers to friends (?) to lovers

Prompt: fluff, first date goes wrong but then perfect, rain, rain, and more rain.

Word Count: 4.3k!

Writer's note: this was supposed to be finished back in September, which was five months ago, but I was struggling for a while with both a terrible writer's block and life and then BOOM I got the inspiration to finish it. Also, this is the very first time I ever write anything for Michael, so I'm a little nervous, I hope it's good enough though.

(I proofread this almost a thousand times WITH my bestie as well, so if there's anything wrong with the grammar and/or the lexical content, we were really exhausted and couldn't see shit—we're sorry T-T).

It was a rainy morning when you truly met him, it rained almost everyday in Dublin but that day was a core memory. You had just unlocked the door of your little bookshop and started to sort things out before your costumers arrive.

Usually, your first client doesn't show up before nine-thirty in the morning, which gives you spare time to dust off the shelves and pick up a big cup of coffee from the nearby coffeeshop down the street—in this never-ending autumn.

That morning was no different. It was pouring heavily but you're used to opening your shop on rainy days, it's always raining in Dublin anyway, and if you had to take each rainy day off—you'd end up with a couple of fingers on your hands as you count the days you worked on per year.

You were organizing the children's books section when you heard the sweet chime of the little bell hanging on your front door. It was barely eight and you happened to just finished your coffee and breakfast, getting ready to start your day. But it began earlier than you expected it to.

Your costumer was a man, you assumed he was in his early forties, maybe for the dark thick beard that covers most of his face. His face was strangely familiar to you, you just couldn't exactly remember when it was when you saw him.

But you're sure that this was the prettiest face of a man you've seen in a while. His greenish hazel brown eyes sparkled like a kaleidoscope with a hint of an exquisite permanent-sadness, and his flushed skin and dampened hair glistened due to the torrent outside.

You felt your breath stuck in your throat for a moment before you could clear it to speak.

"good morning, sir, how may I help ya today?" you faced him fully and your skirt swirled—following your motion with a swoosh in the air, you catch him glance down at it for a second before returning his eyes on you.

"I... The book ye suggested ta me the other day..." he starts gently and the memory comes back rushing immediately. You remember that warm tone, you had indeed met this gentleman before.

A week ago, he came over to your shop and you recall how lost he was in his search for the perfect book to read. And you, being a bookworm, and also the owner of this little corner bookshop— you had to help him. You gave him a suggestion for a book out of his box—out of his comfort readings.

And from the gentle look on his face, you suppose that he liked it.

"I'was grand," the man smiles softly and the corners of his eyes crinkle a little, you find yourself grinning back at him.

"Ye finished it quickly!" you commented in excitement and he looked a bit puzzled, a smile softly drawn on his lips with a little crease of confusion. It was adorable.

"I mean—I'm glad t'was grand that ya finished it quickly." He lipped a silent "oh" before his cheeks burn red as he smiled and his eyes almost disappeared.

"Are ya here for another book?" you asked when the silence fell on the place, raindrops kept knocking on the glass front nonstop, music to your ears with this handsome man smiling and radiating joy to your eyes.

"Ye can say that..." his voice was quiet but you can hear it in this downpour noise, he tilted his head to the side and shrugged, and it was impossible for you to not aw at it.

"How about we go with somethin' even newer for today?" you suggested, he nods to the side with a little smile, you walk and he follows you down the aisle.

"Romance or crime and mystery?" you stop at the novels sections, "pride and prejudice, I guess ya must've heard of it before," you pick the book off the shelf, he gently takes it from your hand and examines the cover thoroughly with his amber eyes, and he looked so interested.

"Or, we can go with Agatha Christie's illustrious murder on the orient express," you take the book and hand it to him, "or... Take a whole new genre and check Mary Shelley's horror Frankenstein? It's one of me favorites," you hand him the third book after strolling down the aisle a little more.

The man looked puzzled now, he seemed interested in each one of these books. But you patiently wait for him to speak.

"Have ya made up yer mind yet, sir?" you ask.

He shrugged with a sigh, raising his brows high, "they all look grand— can't lie t'ye," he answered.

"They are— but I can make ya an offer, I'll give ya the three books with the price of one and a half—and in return, ye're gonna write me a review of each book to add to me list of reviews and suggestions here on me wall," you tilt your head to the side, eyeing his beautiful features and almost forgetting you were waiting for his answer.

"Tha' seems grand ta me," he chuckled.

"I'm glad it is!" you walk him back to the cashier check, you get back behind your computer to scan the books and add in the discount.

"That'll be 18.46 after the discount," you lean against the wooden surface with your arms supporting you up.

He nods and hands you the money. "There ya go--" you're about to hand him the change. He shook his head, "no, keep tha change, miss..." he cuts you off gently, looking down at the little pin with your name on it.

You tell him your name to catch his eyes back up and he nods with a little smile, "Michael." he says, only taking the receipt and the paper bag of books.

He turns and makes his way to the front door, "Michael?" you loved the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. He stops and turns with a puzzled face, "thanks fer the tip," he smiles and you can see the blush on his face a mile away. He leaves and you watch him take a turn to the right before he disappeared under the northern downpour.

The next week, Michael shows up at your shop's door on a Saturday afternoon, a big smile drawn on his face. You were dealing with a little kid trying to choose a book, you turn to see him and he immediately waves at you, a little sweet grin splits the darkness of his thick beard. "Ya can take the book now, pet, momma's gonna send me the money later, 'kay?" The two of you watch the little kid waddle out of the shop.

"Sorry t' interrupt yer work," he says as he crossed the distance between you. You shake your head, "at all, Michael. How was yer read? Which book did ya read first?" you asked, leaning against the shelves.

He smiled wider when you said his name, almost startled to speak. "Um, the-- the mystery one, murder on the orient express," he answered.

"And did ya like it?" you ask him again with enthusiasm and butterflies crowding your lungs. He rubs the back of his neck with a sigh and an apologetic smile. "Ya don't seem like ya liked it, did ya?" you chuckled.

He scrunched his nose and tilts his head to the side, "the ending was unexpected at all ta be honest with ya," he shrugs.

You nodded and hummed to his answer, "Christie is never expected, that's why we love her," he nods back.

You notice the two paper cups of coffee he held in his hand when the smell of freshly baked-and-brewed coffee beans hits your nostrils. You were so confused why you never noticed it before, maybe you were distracted by Michael's presence as a whole, or his always-glistened ambers if you were specific. Michael notices the confused smile on your face. "I— thought I should bring ye coffee, as a thank ya."

Your smile grows with a blush as he hands you a cup, "thank ya, Michael, that's truly sweet of ya," you coo, his face blushes and shyly drops his eyes to the ground.

The sky thunders and you nearly jumped out of your place, both of you stare at the other and you burst out laughing. "Did that scare ya off, pet?" Michael asked with a worried smile, you kept giggling.

"Not really but... It was... Unexpected?" you answer after taking a deep breath.

"Like Christie?" he chuckled, you burst out laughing.

"Like Christie."

The weeks turned into months and Michael began to show up more and more often, and you eagerly waited every morning to see his shiny hazel eyes and his beautiful smile, one that you keep daydreaming about until he steps into your shop with two hot cups of coffee.

He turned from a regular client—to be a resident of this little bookshop. Michael started to stay in with you and help you organizing and monitoring the place—he would even help the little kids in choosing their books, too.

Once, you found him sitting on the oak floor, the little boys and girls gathered and sat around him, while he narrated a children's book. Your heart melted at the sight, and luckily that wouldn't be the last time.

The kids would come into your shop asking you if uncle Michael was there to read for them; Michael was now a part of your place, and you're happy to have someone like him to keep your company.

One evening —after three months of seeing each other daily— when the sky was cloudy and the sunset light was becoming less visible. The weather broadcast had warned about an upcoming rainstorm tonight—so you had to call it a night and leave.

You made sure everything was in the right place and order before you left. You put your autumn coat on and stuff your phone inside your purse. You take the keys out and you make your way towards the exit. Michael was waiting for you by the front door. Both of you get out of the shop and you turn to lock it up.

Michael calls your name gently in a tone barely louder than a whisper before you head on your way home and it makes your stomach churn in the most beautiful way.

You turn to look at him, he's shifting in his place, hands stuffed inside his leather jacket pockets and face all flustered and burning red. "Can I walk ye home tonight? It's a lil' darker than usual, I'd be worried 'bout ye, pet," he asks, voice so desperate. Your heart skips a beat—but it comes back pounding.

Your smile doesn't leave your face and it starts to hurt your cheeks. "Sure thing, Michael, I'd love to," you nodded, he grins and his eyes crinkle and his orbits shine.

The sky darkens but you could still see the perfect smile on Michael's face, little raindrops started sliding against your skins and it was a scene out of a painting, so magical and calm.

You make it to your place and you exchange goodbyes. You watched him walking down the concrete path and disappeared behind the brick wall.

You made your way to your doorstep, almost taking your keychain out when Michael calls out your name, you turn to face him, he's all soaked in water but his beautiful grin never left his face.

"Can I take ya out fer dinner tomorrow night?" your jaw dropped and your head screamed 'yes, yes, yes'.

"Yes! Yes, y'can, Michael!" you could barely make out his silhouette as your grin almost shut your eyes. He's almost jumping in his place, he sighs with a big smile.

"I'll pick ya up tomorrow at seven, is that grand fer ya, pet?" he shouts.

"Of course, Mikey!" you shouted back.

You walked into the warmth of your house soaked and giggly, you ran upstairs straight to your bedroom to plan an outfit, you didn't care about messing up the carpet, you'd deal with that later.

You quickly made up your mind about a floral day dress you had bought recently and you recall thinking of Michael while buying this dress.

You guess he's going to love it, he usually complimented you when you wore dresses and let your hair down and that's what you're going to do.

You took the next Sunday morning off as you started to prepare yourself for the date, pampering yourself with all the skin and hair care products you can find in your house.

You wanted to look perfect for him.

You felt overwhelmed with happiness, making up the scenarios of your evening. Where will he take you out? Is it a fancy restaurant or a local diner? What would he bring you? Flowers definitely, he's a flower-gifting man, as you realized, it was definitely his way of showing affection. He brought flowers every couple days for the shop.

Now it's nearing seven and you happened to just finished your look. You put on your dress and you fix your hair, adding a little floral accessory to the side of your braided bangs. You looked stunning, you hoped that you'd give the same impression to Michael.

The doorbell rings as you slipped into your heels, you look at your mirror for the very last time tonight before opening the door. He looked so fine though he wore his shirt and trousers casually with his leather jacket. You could kiss him already.

His eyes stayed fixed on yours for a brief moment before he exhaled with a stunned smile. "Y—ya look magical, pet," he breathed out and it made you turn completely red.

"I tried me best..." you shyly drive your eyes away and tuck a stray strand back behind your ear.

"Y'don' even have ta try, love, ye're always lookin' good," he shyly says and you could see his cheeks prickling red as he drove his eyes down to his shoes.

"I um... Brought ya these," he revealed a bouquet from behind his back, it was of red roses. It matched your dress perfectly. His head tilted to the side with a smile as he handed it to you.

"They're so wonderful, Mikey, loved them, thank ya," you take the bundle. "Ya look great too, Mikey, loved yer shirt," you had to compliment him, he deserved it.

His face reddened beneath his beard, "thanks, love."

"Ye're ready, aren't ya, love?" he asked with a smile.

"I am, let me get me purse and coat first—"

He shook his head, "take yer time, pet," he countered.

You turn behind the door and take your coat off the hanger. Sliding inside it, you take your purse, grab an umbrella and widen the little crevice of the door to pass outside.

Michael hesitantly held your hand but when he noticed how you instantly wrapped your palm around his—he intertwined his fingers with yours, with no plans on letting go.

You walked down to the main street where Michael tried to stop a taxi for the two of you. "We don't have to take it," you stopped him with a gentle hand on his back, he was a little confused, "I'd prefer walking with ya, Mikey," you explained yourself. A big smile breaks the darkness of his beard and you could swear he beams at you.

As you strolled down the concrete path, the sky thundered vigorously, the voice rumbled and echoed in the air, and it wasn't long before it started dropping tears upon the two of you.

You could see Michael's face turning dark, he cursed under his breath, you rubbed a pat onto his bicep, and pulled the umbrella over your heads, offering him a soft smile. He smiled back but you still felt how uneasy he was.

"It's okay, Mikey, I love walkin' in the rain," you comment, and that kinda eases the tension of his demeanor.

The walk is silent, and you could still feel him timid as you held his forearm, you know he can't control the weather, but you don't really mind if it's sunny or gloomy, as long as you are with Michael, it's all what matters to you.

The two of you made it to the restaurant, and Michael's face turned even darker. A sign on the glass door reads 'electricity outage, sorry for disturbing' was hung on the glass door. You turn to look at Michael, his eyes are glaring with fire.

The receptionist types something on his phone and sticks it to the glass, "it's coming back in a few minutes, we're working on the issue, we truly apologize for such occurrence... See, Mikey? We can wait a few more minutes," you smiled back at him, but Michael wasn't really buying it.

He gulped and closed his eyes, huffing out a stream of hot air. "It's okay, Mikey, we can go somewhere else if ya don' wanna wait..." you suggested.

He shook his head, "no, I booked us a table in there a week ago and I ain't takin' ya anywhere less than that!" he tried to remain calm but his tone was getting angrier, "I can't let this day go wrong like tha'!" he expressed, wiping his mouth and tugging onto his beard, something you noticed he does whenever he feels tensed.

You rubbed his bicep and squeezed it a little, your hand unconsciously walk up to his face and you scratch his thick beard. He smiles a little, but his eyes are glistened with tears like glass balls.

Things weren't going his way, for years and years, and today he wished he could finally do something he wanted. You didn't mind if you got the chance to dine at the restaurant or took your date home, what you only cared for was Michael's presence with you. But to him, it seemed like today too is going wrong and he has no clue how to fix it.

And you truly hated to see Michael angry or sad, he doesn't deserve to feel any of that. He's a sweetheart, he never put you down, so you have to keep him up.

"Have I told ya about the one time I almost died?" you ask him, and he clearly shifts demeanor to your question, you hide a smile waiting for his answer. Your ways might be effective after all.

He shook his head with knitted brows, you nodded and hummed. "Well, that day, I was picking up coffee from the shop I'm a regular for," you start, and you notice him directing all his being to you, "that day, me favorite waiter wasn't there to get me order, and another one got it," you leant onto the glass, after getting closer to him so the umbrella would cover the two of you better.

"But, when me order arrived, it was a wrong one, and I was really mad, I told the waiter to change it, but he couldn't, they can't give the drink to someone else and they're not allowed to throw it away," you got closer, and Michael was so integrated into the story.

"So I had to accept it, but I was still so angry at that, I wasn't seeing things clearly, and I was crossing the street and a car almost hit me!" you tell animatily, Michael was shocked.

"Ya didn't hurt yerself pet, did ya?" he was worried and you loved his face when he was.

You huffed a chuckle and shook your head, "I didn't hurt meself, and didn't spill me coffee either, and when I arrived to the bookshop and took a sip of it, I discovered that it was so much better than me regular order," you shrugged, Michael smiled but he wanted to know more, "and now it's me new regular."

Suddenly, the lights came back, as the night had already fallen. Michael's face lit up a little and you grinned to that. You walk into the place and the receptionist leads you to your table with plenty of apologies. Michael helps you into your seat and settles down his, released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

You reach out for his hand across the table, pulling him out of the cloud forming over his head. "It's okay, Mikey... We're inside now," you offer him a smile, he smiles back, you rub his knuckles with your thumb.

A waitress approaches your table with a note in hand, Michael took a deep breath and looked up at her. She asks for your dinner of choice. You look at Michael, informing him that you want him to order for the two of you, that you want what he wants.

"Two Seared Scallops with Pomegranate and Meyer Lemon," Michael answered after taking a glance at the menu then you. You nodded with a smile.

The waitress nods and takes her way back to the kitchen. Michael smiles at you, but his face drains of all blood when he sees the waitress approaching your table with an apologetic smile. "We truly apologize, sir and ma'am, but we're out of scallops and they won't be arriving today. Ye're gonna have ta change yer order," she tries to break the news as gentle as possible.

Michael is frustrated, his thick brows are firmly knitted over his gentle eyes, you caught them lose their shine, and you had to do something about it.

"It's fine, we can have steak, mashed potatoes, and wine, right Michael?" you had to give him a choice too. He looks up at you, you tilt your head to the side with a soft smile. He nods.

"Alright, two steaks... How d'ya like yer steak, ma'am?" the waitress asks. "Medium well," she nods to your answer and turns to look at Michael.

"And how d'ya like yer steak, sir?" you sneak your hand and place it on his, sending a supportive smile his way. He respires, "same as hers." he answers.

The waitress nods and walks back to the kitchen once again. You turn to face Michael, "I wouldn't mind if we never ate here, I just enjoy sitting with ya, Mikey," you hold his hand, he almost sobs, you reach out for his other hand, now fondling both of them. "It's you Michael, I ain't here fer the fancy dinner or the expensive wine, I'm here fer ya Mikey baby."

He finally smiles. "Thank you, pet," he whispers. You shake your head, "t's notin', Mikey."

Another waiter arrives with a tray of wine and globular glasses. The waiter pours your glass first and turns to pour Michael's—when he accidentally smacks your glass and he spills it onto your dress.

You hiss at the sudden cold wetness, trying your best not to curse or cry—because you too feel the world isn't working its best way with you today.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to stop the tears from forming.

The waiter keeps apologizing, and you already know how Michael's reaction might be without even opening your eyes and looking at him.

But you can't let this day go bad, you still have a chance to fix it, you can make it 100% better with your reaction, you can stop the chain of bad occurrences.

You open your eyes and look up at the waiter, "it's alright I... I just need a towel..." he rushes back to the kitchen. You grabbed a napkin off the table and tried to absorb the wine spilled on your dress.

"Tha' fuckin' idiot..." Michael curses.

You chuckle, "it's okay, Mikey, me dress is red, it won't change notin', I'll be fine."

Once you made sure most of the dampness was gone, you readjusted yourself in front of Michael, wearing a beaming smile on your pretty face.

His eyes fondly meet yours and you're flustered, looking down at the silverware displayed on the table.

"How are ya like tha'?" Michael asked, resting his cheek in his palm. You looked up at him, and he's got the sweetest smile you've ever seen him doing. His eyes beautifully sparkled to the golden lights of the candles.

"Like what?" you answer with a question. He gestures at you with his chin.

"How're ya such a beam of light?" you turn red at his question, "how are ya, after all tha', still smilin' and tryin' ta make it work?"

"Well," you swallowed with a smile, "bad things won't stop happenin' t'ya, Mikey love, that's somethin' ya should keep in mind, but they can't stop ya from looking at the bright side of it all." Michael furrowed in participation.

"Y'know? I'll never get a chance ta make that day perfect more than it is now," you simply say, "and if I would get a chance ta fix anythin', I wouldn't, because it's already going perfect f'me."

The two of you spend the rest of the evening on nibbling and chattering. Your dress was now cold and sticking to your thighs but you didn't mind, the food turned stale and cold but you didn't care; as long as it was Michael with you, you didn't mind anything else in the world.

Michael pays for the dinner and accompanies you to the exit. The two of you look outside, the rain is heavily pouring over the city, and it's loud enough you could hear it from behind the glass door.

You turn to look at him, he smiles and nods, pushing the door and escorting you with an arm wrapping you to his side.

You step into the street under the rain and you're immediately showered. You snicker, holding Michael's hand and looking at him, your eyes asking him to join you. Michael giggles as he follows you, now holding the two of your hands softly as the skies decanted its whole heart on the two of you.

"Y'know ya can't wait for the rain ta stop. It's always raining in Dublin anyway, Mikey." you whisper, he smiles and cradles your cheeks and he pulls you into a kiss, warming your hearts under the cold downpour.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you for coming to my sleepover celebration! 💞💞💞

#yarrystyleeza #michael kinsella #charlie cox #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella fanfic #michael kinsella fluff #fic request #yuna's 2h sleepover celebration #yuna's sleepover #kin amc

30 notes · View notes

alexanderlightweight · 1 year

Note

Hello! It's already Wednesday where I live hope I'm not too early, so I've been reading the things you said about Magnus, Ragnor and Catarina and I absolutely love it. So, how about a prompt where the group realizes exactly how deep the bond of friendship and trust between these 3 are and exactly how far they would go for each other. (I really love your writing btw) have a nice day!

oh you're good! you're actually the tenth prompt i got (i try to answer in order of sending in) so definitely fine!

if this isn't quite what you were hoping for, feel free to prompt again next week because this is not where I intended to go with this and it's more Ragnor/Magnus than team!immortal because Magnus needed to talk to Ragnor to get his story straight before he talks to Cat. Also Ragnor is who you go to for overthinking and planning.

Cat you go to so you can be hit on the head with commonsense

Magnus stares at his phone and wishes it would bite him.

If it did, it would be an excuse not to call, or to at least avoid making the call for a little longer.

Magnus gives himself a solid minute to let himself contemplate giving his phone teeth before he sighs, calling Ragnor and picking a soothing chamomile.

He’ll need to be completely sober for this conversation.

“Dearest,” Magnus coos into the phone the moment the dialing ends. There is a pause that is distinctly groggy and then a dry wheeze.

“It’s ten past noon in fall.” Ragnor manages to finally croak out, “are you dying? You had better not have called me instead of Cat if you’re injured.”

“It’s August.” Magnus says distractedly, “that's not fall.”

“It’s September, and it’s autumn!” Ragnor yells through the phone, “it's past bloody July and the sun is wilting my roses and nearly all of my irish moss has withered. So I will not be available for daylight hours until the weather is proper again!”

“I’m wooing a shadowhunter.” Magnus gets out, because otherwise it will be another hour before Ragnor will stop his, ‘some of us are old and delicate in our wiser years’. And well this is definitely going to just add another segment to the future lecture, it will be worth it.

Well, Magnus hopes it will be worth it.

“A— ducky, did you just say a shadowhunter?” Ragnor sounds awake now, wide awake and alert.

In a way he normally refuses to be during the heat.

“Yes.” And Magnus sighs, because he knows why Ragnor is so shocked.

“I— are you sure?” and Magnus sighs again, deeper and longer this time.

“I haven’t told Cat yet, I called you first.” Because Magnus is sure, which means he needs to talk it out with Ragnor first, to prepare a good defense when Cat questions his sanity and self-care.

“Oh ducky.” Ragnor says, soft and like he’s already hurting on Magnus’ behalf.

“He’s not—” Magnus tries to say, but it’s wrong because Alec is a shadowhunter. He’s like every other shadowhunter, in a way that Magnus can’t deny.

But Magnus thinks Alexander is also more than just that.

“A male shadowhunter?” Ragnor carefully hedges because he’s not going to outright ask if Magnus is in his right mind.

But Alexander had felt like potential and Magnus, Magnus craves another taste of what could be.

“It’s been a long time.” Ragnor reminds him, a gentle chide and Magnus shudders.

“A century.” He admits because while his bed is only empty when he wants it to be, he’s held his heart carefully hidden and protected from all touch.

Ragnor gives a mournful little sigh and Magnus can imagine him shaking his head, “well. Even for you, this isn’t the worst thing. Remember when we did that small bit of vandalism in the 1600’s?”

And Magnus gives an aborted, choking laugh because he does.

He does remember that.

It’s when he finally believed and understood how much they loved him.

How much they will always love him.

Because Cat and Ragnor once slaughtered an entire Institute when its hunters illegally detained Magnus and when they were done, they successfully and purposefully opened a rift and framed demons for it.

And then they’d figured out how to hack into the database and insisted that Magnus have the honor of rewriting his own, Cat’s, and Ragnor’s clave sanctioned and bigoted files.

Magnus had done so with a level of delirious pettiness that he’s never matched since.

And now, centuries later, truth and lies are so intermingled now that the clave will never truly understand the danger Magnus and his family are capable of being.

“He—” and Magnus sighs, “he unlocked something in me. I mean, he’s gorgeous. Normally I'm trying to burn off someone's runes but when I see them on him, I want to lick them.”

Across the pond, Ragnor gives a tired sigh and there’s a pop of a bottle after the sudden warp of a portal.

“Ragnor, did you portal to our place in Siberia?” Magnus asks in distracted delight, “are you breaking into the stash there?”

“It’s not breaking in when I own part of it.” Ragnor grumbles, “and if you mean this dishwater that you and Cat made out of magically grown potatoes. Yes, I’m drinking your awful and disgracefully potent potato juice. Now tell me more of this lovely boy you want to fuck who also makes your heart flutter. I’m somewhere with much more tolerable weather finally.”

“Heat exhaustion makes you such a delight,” Magnus grumbles and sits, mournfully taking a sip of his tea. “And you couldn’t have just portaled here?”

“I’ve been to New York this time of the year. It’s disgusting.”

“You think New York is disgusting at all times of the year.”

“Yes, but this is the worst.”

Magnus settles into his chair and stares out the window, “I could portal to you?” He offers hopefully and Ragnor swears at him in ancient greek.

“If you come, you’re going to be sad and upset and I will fall for your pathetic eyes and will ply you with alcohol and pat your head and then this will start all over again tomorrow.”

Magnus shrugs even though Ragnor can’t see it, because Ragnor isn’t wrong.

“Now ducky—” And Magnus can imagine Ragnor settling into his favorite armchair, the tobacco he and Cat fight over being lit. “Tell me about your laddie love, and I’ll help you figure out what we’re going to tell Cat. Otherwise, we might end up wiping out a second Institute.”

Magnus takes a deep drain of tea and when he reaches the bottom, he summons himself a nice oolong.

“How much am I going to need for this conversation?” Ragnor asks him and Magnus pauses to give that due and proper consideration.

“One of Cat’s potions, at least half a bottle of the good stuff and a sobering spell in the middle so you can still be coherent when you end up finishing the bottle off.”

Ragnor curses viciously in ten languages that Magnus’ knows and one that he doesn’t.

It’s been centuries and Ragnor and Cat have both insisted on sharing at least one single language Magnus doesn’t know.

It’s so they can curse out his life choices without actively berating him.

It’s a beautiful solution and the only complaint is that every once in a while Magnus accidentally learns the language via pure osmosis, and then Cat and Ragnor have to go learn a new one.

“But my dear, why?”

And Magnus knows it’s the closest Ragnor will let himself come to actively disapproving of something Magnus is sure about.

“He killed for me.” Magnus says with a pleased hum at the memory, “a circle member. And then later when his team followed me home, he laughed at my rather brilliant pun and nearly fell over himself when we officially met. We fought together, he turned his back to me.”

“Are you sure he’s a shadowhunter?” Ragnor asks dubiously, “that's not much like them.”

“He terrified everyone else.” Magnus admits, “and the only time I saw a hint of softness on his face was when he looked at me. You know I wouldn’t misinterpret something like that, not again.”

Because Magnus would never let himself fall for something like Camille’s sweet smile and the malice that had been hidden in her dead eyes. The poison that was never noticed because it was hidden with sweet touches and averted gazes and murmured words that Magnus can never quite remember.

“Also he very much doesn’t know what to do with himself, or me, when we’re in the same room.” Magnus has been thoroughly charmed, even more than when he first saw the shadowhunter. “He’s going to be mine, Ragnor. I can tell.”

“Then you need to be aggressive about it,” Ragnor tells him, “you know what nephilim blooded are like. Don’t let him question what you want from him. Prove your interest even.”

“They are going to need a lot of hand holding. Clarissa is shockingly like her parents, very mercenary when it comes to something she wants. And Alexander’s brother is also rather invested in what she wants. I wouldn’t mind helping them for the pleasure of his company.”

“Oh for the love of—” and a portal opens and Ragnor steps through. One of the bonnets Cat specially ordered for him is tucked about his curls and horns and he’s got an entire bottle that he keeps clutched to his chest.

The smell of cherrywood and tobacco fills his loft and Magnus’ inhales, deeply.

“I thought you were denying yourself the pleasure of my company?” Magnus asks and he summons Ragnor’s armchair — the one he only brings out for his dear cabbage.

“More like trying to hold onto the dregs of my sanity.” Is muttered and Ragnor plops into the chair and leans back, popping his slippered toes up as it reclines.

“Now, tell me your plan. In detail. So I can lovingly rip it to shreds.”

“Well, I’m very obviously not what he’s used to. But that didn’t seem like a deterrent, so I thought I’d test the limits of my style to see what he responds to.”

“Magnus, if he responded well to this look. Why change it?”

“Isn’t it a bit much?” Magnus asks and Ragnor flicks him with magic, just enough that it feels like Magnus’ cheek is being pinched.

“If you were too much, he wouldn’t have been interested. You’ll confuse the lad if you change yourself so suddenly. He’ll get whiplash!” and Ragnor tuts and summons his pipe, “now, explain that other nonsense you mentioned planning?”

Magnus explains the attack, the relocation of his loft and his dismissal of the shadowhunters until they’d all had a full shift of sleep.

“So you have something they need, yes?” Ragnor asks, “you sent them away to have a night to recover before the summoning? And you were planning on what afterwards?”

Magnus frowns and thinks, “I mean Jocelyn did create quite a problem. I was thinking I could offer my services, use whatever Clarissa thinks I owe her to get close. As much as I’d prefer to steer clear, she does give me an excuse to see him.”

“Or, you could invite him over to plan the ritual. Tell him you need to go over it, ask him to come over because of confidentiality. Make it a casual business affair, lure him in with work and get him to stay with charm. You have bloody enough of it.”

Magnus coos and blows Ragnor a kiss, “should I try to woo you, dearest?” Magnus teases and then he outright cackles at the grimace of disgust on Ragnor’s face.

“I’ll pass on that lovely offer, thank you ducky. Now, first things first. We’re moving your loft again. You can’t possibly stay here with shadowhunters knowing left and right where you live. It’s ludicrous. Seal off a warehouse and summon the demon there, don’t let anyone besides your prey in your space Magnus, not with how the world is turning these days.”

And the feral glint in Ragnor’s eyes is well hidden, but he’s who Magnus’ learned to temper and tame his own edge from.

“How do I get him over by himself, without his entourage?” Magnus realizes, several hours later, when Ragnor is blearily hiccuping at him. Ragnor’s favorite cold noodle dish, bibim guksu, half eaten and the bottle he started with now empty.

“Give me your phone.” Ragnor slurs and Magnus hands it away, completely sober as he puts his future into Ragnor’s drunk and slovenly hands.

“There.”

Ragnor gives Magnus a judgemental look and sighs as he sobers himself up a bit and hands the phone back.

“Magnus, from what you’ve said, the poor lad is being overrun. In what is supposed to be the place he’s listened to and respected, by the people he’s supposed to trust to have his back. He’ll misunderstand something terrible if you’re not careful. He won’t know the risk you’re taking, only the risk he is. He’s young and he’s clearly a romantic if the way you say he only goes soft around you happens. This isn’t a walk in the park for him, he’s not doing this to stick it to the clave.” And Ragnor gives a small belch and takes another bite of his noodles, “so, you give him another option. You make yourself a place he considers safe.”

“I’m a warlock.” Magnus says dryly and waggles his magic clad fingers. “He’s a shadowhunter. That’s a little much at this point.”

“Yes and you want to be his warlock boyfriend. So get with the program ducky, or change the channel.” And Ragnor stops talking to eat before he finally dabs his mouth and gives Magnus a stern glare. “You can read the message now. He replied about thirty seconds after I sent it.”

Magnus nearly falls off his sofa as he rushes to get the phone he’s been hesitant to look at.

“Ragnor, why did you tell him I need his help privately to prepare the ritual, and that I needed to be without distraction? He’s going to assume so many things.”

“Yes. He’s going to assume you want competent help. He already responded, if you’d bothered reading, ‘understood. I’ll keep the others contained. Where do I meet you?” Ragnor mocks the lovesick noise Magnus makes but Magnus doesn’t care.

“He just agreed, like that.” Magnus marvels, “so easily. I could set any location, this silly, precious boy.”

“You did say he was soft for you.”

“He’s a nephilim commander.” Magnus shoots back, “the fact that he killed a circle member rather than go for me was the first surprise. The fact that he melts for me seemed like a bonus to an overall nice surprise. I didn’t think—” and Magnus feels himself flush, “well, I didn’t realize that I was what had such an impact on him. I thought he was just—”

And Magnus isn’t sure what he thought, but he does know that no other nephilim commander would ever agree to Magnus’ text like Alexander did.

And it speaks less to his decency as a being and more that he also has a very untraditional interest in Magnus.

Ragnor lets out another series of curses, several he’s probably learned from Raphael and Magnus is reminded of how much he regrets introducing the two.

“Let me see him, this shadowhunter of yours. Show me what he looks like with others, and how he looked at you.”

And Magnus does, summoning several memories and Ragnor goes through them with increasing levels of incredulousness.

“Magnus, I will eat my bonnet if that boy has ever had a relationship.”

“Ragnor, did we not see the same long legs and gorgeous face? And that adorable little blush he gets.”

“I did see that—” Ragnor says and he sounds gentle, “but Magnus, not everyone is going to see him like you do. That lad is indeed gone on you, but he’s also terrified by it. You say something to him and it’s like he has to fight to react like he’s used to, because you pull down all his walls without trying. So he doesn’t react the way he thinks he’s supposed to. You’re missing the forest for a very tall tree Magnus. Because I see someone who wants you and doesn’t know what to do with that. Not because it’s you, but because they don’t think they’re allowed. Are you willing to handle that?”

And Magnus, Magnus has never cared about the relationship status of someone he’s dated or fucked as long as they weren’t using him to cheat.

But the implications here —

The possibility that the mere sight of him is enough to make Alexander cross lines he’s never allowed himself.

It makes Magnus want him even more.

“Mine.” Is all Magnus manages to say and he cheerfully summons a bottle of whiskey, “absolutely mine.”

“Oh for the love of—” And Ragnor is watching him, tired and fond and full of love and then Ragnor is shaking his head. “All right then. I suppose I’d better dust off my home in Quebec. I’m not leaving you here to muddle through nephilim courting on your own and Cat insists on living like a mortal and has a real job.”

They both share a look of mutual disgust.

“Now ducky, pour me a glass and remind me which demon you fed the child’s memories too. We’ll have to figure out the best ritual to retrieve them. Maybe we can use one where everyone but you and the anchor is knocked out. Nothing much better than a demon-summoning for a picnic and some flirting."

#malec #shadowhunters #shadowhunters au #magnus bane #ragnor fell #team immortal #prompt fill #lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #alec lightwood

114 notes · View notes

novemberhope · 1 month

Text

Soooo… guess here are my current obsessions One Piece OCs

@auxiliarydetective I did give it a try… not everything is final yet. Might not be a great introduction like this but it was fun to do and if anyone has different questionaires (or whatever they're called) just tag me.^^

Ideas, criticism, inspiration, all is welcome :) I've never so openly done this tbh

Animal Resemblances Neri: Betta Fish Niara: Emerald Swallowtail Azura: Arctic Fox Cordelia: Bombay Cat Ellaria: Splendid Fairy Wren (Not 100% sold on that yet but it will be a beautiful bird) Ginny: Leopard Seal (looks cute but could actually kill you)

Specific Numbers Neri: 5/1/4 (ka – i - yo) (her last name) Niara: 22 (ni - a) Azura: 26 (a - tsu - ra) (eh, close enough^^) Cordelia: 5 10 0 2 (Ko - da - lei - a) (lol again close enough - but the many numbers look weird, this one might definitely change in the future?) Ellaria: 3-6-1 (Mirai = future) (it's a vision thing - but might also change if her name happens to fit better when she eventually gets one) Ginny: undefined yet

Specific Colors Neri: turquoise, light blue Niara: pale green, pale pink Azura: white, gold Cordelia: black, red Ellaria: white, grey, silver, very pale colors Ginny: a fiercy, angry red

Specific Smells Neri: ocean breeze, salt water Niara: apple & honeysuckle Azura: citron Cordelia: amber Ellaria: jasmine Ginny: honey & rose

Favourite Type of Island and Season Neri: summer on a spring island Niara: spring on a summer island Azura: winter on an autumn island Cordelia: autumn on an autumn island Ellaria: spring on a winter island Ginny: spring on a spring island

Favourite Food Neri: Seafood Niara: icecream, watermelon, blueberry pancakes, cupcakes Azura: oysters, shellfish, salad, filet mignon Cordelia: sunday roast, fried shrimp, spicy food Ellaria: Mushrooms, coffee, asian cuisine Ginny: strawberries, meat, soup

Least Favourite Food Neri: greasy food, meat, alcohol Niara: most vegetables Azura: fast food, cheap food, candy, cake Cordelia: lentils, fish sandwiches, anything with pumpkin Ellaria: fried foods, asparagus, ketchup Ginny: rhubarb, olives, brussels sprouts, eggplant

As a Family Neri: the adopted sister that comes from an entirely different culture Niara: cheerful youngest sister, always getting into mieschief Azura: the wine aunt Cordelia: oldest sister, often annoyed at her younger siblings but quick to defend them/come to their rescue Ellaria: the mother Ginny: (distant?) cousin

Real-World Nationalities Neri: Danish (as Denmark is associated with the little mermaid) Niara: Dutch (the Netherlands are described as the country of flowers and her devil fruit power is flower-based, so…) Azura: English-Irish (the latter shines through when she's drunk…) Cordelia: Italian Ellaria: Japanese Ginny: Scottish

Inner Brain Neri: probably lot's of excitement over various things that are happening around her or that she wants to give a try Niara: having fun with her friends, pretty things she likes, crushes (well one crush in particular) Azura: is annoyed at stuff and/or people half of the time so that's in her head a lot. Also, training. Cordelia: work hard, party harder, looking hot while doing both Ellaria: the fate of the world, secrets Ginny: training, anger, distrust, more anger

Suited Flower Neri: water iris Niara: sunflower Azura: white lily Cordelia: amaryllis Ellaria: tall garden larkspur Ginny:

Are they Strawhats? Neri: yes Niara: joins after the timeskip The others: no Azura: is a warlord of the sea Cordelia: works at a bar - it would be a different bar in cannon but she could keep her overall story I guess - might have to join a crew at some point though otherwise the characters would move on without her Ellaria: is with the revolutinary army (at least for some part of her story) Ginny: is with the revolutinary army

Ideas that first popped into my mind when certain OCs came to exist… Neri: it's a show about pirates, there's GOT to be a mermaid Niara: I want a character that uses a devil fruit mmmh what about plants/flowers (strangely enough, none of my pokemon oc's ever cared much about the grass type lol) Azura: I want a cool sword fighting lady Cordelia: I want a hot fierce type of character that looks good in black and that doesn't take anyone's crap Ellaria: came into the picture much later, I only recently decided somewhat on her looks, only things I know for sure is pale green eyes and can sort of see the future. Might never make it into any kind of story but she popped into my mind so here we go. Ginny: falls into the category "looks cute but can probably kill you".

Made some Picrew of them coz I saw other creators doing that

Neri:

Niara: (fun fact, she's currently one of my favorites)

Azura:

Cordelia:

Ellaria: (I'm almost certain I'm gonna keep the color palette and probably the hair...)

Ginny: (not her final look probably but I kinda want to keep the scars idk)

I took her pictures out because I decided on a different look for her. She will be a redhead now. She definitely has a scar or two on her face.

Bonus: A picture drawn by @indig0pearl featuring Neri and her own OC, Sora, as well as Nami, Robin, Chopper, and three of our friends (here also draw as OCs - yes the alpaka is one of them, she ate a devil fruit^^)

16 notes · View notes

denimbex1986 · 4 months

Text

'Cillian Murphy had just spent the day filming what felt like 30 scenes on “Oppenheimer” with the desert sand kicking up and blasting into his eyes when his co-star Robert Downey Jr. greeted him, trying to boost his spirits. And — this is how Downey remembers it, and when the legend becomes fact, print the legend — Murphy launched into a lament about how, when he had returned to his “18-dollar-a-night hotel room” the previous evening, he found his bags in the hallway and thought, “F—! I haven’t checked out yet. I have to sleep!”

“Every indignity that could befall someone who’s trying to do something .... It was like the tears of Job,” Downey related after a recent screening of the Christopher Nolan blockbuster. “Forget the call sheet and the job. It was everything else. It was the most Irish experience I’ve ever witnessed.”

Nearly two years later, Murphy and I are talking on a late-autumn day in L.A. He’s removing his coat and pulling his chair into the sun because, yes, he’s Irish, and part of the Irish experience is to soak up as much sun as possible when the opportunity presents itself. As to what Downey is ascribing to his native land, Murphy can do nothing but laugh.

“I don’t know if that means that Irish people are more predisposed to suffering,” Murphy says, smiling. “I think he’s being very sweet and saying we were like a troupe, moving at quite a pace. We were just staying at motels by the freeway and moving around. It was not glamorous. The way Chris works is that everything is equitable. No one has trailers or personal makeup. Everyone gets in a bus. It feels like independent filmmaking, but on a f—ing grand scale. And that’s the way I enjoy working.”

Murphy, 47, also enjoys not working, and he’s had a successful enough career in the two decades since his film breakthrough in Danny Boyle’s 2002 classic zombie film “28 Days Later” that he can describe such periods as being “happily unemployed.” That was where he was at a couple of years ago. He’d finished shooting the sixth (and final) season of the entertaining BBC crime drama “Peaky Blinders” and was in the midst of a glorious six months enjoying the company of his wife, Irish visual artist Yvonne McGuinness, and their two teenage sons. Then Nolan called out of the blue.

Actually, it wasn’t Nolan, but his wife and producing partner, Emma Thomas. It couldn’t be Nolan, because Nolan doesn’t have a phone, an eccentricity that’s either endearing or infuriating depending on the context. Thomas handed the phone to her husband, who told Murphy — in what the actor calls an “unbelievably understated British way” — “I’m making a film about Oppenheimer.” Pause. “I’d like you to play Oppenheimer.”

And just like that, Murphy was no longer happily unemployed. He was playing the title character in Nolan’s sprawling drama about the physicist known as the “father of the atomic bomb.”

“A big moment,” Murphy calls it, no stranger to restraint himself. Pause. “A biggie.”

In conversation, Murphy is pleasant and reflective when talking about his native country (he could and should write a book on the Ring of Kerry or at least narrate a self-guided tour) and the arts. I’d read that Nolan sent him photos of David Bowie wearing high-waisted, voluminous trousers from the singer’s Thin White Duke era as a visual reference for the gaunt silhouette he imagined for Oppenheimer, a man who possessed such a manic work ethic that he forgot to eat, subsisting on martinis and Chesterfield cigarettes. I pull up a photo of Bowie taken shortly before his death, wearing a sharp suit, black fedora and beaming smile.

“He looks a little alien, which is what we were going for with Oppenheimer, I think,” Murphy says. He holds onto my phone, looking at Bowie. “One of the greats. That last album [“Blackstar”] was f—ing extraordinary. What a gift to leave us with. Nobody else could have gone out like that.”

Murphy’s most striking feature — his piercing blue eyes — have been noted at length, for good reason. “Oppenheimer” co-star Matt Damon notes how he’d find himself distracted working with Murphy. “It’s a real problem when you’re doing scene work with Cillian [because] sometimes you find yourself just swimming in his eyes,” he told People.

Those eyes are what first attracted Nolan to him. The filmmaker was leafing through a newspaper while writing “Batman Begins” and came across a photo of Murphy from “28 Days Later.” He couldn’t shake the image of this actor with a shaved head and “crazy eyes” and made a note to meet with Murphy for Batman, a role that eventually went to Christian Bale.

They’ve now made six movies together, with Murphy playing the menacing Scarecrow in the “Dark Knight” trilogy, a petulant business heir in “Inception” and a character known simply — and quite accurately — as “Shivering Soldier” in “Dunkirk.” They share a mutual interest in conveying a character’s emotional conflict through close-ups that linger on an actor’s face and allow the audience to feel inner turmoil. In Oppenheimer’s case, it was the searing anguish of a man a bit late to realize and appreciate the consequences of what he’d created.

“To me, great screen acting is all about ‘show, don’t tell,’” Murphy says, “and being able to transmit emotion and energy just by force or presence or charisma.”

I ask him about influences in that regard, but Murphy demurs, saying that if he starts listing actors, he’ll wake up in the middle of the night, thinking, “F—, I left that person out.” He reiterates that his favorite movie moments aren’t big set pieces but watching actors in reflection, inactive, doing nothing, but revealing everything. “I find that compelling in the highest order,” he says.

Murphy had ample opportunity to do just that in “Oppenheimer,” portraying a character caught in a moral dilemma of his own making.

“I knew it would have to be a quiet, small performance, because the themes are f—ing huge,” Murphy says. “What’s happening inside his heart and his mind can’t be painted big, particularly when it’s captured on an Imax camera and it’s going to be shown on a f—ing 80-foot screen. I knew it would have to be delicate and tiny, most of it.”

Murphy doesn’t like to dwell on what he did once call the “monastic experience” of the film’s 57-day shoot or on the months it took to decompress afterward. Such talk would be a little too close to the “Irish experience” Downey had mentioned. But all of these efforts did make me think about something that Emily Blunt, who plays Oppenheimer’s wife, Kitty, in the film and worked with Murphy in “A Quiet Place Part II,” noted about him.

“She said that off set, you’re a hoot,” I tell him, fishing for an example or two. Murphy does not oblige, but he does express how his friendship with Blunt created a trust that informed their portrayal of lifelong partners.

“She’s also one of the funniest people, and I have a rule that I can’t work unless there’s a lightness around the set,” Murphy says. “There has to be some levity. A lot of the films I do are quite heavy and go to some dark, challenging places, and you have to be relaxed to do that. So I don’t walk around in a state of f—ing angst. I need to feel at ease. I can’t be in that dark place all the time. I don’t have the stamina for it.”

Murphy saw “Oppenheimer” at the film’s July world premiere in Paris. Two days later, he and the rest of the cast left the London premiere to show their support for the impending SAG-AFTRA strike. By the time he returned home to Dublin, his wife and sons had already seen “Barbie,” so Murphy went to the cinema by himself to complete the “Barbenheimer” experience.

How do you go incognito to the multiplex, I ask.

“I time going to movies very well now,” Murphy says. “With the ads and trailers, I always arrive a half hour late, slip in and then slip out.”

I grouse how that half hour feels like it’s getting longer by the year. Murphy agrees. And yet ...

“The greatest democratic collective art form is sitting in a darkened space with strangers,” he says. “To be part of a movie that people went to see multiple times and part of a great moment for cinema, that frenzy for those two films, was just lovely. I don’t know if we’ll ever see it again, but I’d like to hope so.”

31 notes · View notes

whumping-valentine · 2 months

Text

🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 6 🦌

"Fawn and the Fog"

Content: Animal death, animal skeletons, threats, hunting, anxiety, defiant whumpee, spooked whumper, whumpee forced to kill, weird rural woodsy shit in true rural redneck fashion 💪

I may have German, Irish, and Slovak in my blood, but at the end of the day I am merely just a northeast yankee here to represent the horrors of the American woodland lol

2000 Words

Part six baby let's goooo. And only two days after part five, I'm on a roll!! If you're someone who wanted to see a more mean Hunter, especially after the last part, this is the chapter for you.

This is where the batshit paranormal stuff that I was talking about earlier starts happening. I am physically incapable of writing something grounded in reality, you guys aren't prepared for what this seemingly normal, woodsy whump series is gonna turn into.

Also shout out to you guys who leave comments on this. I appreciate the little words so much you don't even know, it really motivates me to keep going. There's only two of you atm, you know who you are. Thank you, truly.

Hope you enjoy! 💕

After a few days, Fawn began to overcome their illnesses, being oh so carefully tended to like the sickly little fawn they were. Being so busy nursing their pet back to health, Hunter had no time to gather or prepare food. They began running low on resources. Turns out feeding two people rather than one will cause you to run out of food faster. Who knew?

Now that Fawn was better, and was the very cause of their food drought in the first place, Hunter decided that it was about time they helped out around the cabin and made themself useful. They grabbed an extra gun and walked down to the basement, where Fawn was back to seeping on the old mattress.

Hunter threw the shotgun on the tattered bed. Fawn looked up at them in puzzlement.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, it’s not loaded.” Hunter said, “Though it will be, soon. You and I are going hunting.”

Fawn scoffed, “Absolutely not, you psycho.”

"That wasn't a question. Get up."

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll make you get up. Your choice.”

“You don’t scare me.” Fawn said, though they could feel their anxiety sparking up.

“Oh, so you’ve gotten too comfortable, have you? I can fix that.” Hunter said, leaning down as they grabbed a fistful of their hair, pulling Fawn to their feet as they yelped and winced. Hunter twisted their head to look up at them with those wide, big, deer-in-headlights eyes. They tugged on their hair, holding the gun to their chin with the other, “This is not a place to get comfortable in, or abuse my hesitance to kill you. I can be nice, so long as you're good. But be bad—” They pulled harder, “—and I’ll be your worst fucking nightmare. Got it?”

“Y-yes, Hunter.”

“Good.” They let go, “Now pick up the gun and follow me.” They turned to walk back up the stairs, and Fawn obeyed, following them meekly, their head down. They clutched the gun tightly in both of their hands, ascending the staircase. The two of them stepped outside into the crisp late Autumn air. A chill waved through the wind, an incredibly foggy and cloudy day.

The two walked through the misty woods in silence, leaves crunching beneath their feet. Fawn stuck close to Hunter, finding it incredibly hard to see.

Fawn grumbled to themself as they tried to hold back, but couldn’t help themself, and they broke the silence, “You sure picked a brilliant day to go hunting. Can’t even see a foot in front of me let alone a fucking deer.”

“Okay, smartass, you think you’re a more qualified hunter than me?”

“I think I’m smarter than you, yeah.” Fawn said, and Hunter kicked their feet out from under them, causing them to fall backwards.

“You’re not the one who gets to be sassy here, in case you’ve forgotten.”

"I can do whatever the fuck I want, I'm not your pet and I never will be. In case you've forgotten." They stood back up.

"Oh, I haven't forgotten your defiance. How could I when you make your resistance so clear? Though I do remember you were letting me hold and comfort you so softly just a few days ago."

"Oh, fuck off."

Hunter ignored them, "You turn into such a helpless baby when you're sick. You should be like that more often. But I guess your dramatics are quite entertaining."

"How in all of fucking hell have I been dramatic? I think I act perfectly fucking reasonable, all things considered."

"Oh, well firstly, I've killed people who were far less pissy than you. Secondly, a pretty thing like you should cut the swears."

"Yeah, how about you go and kill me, too, that'll fucking stop them. Maybe I'll just do it more to piss you off. Fucking shit ass bitch, suck a cock, dick."

"Don't make me wash that mouth out with soap."

"I'd be surprised if you even owned soap, you filthy dirtbag."

Hunter shot a bullet at the ground, next to their feet. Fawn yelped and jumped back as their adrenaline spiked. The boom echoed through the trees.

"I let you get away with saying a lot of shit. I'm starting to get tired of it. Have you already forgotten the little chat we had earlier? You have no idea what I’m capable of, baby. I guess I’ll need to show you later.” They said, a threat laced in their voice.

Fawn literally growled in fear and anger, “I will run off into these fucking woods! I can do it! I’ll— I’ll fucking leave!”

"Threatening to run away like some angsty teenager? Oh, no, by all means, go ahead." Hunter said, gesturing out into the misty woods, "Run off. Find your way home. I'm sure you'll be able to."

Fawn glared at them in wide-eyed hatred, biting their lip in anger. Hunter found it adorable, which only contributed to Fawn’s disdain.

“Come on,” Hunter said, roughly nudging their shoulder with the shotgun, “Keep moving.”

Fawn glared back at them, rubbing their shoulder, angry tears in their eyes. Hunter wore a smug smile, and Fawn wanted nothing more than to punch it off their stupid face. Wanted to just turn the gun around on themself and shoot. That would be better than this. But they couldn't even have the luxury of death, holding an unloaded gun. They wished there were two bullets so they could take both of them out all at once.

They continued on through the endless woods, Fawn's involuntary anxiety growing by the second. They hated that they couldn't control it. Couldn't stop their heart from beating so fast, stop that dreadful feeling in their arms and chest. They didn't want to be afraid. Anxiety is such a bitch.

“Shh, shh.” Hunter hushed suddenly as they pulled on Fawn's arm, crouching them both down into the bushes. Their eyes were locked on a beautiful doe. The same doe with a coat pattern of hearts that Fawn had fed those many weeks prior. A pit opened in their stomach.

Hunter loaded a single bullet into Fawn's gun, and guided their hands to point it at the doe, who stared down Fawn right in the eyes, almost in recognition. Fawn’s hands were trembling as Hunter held them tight, smirking as their warm breath trickled Fawn’s neck. Hunter guided their fingers to the trigger, and forced them to pull it.

A loud gunshot rang through the air, as Fawn winced and trembled. The deer was dead, and the forest ran silent. Fawn stared blankly ahead as their eyes locked onto the carcass, trembling hands still gripping the gun as Hunter went over to look at their catch.

Crows gathered around out of nowhere as they sat silently in the barren trees, as if to pay respects to the fallen, and condemn Fawn for their actions. They'd never felt guilt quite like this.

Tears welled in their eyes behind the cracked glasses they wore. The gun dropped from their hands as they shook uncontrollably. As the pure shock of the deed began to wear off, they slowly broke down into tears, and before long, they were sobbing uncontrollably.

It begins to lightly rain in a mist, and all around the massive murder of crows sat and watched in continuous silence. Though neither seemed to notice.

Hunter threw the deer over their shoulders like it was nothing. “Enough of the crying. Get up.” They kicked Fawn in the ribs with their foot.

Fawn again, growled like an angry animal, and they snapped, “Fuck you! Fuck you all the way to Hell, you bastard!” They yelled, voice cracking as tears streamed down their cheeks, “I hope you die in a fucking fire! At the edge of a cliff, covered in burns, poisoned, coughing up blood, with no one to fucking love you!!”

They buried their face into their hands as they sobbed. Hunter stared at them with a blank, neutral expression. They reached down and grabbed the scruff of their sweater, pulling them to their feet in one swift motion.

“No!” Fawn yelled, “Get away from me!” They pushed them away, falling backwards into the bush they were crouched behind. A burr bush.

Fawn had burrs all over their clothes, and in their hair. Hunter shook their head, unamused, “How many times do I have to tell you, Fawn? These are the consequences of your actions. Now get up."

“Fuck you!!”

“I won’t ask you again.”

“No!”

“Get up.”

“AAAAAAAHHHHH!!” They screamed.

“Oh, so now you’re gonna just throw a tantrum like a child. Is that what you are, a child? Keep screaming and crying, it isn’t gonna get you out of that bush or out of these woods.”

"I'd rather die in this bush!"

"Then go ahead and be my guest." Hunter said, fed up, rolling their eyes, "Stop being dramatic."

Fawn grumbled and kicked their feet as they struggled to get up, Hunter watching the pathetic act apathetically. The bush pulled on the threads of their clothes, and their hair, ruining them and causing pain. Once they were back on their feet, they held back a pout before roughly kicking Hunter in the ankle, quickly walking back the way they came. Hunter gave no reaction, following behind them in a thoughtful stalk.

Fawn stomped through the trees, angry, upset, and anxious. They hoped if they'd move fast enough, they'd lose the hunter through the fog, the deer slowing them down, where they could somehow find their way home. Though somewhere along the way, they suddenly stopped in their tracks, gripping the shotgun tightly, staring intensely through the thick blanket of white mist.

Hunter caught up to them, "What?" They asked. Fawn just stared. Hunter squinted their eyes and could faintly make out what looked to be a skeleton of some kind.

Hunter went ahead of them and approached it, only to find it wasn’t just some normal kind of animal remains, no. Not only were the bones perfectly picked clean, in perfect skeletal formation, but it was huge. Not just a large buck, either. More so the size of a car. The skull itself was almost bigger than Hunter.

“What the hell?” Hunter muttered to themself in shock. They’d lived out in these woods for years, and never had they ever seen anything like it before. They were stunned, at a loss for words, and above all else, frightened. At first they thought it might be fake, or some kind of art piece. They'd seen those before.

But something deep down inside said that wasn't the case.

They slowly backed away from it and returned to Fawn, watching it disappear through the mist. Hunter didn’t say a word, and just continued walking, trusting Fawn would follow. This caused Fawn great unease. Hunter had been out here for years. They’ve killed people. What on Earth could possibly have them spooked?

The misty rain slowly turned to gentle flakes of snow, the wind picking up as it grew colder and darker. They made it back to the cabin as the snow began to stick and fall heavier, the wind howling through the growing darkness of the late evening.

Hunter plopped the deer down on the table and turned to look at Fawn. The look on the hunter's face almost made them shiver, and not from the cold. Seeing your own captor frightened by something wasn't something you'd exactly want to see. They ran a hand through their long, messy hair, shaking their head as they pulled themself back down to earth.

“Come on,” they said, “let’s pick those nasty things off you.” They said, and led them down into the basement. Fawn was far too spooked and exhausted to fight back anymore. They stood still as Hunter meticulously picked off all the tiny brussels and burrs, until they were finally free of them.

Hunter pushed Fawn down onto the mattress roughly before locking both of them down in the basement. Hunter sat on a chair, clutching their gun tightly in their hands as it laid across their lap. They stared intensely at the door, frightened that something they couldn’t explain may come down it. Fawn looked over at them from the mattress which they slept.

They hated that their presence made them feel safer.

Taglist: @parasitebunny

If you want added or removed, lmk!

Thanks for reading !!!

#fawn and hunter #whump #whump blog #whump community #whumpblr #my writing #whump writing #rural whump

16 notes · View notes

fishyfletch · 2 years

Text

Valorant Agents' Names and Their Meanings

I spent more than an hour and Tumblr deleted the draft. Thanks, Tumblr. Anyway I wrote some things I found interesting at the very bottom.

Astra

Astra: the accusative plural form of the Latin word astrum, 'star'

Efia Danso: Efia, meaning 'born on Friday.' Danso, from Ghana, Akan origin, means 'one who is reliable.'

Breach

Breach: make a gap in and break through (a wall, barrier, or defense).

Erik Torsten: Erik, Old Norse meaning 'ever or eternal ruler.' Torsten, a Scandinavian given name. The Old Norse name was Þórsteinn. It is a compound of the theonym Þór (Thor) and steinn "stone"

Brimstone

Brimstone: sulfur.

Liam Byrne: Liam, an Irish name meaning "strong-willed warrior" and "protector." Bryne, burning, fire; flame, heat, burn.

Chamber

Chamber: a private room, usually a bedroom. or to place (a bullet) into the chamber of a gun.

Vincent Fabron: Vincent, from a Latin word meaning “conquering.” Fabron, surname of French origin meaning 'young blacksmith.'

Cypher

Cypher: a secret or disguised way of writing; a code.

Amir El Amari: Amir, a name of Arabic origin meaning 'prince.' Amari, meaning 'moon.' His name means 'prince of the moon.'

I'm not sure about this translation so please correct me if I'm mistaken.

Fade

Fade: to gradually grow faint and disappear.

Hazal Eyletmez: Hazal, a Turkish name meaning 'autumn flower' or 'fallen leaf.' Eyletmez means to 'not let something happen.'

Harbor

Harbor: a place on the coast where vessels may find shelter, especially one protected from rough water by piers, jetties, and other artificial structures. or to keep (a thought or feeling, typically a negative one) in one's mind, especially secretly. It also means to shelter or hide a criminal or wanted person.

Varun Batra: Varun, a name derived after an ancient Hindu deity, Varuna, a water god. Batra is an Indian Hindu and Sikh clan of the Arora Khatri community of Punjab.

Jett

Jett: a jet engine.

Sunwoo Han: Sunwoo, a name of Korean origin meaning 'kind friend.' Han, a Korean surname meaning "King”, “Kingdom”, “country" or/and “Korean people.”

KAY/O

KAY/O: Kill All Your Opponents or Kingdom Anti-Yield Operative

If we're following the theory that KAY/O's mental blueprint is Brimstone's fallen comrade, Tariq Porter, here's what that name means.

Tariq Porter: Tariq, derived from the Arabic verb طرق‎, (ṭaraqa), meaning "to strike", and into the agentive conjugated doer form طارق‎, (ṭāriq), meaning "striker". Porter, originates as an Old French occupational name, portier (gatekeeper; doorkeeper), or porteour ("to carry").

Yes, you can make gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss jokes now.

Killjoy

Killjoy: a person who deliberately spoils the enjoyment of others through resentful or overly sober behavior.

Klara Böhringer: Klara, the feminine form of the Late Latin name Clarus which meant "clear, bright, famous". Böhringer, a habitational name for someone from any of three places in Baden-Württemberg called Böhringen.

Neon

Neon: fluorescent lighting or signs (whether containing neon or some other gas).

Tala Nicole Dimaapi Valdez: Tala, Tagalog for 'star.' Nicole, a female name of French origin meaning "people of victory," or "victory of the people." Dimaapi, I can't find the meaning online but it's similar to the Tagalog phrase 'Di maapi' meaning 'can't be abused.' Valdez, a Spanish toponymic surname of Asturian origin. Its appearance has been dated back to the times of the Reconquista in the municipality of Valdés, Asturias, where the eponymous lineage began. The area around the current town of Luarca was known as Val de Ese, "valley of the river Ese", as attested in medieval documents.

Omen

Omen: an event regarded as a portent of good or evil.

John: derived from the Hebrew Yohanan, meaning “graced by God.”

Yohan: the Syriac Aramaic meaning is "God is merciful". It is also shortened version of the Hebrew word "Yohanan" meaning "Yahweh is gracious".

Fred: a masculine given name meaning "peaceful ruler". It is the English form of the German name Friedrich. It also means 'elf or magical counsel' and 'a sage' (Ancient Greek: σοφός, sophos), in classical philosophy, is someone who has attained wisdom.

Marcus: a name of Ancient Roman origin meaning 'dedicated to Mars.'

Dimitri: a name of Russian origin meaning "follower of Demeter."

Phoenix

Phoenix: in classical mythology, it is a unique bird that lived for five or six centuries in the Arabian desert, after this time burning itself on a funeral pyre and rising from the ashes with renewed youth to live through another cycle.

Jamie Adeyemi: Jamie, a name of Hebrew, Scottish origin meaning "supplanter" which means someone or something taking the place of another, as through force, scheming, strategy, or the like. Adeyemi, a Yoruba name that means "The crown befits me".

Raze

Raze: completely destroy (a building, town, or other site).

Tayane Alvez: Tayane, a name of of English origin and means "star". Alvez is patronymic, that is, it is a surname derived from the first name of a male relative. In this case, the surname is derived from the Portuguese/Spanish first name Alvaro, which is ultimately from the Germanic (Visigoth) words "all," meaning all and "wer," meaning true.

Reyna

Reyna: Spanish for 'queen.'

Zyanya Mondragón: a female name of Aztec origin that means 'forever, always.' Mondragón, a habitational name from Basque Mondragoe ('dragon mountain'), a place in Gipuzkoa province.

Sage

Sage: an aromatic plant with grayish-green leaves that are used as a culinary herb, native to southern Europe and the Mediterranean. Ancient Greek: σοφός, sophos, in classical philosophy, is someone who has attained wisdom.

Ling Ying Wei: In Chinese, Sage's name is 魏玲瑩. 魏 Wèi is her surname. In very old Chinese, it would mean a "tower over a palace gateway", but that meaning has fallen off and now usually refers to the country of Wei in Ancient China (220-265 CE). The country of Wei was founded by the legendary general 曹操 (Cáo Cāo). 玲營 Líng yíng is her given name. 玲 (líng) generally refers to the tinkling sound of Jade or an onomatopoeia of that, but can also mean: exquisite, ingenious, delicate, nimble. (The radical in this character is 玉 and means Jade. Basically it means that this character's meaning would have something to do with jade.) 營 (yíng) has a lot of meanings. It can be a noun, in which it means a camp, battalion or barracks, or it can be a verb where it can mean to build, operate, manage or to seek.

Skye

Skye: a gender-neutral name of Scottish origin meaning 'island of clouds.'

Kirra Foster: Kirra, used by various Aboriginal Nations around the border regions of Queensland and NSW. To the Yugambeh people, it is said to mean 'leaf' or 'dancing leaf.' Other meanings from surrounding nations include 'Beautiful woman', 'to live' and even boomerang. Foster, "one who keeps the forest."

Sova

Sova: night owl, night person. 'Owl' in many Slavic languages.

Alexander 'Sasha' Novikov: Alexander, the Latin variant of the Greek name Alexandros, meaning "defender of men." Sasha, short for Alexander. Novikov, derived from novik - a teenager on military service who comes from a noble, boyar or cossack family in Russia of 16th-18th centuries. or patronymic from novik 'newcomer.

Viper

Viper: a venomous snake with large hinged fangs, typically having a broad head and stout body, with dark patterns on a lighter background.

Sabine Callas: Sabine, meaning "woman of the Sabine people", the Italian tribe from which, according to legend, the ancient Romans kidnapped their wives-to-be in order to populate their newly-founded city. It is the French and German form of Sabina. Callas, the short form of any of several compound surnames composed with the first element kalos 'good', 'beautiful.'

Yoru

Yoru: Japanese for night, evening.

Ryo Kiritani: Ryo, meaning excellent, excel, succeed; distant; fact; dragon. Kiritani, a name of Japanese origin meaning valley; ravine.

Things to Note:

2 of the agents' names mean 'light.' Namely, Tayane (Raze) and Neon (Tala).

4/5 of Omen's aliases have something to do with gods. 2 of which mean being a follower of a god and another 2 meaning the same thing. Another name means 'sage.'

If I missed anything or put something wrong, please correct me!!! that's all thank yaur

#valorant #valorant brimstone #astra #breach #sova #yoru #phoenix #killjoy #raze #neon #viper #chamber #skye #sage #jett #kay/o #reyna #omen

563 notes · View notes