#it messed her up thoroughly and irrevocably i think

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

jotting down a couple of my solaris post death engine headcanons. hospitalization and mental decline is discussed, although not in all too thorough detail, so i suppose that's a cw?

saying that the medical team didn't consider solaris worth saving wouldn't exactly be accurate. but her condition seemed bleak, and her survival chance was incredibly slim

physical injuries aside, her radiation poisoning was the worst of it. when she was initially brought in after the crash, she wasn't expected to last even a handful of hours as a result of her exposure

said radiation also got all over her clothes, which- when you factor in that patches of them were melded onto her skin due to the sheer heat of the crash- certainly did not help matters much when it came to mitigating further exposure.

thankfully she survived the three hour grace period for severe radiation poisoning. then the three day grace period for moderate radiation poisoning. and then the two week grace period for 'mild' radiation poisoning… the treatments helped, of course, but her immune system hardly escaped unscathed. nor did her stamina, pain tolerance, hair, or the majority of her muscle mass

getting such a traumatic injury immediately after spending an extended amount of time in zero gravity wasn't exactly great for solaris' physical strength. once she was allowed to leave her cot she found it very difficult to support herself without the temporary use of axillary crutches.

she… did not like them. and accidentally made herself worse for a time by purposefully forgoing them. but it didn't take her too long to learn it was less miserable to use them than it was to collapse in the hallway in front of her coworkers.

the fabricator's company especially helped during that period… having designed her own prosthetic after losing her arm, there was little concern fabby would think her any weaker for relying on a mobility aid

the incident… really changed solaris' perspective on a lot of things. grappling with your potentially-rapidly-approaching death will do that to you. she was always a bit of a perfectionist, but going forward she started to cling to her mistakes with a lot more self-directed hostility. after all, it was, ultimately, her fault the death engine project failed to begin with

she also struggles with regret a lot more- mainly in regards to time, and the ways in which she 'wastes' it. another consequence of watching it slip between her fingers, half certain she would be spending the remainder of her life in a hospital cot.

she tries not to make either of these facts too obvious to her coworkers. the fabricator can tell rather easily, though. but that isn't the worst thing in the world. at least she won't weaponize any of it.

the day after she was let out of the hospital was the day she drafted her resignation letter from zoraxis. but she was too scared to do anything with it, or act on the urge to quit beyond that… it was a miracle she even survived to begin with. zor could kill her with a flick of their wrist if they wanted to. and it isn't as if she and the doctor were ever on the best of terms- especially not after her catastrophic failure. she… didn't want to tempt fate until it proved absolutely necessary.

she threw herself into building her imposing figure and nature back up almost as soon as she physically could. and while she inevitably became just as powerful as she was before the incident strength wise, her constitution leaves much to be desired. functionally, she's a glass canon. thankfully, she doesn't look like one- which is a fact that she uses to her advantage when necessary.

#ieytd #commander solaris #headcanons #it messed her up thoroughly and irrevocably i think #she tried very very hard to put her old self back together. and in some regard succeeded. #but she will never be the same person she was before the death engine blew up. and that's scary to #well. its scary to her. it's also scary to everyone around her. #including fabby. #excluding zor. #i like to think solaris enjoys having some command over the room due to her imposing figure and personality #so there's always a little part of her deeply paranoid that no one can take her seriously or see her as imposing after the incident #which further festers into imposter syndrome and deep embarrassment and unidentified self loathing #its a lot. her issues are so plentiful. i didn't even mention all of them. just like a moderate assortment. #i didn't even talk about the chronic pain... sad.

[dustlesschalk]

051122

I have been asleep for quite a long time. These past few days was a bundle of emotions and destructive thoughts. All I have seen as I opened my eyes is the gruesome aftermath. Irrevocable mistakes, broken trees, broken dams, irreparable edifices, and injuries albeit just internal. I know something is wrong with me. This time I am sure.

Now I am thinking how to stand back up, how to patch these wounds, how to unblock these paths, how to rebuild a dam, and how to get back on track. It's difficult, I must say, since up until now bile is rising up my throat and thunderclouds loom in my eyes. I very much wanted to leave everything as it is and implode.

I even planned to ruthlessly end myself today but I think fate has other plans. My mother did not leave as I expected. I knew I was given a lease, it was evident as to how I just slept intermittently the day after I tried overdosing on antihistamines. Just as fate had planned, my rational and logical side woke up. The overstimulation has probably passed.

I do not know how to cope with all these damages. I have bunch of missed technical outputs, missed major examinations, missed classes, and I impulsively emailed one of my professor about my condition. I had even told her about my decision to change career paths. It is all ruined and I guess that is how it should be.

I will try my best to get back up. I will try my best to pave a different path and to search for a different guiding star. The tempest I have caused has blocked this path I am on. On a second thought, has it thoroughly been blocked or can I still clean up the debris to continue trodding on? Was this a test or a warning?

I do not know, but I am taking this as a warning. I cannot continue on this path. My mental fortitude to mindlesslly follow protocols is weakening. I needed a release and a change of pace. I do not want to be locked in a room and tied to a desk. I want to be out there to experience.

Still, I need to be responsible for this mess I have consciously and unconsciously caused. I plan to take a job, call centers perhaps? I have enough qualifications and the pay is good. That way my debts will be easily settled. This is not the end but a new beginning. Please remember that I beg you.

[volleychumps]

Heyy! Can you do one where Osamu, kuroo, akaashi and Tsukishima, say something mean to their s/o and their s/o avoids them for days? When they finally get ahold of their s/o, their s/o just sorta cries because it hit their insecure spot? Fluff in the end🥺

Listen, I can’t not write this. 

Irrevocable Words. 

- the one in which they accidentally make you give them the silent treatment because of their lashing out. -

~ Osamu Miya, Kuroo Tetsurou, Akaashi Keiji, and Tsukishima Kei~ 

TW: Cursing, angst to fluff, timeskip! for Osamu, 

------------------

Osamu Miya

“Those are important files, ya know?” 

“Samu, I’m sorry. You should’ve told me you needed last month’s earnings and I would’ve looked for them before we came this morning.” The hand you tried to settle onto Osamu’s bicep was shaken off as your movements faltered. 

Your voice wobbled at the sight of your stoic fiance, an annoyed glint in his eye as he rummages through his files. Osamu felt a flare in his stomach, a lack of sleep contributing to his impatient state. The day had been a busy one, Osamu deciding that he needed this particular file for his business call tomorrow before the two of you headed home for the night. 

“I told ya not to move anything back to the place.”

“I didn’t.” You bit the inside of your cheek. “Here, just let me help-” 

“Don’t touch a goddamn thing, I’ll do it myself.” There it was. The lashing out that was bound to happen occurred with a pointed tongue as he refused to look at you, rummaging through his file cabinets. “As I do everything else.” 

He closes the cabinet sharply. “The least ya could do is try your best not to be a nuisance-” 

Osamu flinches at the slam of one of the office desk drawers, chest sinking when he sees the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The paper he needed is thrown on the desk carelessly as you shove your jacket on, wetness slipping down your cheeks.

“And I’m not your goddamn secretary. I’m heading home first.” 

“Y/N-” 

“And don’t worry, I promise I’ll manage to do this by myself somehow.” Your voice cracks bitterly, the bell by the door jingling mockingly in Osamu’s ears as you exit, the chef hanging his head with a sigh and regret tinging his chest.

He was wrong to pray this would blow over, not expecting to wake without your warmth by his side. You avoided him on the way to the restaurant, cleaning quietly while giving vague answers to his questions, shifting out of his attempts to embrace you with apologies. 

Deciding to give you space, he softly tells you to take the next few days off, unprepared for the tired look you had given him, simply nodding in response as you slipped into your side of the bed with your back turned to him.

“Where’s your pretty girlfriend?” 

“Fiance.” Osamu forces a smile at his two elderly regulars two days later, the wife’s smile widening at his correction. 

“Oho! Cherish each other while you youths still can, she really does brighten this place up, doesn’t she?” 

You do.

Osamu’s eyes feel hot as he does a messy job of cleaning up the restaurant, closing up shop early and stopping by your favorite bakery to pick up the ridiculously expensive cake he only ever buys for your birthday. 

Throwing the door open to your shared apartment hastily, you gasp at the gray-haired man’s sudden entry, dropping the spoon you were about to use to taste the dish you were making on the stove.

“Samu, y-you’re home early-” 

“What’s all this?” He tries to steady his breaths at the sight of a nicely prepared table, something you hardly ever got to share ever since the night shifts overtook your lives and caused a rift between the two of you. 

You’re silent for a second, looking away from his warm stare as you shift under his gaze. 

“...I miss you.” Dark eyes widen when you begin to hiccup over your words, tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. “But I didn’t wanna be a nusciance-”

“Oh god, darlin’ no.” You’re pulled tightly into his chest as you cry, whole body shaking with tremors as Osamu’s inner turmoil merely increases.

If Osamu could go back in time and punch himself he would, unknowing of the torment he caused you over the past few days, thinking you just needed space. 

“I want to marry ya Y/N, I’m so sorry.” 

“I love you so much Samu.” You sniffle into his chest, causing him to smile softly, a hand sifting through your hair to hold you tighter to him. 

“I brought cake.” 

You laugh through the onslaught of tears. 

“And I made dinner.” 

“Then what are we waitin’ for?” 

“Just hold me like this for awhile?”

“Y/N.” He kisses the top of your head, finally feeling at ease with your figure in his arms. Osamu whispers a confession he hardly shared with you, wanting those words in particular to be special as he bridged the gap between the two of you.

“I love ya so much more, don’t you go forgettin’ it.”

Kuroo Tetsurou

“I said I was sorry!” 

“Is sorry supposed to just fix everything, Tetsurou?” 

“Tetsurou? Are you seriously withholding me from my nickname privileges?” 

You cross your arms at his attempt to make you laugh, thoroughly angry with the mess your boyfriend made of things as his smile fades at your peeved stare. 

“Look, what was I supposed to do?” 

“How about not leaving my parents waiting for you at the restaurant that you invited them to for another one of your spontaneous volleyball practices?” 

“I texted you I had to cancel!” 

“That was a half hour before we were supposed to meet, Kuroo! They were so excited to meet you they got there early. God, why can’t you ever take things seriously?” 

“You’re right.” A bitter chuckle slips Kuroo’s lips as you falter at the sudden tone change, the volleyball gym seeming bigger than ever as his next sentence makes your lips tremble.

“Since I can’t ever take things seriously, then I must not need my serious girlfriend then, right?” Your eyes widen. “I can just find somebody else who won’t fucking hound me all the time.”

His cat-like eyes widen as the words slip his tongue, unintentionally coming out crueler than he intended. To make it worse, you simply stayed silent, your body physically backing down and away from him as you turned on your heel. 

“Wait, I didn’t-” 

“Do it then.” His chest just about shatters as your shoulders tremble, refusing to turn back around as your voice takes on an uncharasterically defeated tone. “I hope they make you fucking happy.” 

Kuroo runs a hand through his raven hair frustratedly at the way you rushed out of the gym, throwing a stray ball so hard at the wall before his vision becomes skewed with heat. 

He should have expected the next week to be utter hell. You left class before he could catch you by escaping to the bathroom with all your things, leaving school another way instead of the exit you always took together before he had to start club activities. 

“Kenma, what are you doing?” 

“You can’t come in here.” 

“I’m missing class for this. Let me through.” 

“She doesn’t want to see you.” Kenma shrugged, eyes on his handheld. “I told her I’d watch the door so you can’t surprise her during our breaktime.” 

“I’m her boyfriend. And you’re not her guarddog.” 

“No, I’m her friend.” Kenma’s eyes narrow at his childhood friend. “And last time I checked, you’re on the search for someone who isn’t her.” 

“So she told you.” 

“Dick move, by the way.” 

Kuroo’s calls go straight to voicemail, his emotions affecting his playing with each passing day. He leaves little notes in your shoe locker to meet him, heart sinking more and more with every time you stood him up. 

And it wasn’t until he saw you smiling again at a joke Yaku made that he truly felt like he was losing you. 

“Go home.” 

The sight wasn’t one you were expecting to see, Kuroo sitting on the steps to your house with his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, the dark bags under his eyes sparking worry within you. 

“It’s probably better if my parents don’t see you-” 

“I’m sorry.” His eyes seem to have lost a little of their glint, regret swimming in the tall boy’s pupils as your guard softens. “I’m so goddamn sorry I ran my mouth and said shit I didn’t even mean-” 

“Tetsurou-” 

“And I hurt you in the process. I hurt the one thing that matters to me the most, and I’m sitting here playing the creepy ex that stalks the girl he loves-” 

“You love me?”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? You’re done with me, and I deserve it-” 

He’s cut off with the sight of tears hitting the wood in front of him, lifting his head to see tears streaking down your cheeks. On instinct, he reaches out softly, rising to his feet to cup your cheek, astonished when you curl into his touch. 

“I’m so fucking mad at you right now.” 

“Noted.” Kuroo laughs somberly, a wave of emotion hitting him as you do something you hadn’t done in days. 

You look him in the eye, tugging him closer by the sides of his jacket. 

“But I love you too, you absolute idiot.” 

Kuroo grins into the kiss you press onto his lips, heart lifting in weight as he pulls you closer. 

“Does this mean we can go back to Tetsu?” 

“I’m going back to ignoring you-” 

“No.” Kuroo’s tone turns serious as he holds you a little tighter. “I can’t do that again.” 

You smile as he presses a kiss to your temple lovingly. 

“Being away from you was complete and utter hell, sweetheart.” 

Akaashi Keiji

“Tell me how to make this right.”

“Right, Y/N.” Akaashi refused to meet your eyes as he loosens his school tie, not slowing his pace for you to catch up with as he throws the doors open to the volleyball club. The usually put-together setter had an angry glint in his eye that silenced his awaiting teammates. “Let’s just go back in time before you agreed to be his partner.”

“Hey hey, what’s going on you two?” Bokuto jogs up, his worried tone making your lips tremble even more at the sight of Akaashi’s turned back.

“I came to you as soon as he made a move! I didn’t let him-”

“There shouldn’t have been an opportunity for him to make a move in the first place.” Akaashi’s jaw clenched as you shuffle in place.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, you think I wanted him to try to kiss me?!” You fight the waver in your voice, standing your ground. “It was a project for class. I didn’t know his intentions-“

“I told you what his intentions were, but you never listen.” Akaashi turns hastily, startling you and causing you to stumble slightly backwards into Bokuto.

“Akaashi-“

“Stop defending her. She never listens to me, and then comes crying to me when it turns out I’m right.” Akaashi snips at his best friend, ignoring the silent stares from his quiet teammates. “Why can’t you get it through your head, Y/N? I’m not your goddamn babysitter-“

“You’re right.” You interrupt, fingernails biting into your palms as you choke back a sob. “You’re not, you’re my boyfriend. I just wanted to respect you by coming to you with something like this, but it turns out I’m just a hinderance.”

Akaashi falters for a second, blue eyes widening a fraction at the angry heat that fills your eyes as regret begins to bubble in his stomach at his harsh words.

“Y/N-“

“Give me some space, Keiji.” You say softly, patting Bokuto’s arm to let you through as your shoulders sink in a defeated manner. “I promise I won’t come crying to you about anything else.”

Your steps echo as you walk out of the gym, Konoha breaking the silence first when the door shuts behind you.

“Hate to say it, but that was well-deserved, man.”

Akaashi closes his eyes, head falling back towards the ceiling as he tries to steady his breathing, pretending like he wasn’t scared of you slipping through his fingers. He willed himself to not allow himself to chase after you, his anger directed towards you fading as he forces himself to respect your wishes. 

It was obvious you were avoiding him. Akaashi had blinked when Bokuto had self-proclaimed that he needed you as his “study buddy” during breaks when you weren’t even in the same year as the owlish boy. It got worse when you seemed to panic when Akaashi willed you to talk to him, eyes refusing to meet his watery blue ones as you pushed him further away.

So he gave you your space, wilting with each passing day. It wasn’t until he accidentally bumped into you a week later, the setter turning hastily on his heel to walk in the opposite direction before a soft tug on the back of his school shirt wills him to stop. 

“Keiji.” Your wobbly voice makes him turn back around immediately, a soft palm already cupping your cheek gently. “I’m s-” 

“I’m sorry for being cruel.” The words are whispered against your forehead, Akaashi’s heartstrings tugging in the worst way possible. “I was angry at the situation, my love. And that sorry excuse you call a classmate. Please,” 

His grip tightens just a little more as he feels wet warmth drip into the palm that was cupping your face.

“Forgive me.” 

“I told you I wouldn’t come crying to you-” 

“I want it all, Y/N.” Akaashi pulls back slightly, voice cracking slightly as blue stares intensely into your irises. “I want all of you. Tears included.”

You swat his chest playfully as Akaashi manages a soft smile, hand threaded through your hair as he presses you against his chest.

“Do you still need space?” He murmurs, and you smile at the sound of his hearbeat picking up as he awaited your answer fearfully. 

“Nope. The exact opposite, please hold me?” 

His embrace relaxes immediately, and your heart skips a beat at the sound of his relieved sigh, his slight nod making the weight lift off your chest. 

“Good, now I can take care of your classmate-” 

“Keiji-”

“Nope, my love.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, Akaashi’s eyes swirling with devotion. 

“No one gets to try anything with you so long as you’re safe with me.” 

Tsukishima Kei 

“So I’m the bad guy again.” 

“Do you want the honest answer, Kei?” You exhaustedly run a hand through your hair as Tsukishima’s scowl deepens, his long legs easily catching up with you in stride as he tugs on your wrist as the rambunctious court gets further and further away. 

“It’s not my fault you’re insecure.” 

You flinch. “Well maybe you shouldn’t let the girls in the stands cling to you after your matches. They were all over you, Tsukki! And you didn’t seem to mind it one bit.” 

“What?” Annoyance brims the blonde’s voice as he takes another step forward, clenching his jaw when he sees the quiver in your lip, distrust filling the atmosphere between the two of you. 

“Afraid that they’re prettier or better than you’ll ever be?” 

You feel as if the wind was knocked out of your lungs, breath catching in your throat at his insinuation. His guard slackens almost immediately, clicking his tongue before turning away, too proud to apologize for the words he regretted as soon as they slipped his tongue like venom. 

“Yeah.” You laugh humorlessly, making brown eyes dart over to your expression immediately. “You’re 100% correct. I am afraid you’ll find someone better than me in all aspects. Because I love you, you absolute asshole. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

The silence that befalls the two of you in the deserted hall is broken when you flinch away when Tsukishima tries to take a step towards you. 

“I didn’t-” 

“You never mean to do anything, Kei.” You say in a hushed tone, turning your back on him in an attempt to shield the hot tears slipping down your cheeks. “But you somehow always manage to.” 

The win for Karasuno didn’t mean much to the blonde that night, hoping that this would just go away and things would be back to normal. However, it was anything but. You didn’t look his way once in class, disappearing when it was over. Your voice trembled as you had avoided his seemingly stoic eyes through his frames, simply stating that you wished for some time away from him. 

He was fine. Or at least pretending to be on the outside. In truth, he would never find better, because you were it for him, words that you would never catch slipping his mouth. So he put on a front, pretending that your absence had zero effect on him whatsoever. Pretending the brush of your body against him in the hall as you pass each other didn’t make the blonde want to cave. 

It was the smile you shot at Hinata during one of your breaks that caused him to. The first glint in your eye in awhile, and it had been caused by him of all people, prompting the tall middle blocker to tug you by the forearm into the corridor.

“Tsukishima-” 

“I hate this.” 

You falter for a second, guard back up in a flash as your back touches the wall. “What did I do?” 

“You didn’t do anything, and it’s pissing me off.” 

“I don’t follow-” 

“I was wrong.” His forehead touches your shoulder as you stiffen before relaxing against his familiar touch. “I don’t care how many times I have to apologize. You win, okay? I’m sorry.” 

“This is a rather aggressive apology-” 

“Y/N.” Tsukishima lifts his head so it’s level with your height, unprepared for the way tears brimmed your eyes at the proximity, your guard diminishing. 

“What if you do find someone better one day, Tsukki?” Your voice cracks, inner fears trickling to the surface. “Do I need to prepare myself to lose you-?” 

You gasp as Tsukishima’s jaw ticks before kissing you intensely, his hand touching your lower back to pull you closer. 

“No. You don’t need to do something stupid like that.” His eyes were slightly glaring at you, a flush across both his cheeks. “Because there is no one better than you, okay?” 

It was your turn for heat to flood your cheeks as your eyes widen a fraction, his breath tickling your ear as you stutter. “Kei-” 

“I love you too. I said it, are you satisfied now?”  

---------------------------------------------------------

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#haikyuu!! #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu anime #haikyuu angst #osamu miya #osamu scenario #osamu imagine #haikyuu osamu #tsukishima kei #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu kuroo #Kuroo Tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #akaashi #haikyuu akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #haikyuu akaashi #akaashi keiji #haikyuu oneshot #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x self insert

[whorefordean]

a love like this × s.r

word count- 1.5k

warnings- language, not proofread

pairing- steve rogers x reader

a/n- hey!!! I'm sorry I haven't been posting. I've been super busy/stressed/unmotivated :( trying to post some more!! anyways here's a little touch starved fic with my fav captain :))

It was hard being the newest recruit at the Avenger’s compound. You still hadn’t been able to open up to many of the other Avengers in the compound, only really feeling comfortable around Nat, Wanda, and Sam. That didn’t stop you from feeling drawn to a certain shield-wielding Captain.

You couldn’t explain it really. You just wanted to be near him all the time but couldn’t bring yourself to start an actual conversation with Steve. Sure, you’ve talked to him about missions, but that was it. And still, you never felt safer than when you were near him.

Nat was quick to notice your change in behavior around Steve. After weeks of watching you blush every time Steve placed his hand on your back as he moved around you, Nat decided it was time to question you.

“Do you have a thing for Steve?” Nat smirked as she pulled you into her room. You looked at her, thoroughly confused by her question, but not surprised by her bluntness.

“No, do you?” You questioned, crossing your arms and furrowing your brow.

“No, I’m just trying to figure out why you always want to be near him,” Natasha squinted at you.

“I don’t,” you lied, unable to hide the blush creeping up your face.

“Liar! Stay here,” Nat said before rushing out of her room. You were left sitting on her bed, heart pounding in your chest. Sure, you had a little crush on Steve, but you were sure it would go away soon.

Natasha walked back in a few minutes later, dragging Bucky in behind her. You were glad it wasn’t Steve but was it really any better that it was his best friend? Not really.

Bucky was standing by the door, looking confused as he bit into the apple he was holding.

“Why is he here?” You huffed out, pouting at Natasha.

“Bucky, why do you think Y/N always wants to be around Steve?” Natasha asked, ignoring your question. Your eyes went wide as you smacked Nat on the arm. She swatted back at you while still looking at Bucky.

“Crush?” Bucky offers, taking another bite from his apple.

“She says no, but maybe,” Natasha says looking you over again. You stared at her with a blank face.

“Touch starved, maybe?” Bucky spoke up again.

“Are you touch starved, Y/N?” Nat asked bluntly. You shook your head no hesitantly causing Bucky to laugh.

“Definitely touch starved,” Bucky chuckled.

“And how would you know, Barnes,” You muttered angrily, feeling embarrassed about being called out.

“Doll, you know my history. I know what it’s like to miss physical contact. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Bucky tried to lighten the mood.

“I’m not touch starved,” you mumbled, playing with your hands. Bucky and Nat looked at each other.

“Y/N, we’re human. We all crave physical connections. You don’t have to be ashamed or embarrassed,” Nat spoke softly, placing her hand on your shoulder.

“He’s gonna think I’m weird,” you mumbled, leaning your head on Nat’s shoulder.

“Steve’s the most understanding person on this planet, Y/N. If you want a hug, he’ll give you a hug. Simple,” Bucky stated.

“It’s not that simple, Buck,” you groaned.

“Sure it is,” Bucky answered happily. He left the room and quickly returned. You looked at him puzzled until someone walked in behind him. That someone being Steve.

“Bucky said you needed my help,” Steve spoke as he entered the room.

You stood in silence, trying to find the rights words to say that wouldn’t make you seem like a creep. Hey, Steve, mind if I just always get in your way and hang all over you because I’m desperate for the loving touch I was deprived of as a child?

You huffed and looked to Natasha for help. She smiled softly at you.

“Y/N was just wondering if you liked hugs?”

“Jesus, Nat, could you make it anymore awkward?”

“What do you expect, Barnes?”

That was four months ago. You cringed thinking back to that day. Sure, Steve was fine with being the one to hold you and give you affection, but did it really have to be so awkward?

“What’s on your mind?” Steve questioned, pulling you away from your thoughts. He was tracing small patterns against the back of your hand as you laid with your head in his lap.

“The beginning of this,” you answered softly, motioning between the two of you. Steve smiled fondly at the memory. He had never told you, but he loved the fact that you wanted him to be the one you could turn to when you felt deprived of human contact. It made him feel needed in a way that being Captain America can’t provide.

He had also never told you about the way his heart skipped when you found him first after returning from a mission gone wrong. Or how he felt a sense of pride when you’d shamelessly crawl into his lap during movie night to get comfortable as everybody sent weird glances your way, questioning the nature of your relationship.

But you hadn’t mentioned to Steve the butterflies you got when he’d interlock your fingers with his during meetings. You also failed to mention to him just how much you’d craved his arms wrapped around you as you tried to fall asleep at night.

But mainly, neither one of you mentioned just how deeply and irrevocably in love you were with the other. The kind of love that wouldn’t be satisfied with just a simple hug or cuddle. You’d wanted everyone to know you belonged to him. He’d wanted everyone to know that he was yours and only yours.

That’s why you were in Wanda’s room along with Natasha practically sobbing into Wanda’s pillow in the middle of the night a week later. Steve had been on a mission with Bucky and Sam for the past week when you realized your feelings for him.

The reason you were sobbing? You hadn’t felt love like this before. Never in this overwhelming, “I have to be with you or I’ll die” way. Wanda was rubbing your back as Natasha played with your hair.

“I just don’t wanna mess anything up because I’m so in love with him, but I can’t tell him that. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Then, it’d all be ruined. What would I do without him?” You blubbered away, sitting up on Wanda’s bed.

“Have you seen the way he looks at you?” Wanda asked while wiping your tears from your cheeks. You shook your head softly.

“He looks at you like you hung the galaxy, babe,” Natasha smiles at you. You feel tears well up in your eyes again.

“Fuck, that’s cute,” you groaned. You laughed along with the girls. After talking for a few more hours, the three of you decided to go to bed. You and Nat left Wanda’s room together, walking in silence for a few minutes before Nat spoke up.

“I really do think you should tell him,” Natasha commented sincerely. You sent her a smile and a quick nod.

“Maybe when he gets back,” you answered. Nat nodded a silent agreement. Her sly smile went unnoticed by you, and she left you alone to enter your room. Your heart stopped for a moment when you saw a sleeping figure on your bed.

“Nat, you sneaky bitch,” you whispered to yourself knowing damn well she knew he was back. You slipped into your bed trying not to wake Steve. Your heart stopped as Steve rolled over to drape his arm across your stomach and rest his head on your chest. You smiled, running your hands through his hair.

“Feels good,” Steve muttered. You laughed softly, continuing your actions.

“Natasha told me you were upset earlier. Are you okay?” Steve mumbled with his eyes still closed.

“I’m okay. Just had an epiphany, I guess,” you shrugged lightly.

“About what?” Steve questioned.

“You. Me. Us,” You answered a few minutes later. Steve waited patiently for you to continue.

“I’m in love with you, Steve,” you mumbled, barely above a whisper. You felt Steve shift himself up. His head was no longer resting against your chest, and his arm was no longer around your waist. Instead, he pulled himself up to be face to face with you, both hands on either side of you. Your hands were still tangled in his hair. His face only a few inches away from yours.

“Say it again,” Steve spoke.

“I’m in love with you,” you affirmed. You felt the heat rising into your cheeks, feeling your face blush as you watched Steve’s eyes jump from yours to your lips then back again.

“Can I kiss you?” Steve asked. You nodded slowly. Steve wasted no time in pressing his lips against yours. The two of you move in sync with the other. Steve’s hands tangled themselves into your hair as yours slipped down to his arms. The two of you pulled away breathless.

“I love you, sweetheart,” Steve smiled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips again.

#steve rogers concept #steve rogers blurb #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #marvel #avengers #avengers imagine #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes concept #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #captain america

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls Extra 2

- ao3 -

“Jingyi?” Lan Qiren repeated, looking down at the child tucked into his arms. “A good name.”

“Isn’t it?” Lan Yueheng said, beaming. “A-Xin thought of it!”

“You don’t say,” Lan Qiren said dryly. “Just the way your wife named all the last six?”

Lan Yueheng grinned bashfully. “She’s better at it!”

Lan Qiren shook his head, amused, and tried to offer the child back to his father.

“No, no, you should hold him longer. Babies are calming, and you’ve been having bad dreams recently, right?”

“Babies are not calming,” Lan Qiren said. There was a limit to how many times someone could play the same joke on him, and yes, he was mentally glaring at Wen Ruohan, Lao Nie, and Cangse Sanren as well while he thought that. “You’ve had six already, you should know that. Can we at least agree that this is the last one?”

Lan Yueheng and Zhang Xin had put off having children to help Lan Qiren raise Lan Xichen and then Lan Wangji, once he’d come around, no matter how much Lan Qiren had argued with them to the contrary. They’d laughed him off, saying it was nothing, but he’d been terribly afraid that they’d miss the window for it and end up childless, with no one to sweep their graves on Qingming except his nephews, and that in the end they’d blame him for it.

Naturally, despite his fears, it turned out in the end that they hadn’t had any trouble at all. Their first had been born when Lan Wangji had been three and Lan Xichen six, and they’d had six more after that, one after another like a bunch of maniacs – a girl, two boys, another girl, and then the twins a few years later, at the very end, just when everyone had thought they were already done. Lan Wangji had already been nearly fifteen, then.

Of course, the whole bit about ‘just when everyone had thought they were already done’ being about the twins was rather outdated: that was before the arrival of little Jingyi.

Nearly ten years after all the rest, even the twins; a belated and extremely unexpected child, as if Zhang Xin and Lan Yueheng and the heavens had all conspired to make fun of Lan Qiren for his previous worries. Zhang Xin had already been in her forties, yet she’d gotten through the entire process with a smile and no apparent discomfort, puttering around in her garden and managing her storehouses and scolding her children without any disruption. Not even the pain of labor would bring her down, even if she did have a tendency to mangle Lan Qiren’s hand and shout his ears to deafness in the process.

Lan Qiren’s ears and hand, because he’d helped oversee the births of his nephews – Han Kexin had resolutely refused the aid of any competent doctor, male or female, mockingly reminding him that she was supposed to be in seclusion, so he’d learned up on the basics himself while retaining the option to call in a proper doctor if something went wrong – and since he’d managed it well enough, naturally Zhang Xin wanted the same, impertinent brat that she was. And of course, she wasn’t going to hurt her husband’s precious hands in the process, never mind that he’d been the one to cause it in the first place.

At least they’d all been more or less easy births.

Little Lan Jingyi had been the easiest of the whole lot. Zhang Xin had barely made herself comfortable before he was coming, and before Lan Qiren had even really accepted that he was coming, he was already here.

Look at the rush to get going, as if he’s afraid to miss out on all the fun if he’s not here! Zhang Xin had laughed. He’s going to want to be part of part of everything!

“Last one, I swear!” Lan Yueheng promised cheerfully. “Anyway, we needed one around that age – that way he can be friends with Wangji’s boy! You know, the one he’s raising with Wei Wuxian, the one who used to be Wen sect.”

Lan Qiren snorted. As if he didn’t know the one in question. Wen Ruohan had been altogether too pleased to offer up some of his own blood to join the Lan sect when it turned out that Wei Wuxian had gotten attached to the orphan child of Wen Ruohan’s kinsman – eager as he ever was, really, to entangle himself irrevocably into Lan Qiren’s life, as if he still thought there was a chance, however remote, that Lan Qiren would find some reason to reject him or cut him out of his life once again. And never mind that it’d been years and years since anything like that had even come closer to happening!

“Yueheng-xiong,” he said patiently. “Mathematics are one of your favorite subjects, so I know you know that that means that your son will be friends with my grandnephew.”

Lan Yueheng scratched his nose. “Not your grandnephew yet,” he said, grinning; he didn’t look even remotely ashamed of it. “Wei Wuxian’s the one that adopted him, and Wangji’s not married him yet!”

“He’s working on it.”

Wen Ruohan’s “help” – in the sense of agreeing to let the Lan sect adopt little A-Yuan and not allowing Wei Wuxian to do it on his own – was probably doing more to impede it than anything else.

Lan Yueheng sniggered. “Should I offer to help?”

“Most certainly not. Save your fireworks and flares for the actual marriage.” Lan Qiren rubbed his forehead. “Cangse Sanren is being deliberately obnoxious about negotiations over it, I swear.”

“Cangse Sanren is always obnoxious, Qiren-xiong,” Lan Yueheng reminded him. “Always – and it’s only gotten worse since she had her doom stolen away by Lao Nie.”

“Don’t remind me,” Lan Qiren grumbled. He didn’t even want to know how the two of them had managed to swap fates, or what the consequences of it would be in the end. For some reason, Wen Ruohan seemed oddly insistent about blaming Lao Nie’s second wife, despite her having been perfectly nice as far as Lan Qiren could tell, if somewhat strangely obsessed with food. Possibly he was just annoyed that poor Wen Zhulio had saved Cangse Sanren’s life a dozen times over so far and yet Lao Nie was getting the credit.

At any rate, neither of them had died so far, which was all to the good.

“I’m getting to the point that I think looking for her master and asking her for permission might be the easier course,” he added irritably. “The boys want to get married! What’s the point of tormenting them over the details?”

“Please don’t go out looking for an immortal mountain, Qiren-xiong,” Lan Yueheng said, laughing, and finally condescended to pluck little Lan Jingyi out of his arms. “I’m going to put him to bed. You should rest, too. No more work today! And only good dreams!”

Lan Qiren shook his head and watched him walk away.

For a moment, the image was replaced with another, a remnant from the terrible dream he had been having the past few nights, the one that still lingered: Lan Yueheng, still laughing but walking with a limp, his right foot gone from beneath the knee – the one he’d lost when the Cloud Recesses had burned, and because of the mess that had ensued it hadn’t been treated for far too long, becoming infected; every year thereafter he had gotten sick from a recurrent and worsening illness, driving Lan Qiren and Zhang Xin both crazy with worry.

Lan Qiren’s chest hurt just thinking about it, his own injuries aching, the remnants of the vicious wounds from the terrible beating Wen Xu had ordered with his eyes curved in a mean smile as he watched them try to break Lan Qiren’s meridians out of sheer spite; one day, in that horrible future foretold by the dream, Zhang Xin would worry too much and fail to pay attention, walking on something she shouldn’t and poisoning her blood, and when she went Lan Yueheng would follow her away, the two of them going side-by-side into the next world as they had gone through this one, leaving Lan Qiren to raise their youngest child the rest of the way himself. No matter how tired he was, he wouldn’t put that burden on their other children, all of them abruptly orphaned, the final belated victims of the desperate war against the Wen sect to stop their tyrannical conquest…

Lan Qiren shook his head abruptly, clearing it.

What am I thinking, he wondered. There’s no war against the Wen sect – if da-ge ever got something like a war of conquest into his head, I’d scold him until my face turned blue. Anyway, even if he did do something like that, A-Xu would never dream of ordering someone to beat me! Didn’t I half-raise him and his little brother both, taught them swordsmanship and music and ethics even as Wen Ruohan taught Xichen and Wangji arrays and talismans and how to understand people?

Anyway, A-Xu’s a sweet boy, underneath his superficial arrogance; he knows better than to put on a face like that in front of me…nor is there anything wrong with Lan Yueheng’s foot, or Zhang Xin’s blood, for that matter. Lan Jingyi’s going to grow up in a large family, loud and screeching and thoroughly inappropriate, and unlike my dream his parents will be at the head of the table to oversee the whole thing.

It was just a bad dream.

Lan Qiren shook his head once again.

Maybe Lan Yueheng was right, he reflect. He ought to get some rest – and not just today. After all, he was already half-retired, with Lan Xichen taking over more and more of the tasks of sect leader and excelling in them; Lan Qiren already spent one month out of every three out of the Cloud Recesses, whether wandering around the cultivation world playing his music or visiting with friends and acquaintances, pretending all the while to ignore the Wen sect and Lan sect and Nie sect guards being too busy socializing with each other to remember that they were supposed to be hidden guards.

He could go again now, even. Wen Ruohan had said something about Lao Nie visiting the Nightless City, the grin on his face leaving little question as to how he planned to spend the time with him; by now they should have worn each other out and were probably capable of something resembling human speech.

Yes, he should go visit them, he thought, and realized once again that he was happy – truly happy, not just content. He would go visit them, and complain about the prospect of yet another of Lan Yueheng’s brood running rampage through his classrooms for however long it took to educate them.

It seemed like each one was louder than the next, but at least little Lan Jingyi, whether in a rush or otherwise, and even in conjunction with Wei Wuxian’s little A-Yuan or Jin Zixuan’s little A-Ling, couldn’t possibly be more disruptive than the twins.

That was simply impossible.

Right?

#mdzs #lan qiren #lan jingyi #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

[actress4him]

12 Days of Whumpmas - Day 10

Fandom/universe: Obsession

Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumper, captivity, creepy/intimate/possessive whumper, stress position, restraints, conditioning (but not pet whump), dislocation

Timeline notes: I’m not precisely sure when this takes place, but it’s past where canon currently leaves off

.

.

“You know, I’m not usually one to get into the holidays too much.” Oliver circles her slowly, admiring his work. “Unfortunately I have to celebrate them to some extent. So many parties to attend, bonuses to approve, blah blah blah. In my free time usually I’d rather pretend things like Christmas don’t exist.”

He pauses in his pacing, looking her up and down with a smile. “But I saw this photo set online done with Christmas lights, and I couldn’t resist the aesthetic. And honestly? It’s turning out even better than I expected.”

Cadence tries to tune him out and keep her focus on balancing. Some of the lights are wrapped around each ankle and stretched out to hook to the walls, keeping her feet spread precisely. The rest are twined around and between her arms, which are pulled behind her back and so high up in the air that she’s been forced to bend over forward, her head down in line with her knees. She can’t bend her knees to relieve any of the pressure, though. She can’t even rest her heels fully on the floor. Her shoulders are already threatening to pull out of socket as it is.

“Aww.” Oliver stoops down, arms resting on his knees, and uses his thumb to swipe away a tear she hadn’t even realized was falling. “Don’t cry, dove. You look amazing.”

A part of her that normally stays deep, deep down raises its head, threatening to make angry words burst from her lips. The rest of her, the parts that have been thoroughly, irrevocably trained by this man, shoves it back down where it belongs.

Standing again, he backs away and studies her some more, pulling out his phone to snap a few pictures from different angles. Cadence squeezes her eyes shut, trying to ignore the humiliation that crawls up her throat. Her one saving grace is that she knows the photos will stay between the two of them. It doesn’t make the fact that he’ll have them, looking at them, thinking about her when they’re apart, any more digestible.

“Needs a little something else, I think.” He disappears for a moment, then comes back and begins messing with her arms. She can’t tell what he’s doing until he backs away from her and she sees the box of ornaments in his hand. “There. Now you look like a perfect little Christmas tree. Much better than the normal kind, honestly. Wish I could set you up in my office, just like this. Now that would make me smile, unlike the stupid fake decorations my secretary always tries to push on me.” Sighing, he takes another photo. “Ah, well. I’ll just have to look at these pictures on my computer while I work, instead.”

Cadence’s legs are trembling. She’s not sure how much longer she can hold herself in this pose, but she has no other choice. Another tear escapes. She grits her teeth together and tries to think about anything but the burning arches of her feet.

“One last finishing touch…the star on top.” Oliver has approached her from behind again. She feels something cold and metal slipping over her hands, then in the next instant, all her hard work falls apart. He bumps her arms forward, just the slightest bit, but it’s all her left shoulder can take. It dislocates with a pop that’s like an explosion in her ear.

To begin with, she doesn’t even realize she’s screaming past the white hot pain. Then her voice fades as the pain ebbs slightly, only to be released again as a series of choking sobs. Her stance is askew now. The dislocated shoulder hangs lower than the other, throbbing and burning with every minute twitch of her body.

“Whoops,” Oliver chuckles. “That was unexpected. Not unwelcome, though, especially when you scream so prettily.” He finishes adjusting the star and starts taking more pictures as if she’s not in horrific pain. “Honestly I think the tears make everything better.” Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he yanks her head up so he can look her in the eyes. She screams again.

“Mm, yes.” He strokes her wet cheek with his thumb. “Just the way I like you.” One last photo, this time a close up of her face, and he drops her head to stand back again.

“My perfect little Christmas tree. I think this calls for a bit of apple cider and maybe even some holiday music. Be right back, darling.”

He leaves her alone, shaking, trying her best to reign in the sobs that make it feel like she’s being stabbed again and again.

.

.

@justplainwhump , @whump-ventures

#amow twelve days of whumpmas #stress position #christmas lights #lady whumpee #lady whump #captivity whump #stress position tw #restraints tw #dislocation tw #creepy/intimate whumper #possessive whumper #obsession fic #cadence the whumpee #oliver the stalker #whump writing #whump blog

[linkspooky]

Ten Favorite Female Characters

I was tagged by @midnight-in-town​, so now I have to show them how much I love my favorite women. 

Name your favorite female characters from 10 different Fandoms and tag 10/or the amount you wish people

Tagging: @hamliet​ @amonmahboi​ @inumaqi​ @thyandrawrites​ @kaibutsushidousha​  @harostar​.. yeah, I don’t know ten people. 

Enoshima Junko 

“Hope is harmony. A just heart, moving toward the light. That is all. Despair is hope's polar opposite. It is messy and confusing. It swallows up love, hatred, and everything else.”

Junko wishes she was a psychopath. She’s spent her entire life pretending to be a crazy psychopath, because living that life is just so much more interesting than the one she’s stuck in. Enoshima Junko is just too smart for the world, and everything is too easy for her, and rather than try to dumb herself down a little bit she’s decided to knock everything else down. She’s a girl kicking down sandcastles because building them out of sand all alone is no longer doing it for her. 

Junko’s interesting because of the weird logic and loops she runs her brain into. There’s a complex character behind the whole “I exist only to spread despair” thing. She’s perfectly capable of forming emotional attachments to people, and genuinely caring. But the people she likes are generally far worse off than the ones she doesn’t care about. 

Junko wants so badly to, just not be human. She does the most inhuman things possible to prove that she’s not human. What really made me love her is the lengths she’s willing to go, to the point in Dangan Ronpa Zero where she basically took a screw to her own brain and started acting like a normal girl only when all of her memories were removed. 

Junkos relationship with Matsuda shows two conflicting sides of her character. How much she's humanized by her love of him,  and also how much she wants to completely destroy that part of herself. It's like she physically can't be a normal girl. Or rather she doesn’t want to be to such extremes she’ll break everything and then herself. 

And if she can’t be normal than Junko decided that self destruction is her next best bet. There’s just nothing that will satisfy Junko, and it’s interesting to watch someone that empty decide the world is going to end, or she’s going to end herself and she doesn’t really care which. 

Ajimu Najimi

“Call to me with affection, Anshin’in-san. Well, I don’t really care what manga characters call me.” 

Hey, I put Junko on this list twice. Both Ajimu and Junko live in a world that is too easy for them, and therefore they have no reason to get emotionally invested in others or try to attach themselves to anything. Which is why it’s fun to see Ajimu attempt the same thing as Junko to kill herself in style and eventually get saved from herself.

Medaka Box is such a meaningful manga to me because they take the weirdest characters and no matter how deranged they are they find the parts of them that are relatable and go, well guess what you’re human too. Ajimu literally calls herself a non-human and she’s just as human as all the rest in the end. 

The best part is it’s not her good points that make her human, it’s all her flaws. It’s easy to feel like the world isn’t real, that nothing in the world is worth living for, to feel no emotional attachment. Those are all human emotions. Not because they’re good and shining, but because they’re petty and terrible. Ajimu is this brilliant character, but she’s also kind of just a petty little girl using a ‘fiction is reality’ lens to cope. She’s not that special actually, she’s just suicidal, and kind of awful in general. It’s nice to see that human side behind the mastermind character. 

Azula

“My own mother thought I was a monster. She was right of course but it still hurts.” 

Azula is someone thoroughly dehumanized by everyone even the “good” members of her family (Uncle Iroh, Zuko, her Mother). I like how Azula in some part seems to be aware that both her brother, and mother seem to kind of consider her the “bad sibling” and she just decides to embrace it. Like it’s... not emotionally healthy in any way and it’s terribly tragic but there’s something about characters who actively make the decision to be a monster that gets me. 

There’s something about Azula’s writing that makes me uncomfortable, and it makes me sad that Zuko like... continually associates her with his father’s abuse, and demonizes her like she wasn’t also a kid going through the exact same situation, but Azula getting increasingly unstable is at least an appropriate response to that. 

Even if her brother, her mother, or her father won’t see her as her own person and they all see her as an extension of her father’s abuse on her, Azula is just so determined to be her own person even if it means burning the world, or herself A common theme I guess, but a lot of these characters have narratives about not being allowed to be their own person or shown any kind of humanity or normalcy. 

Morrigan

“Well, well, well what do we have here?”

Morrigan is mean, and nasty, and grumpy and bitchy and witchy. She’s allowed to be unlikable, because Morrigan never bends to anyone. Her survival, and freedom will become first before anything else. 

It feels like Morrigan is the main character in her own story, and you just happen to be a part of it for a short while. You may even be an important character to her, she may be attached, but ultimately you’ll never be more than support to her. 

Morrigan is such an ambitious an singular entity that her character development is letting you be a part of her life and not the other way around. She'll always survive on her own.  Morrigan is irrevocably shaped by her environemnt, and yet she craves freedom in that too because she doesn’t want to be bound by her past or shaped by her mother. So much of herself is dedicated to being better than the environment that she was raised in that she defeats her mother not by killing her, or freeing herself, but rather by being a better mother than her. 

Raven / Rachel Roth

“Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos...” 

Raven is fun, because a bunch of monks thought the best way to teach her to handle her emotions was to never allow her to feel any emotion ever. So, Raven is eternally running on a zero. She’s terrified even a small amount of happiness will end the world. She’s not allowed to be her own person, neither her bastard father, nor the monks treat her like one.

Raven is so gentle, and selfless, and emotionally perceptive and sensitive to others needs but she can’t ever display almost any of these good traits because she’s internalized the idea that she’s such a bad person. She always believes all the time that she exists to hurt others and that makes it so difficult for her to connect to others. 

Which is why her true friends bond with the Teen Titans is so meaningful, because Rachel found a family in spite of all of that. She has friends who think she’s a good person unconditionally despite the fact that Raven continually tells herself she isn’t. There are people in the world willing to navigate the maze of walls that Raven has built around herself, and that her environment forced her to build and closed up, and she’s so happy to have them. 

Midna

“Some call our realm a world of shadows, but that makes it sound so unpleasant... The twilight there holds a serene beauty... You have seen it yourself as the sun sets on this world. Bathed in that light, all the people were pure and gentle...” 

Midna just steals the show. Her story now. The game’s not called Legend of Zelda anymore now it’s Legend of Midna. Not only is she the most important character in the game she appears in, but she’s also in character someone so selfish she’ll always prioritize herself over everyone else. However, only because she feels that she can’t exist as anything other than the princess of the twilight and has to prioritize her survival for the sake of her people. Midna even says so at the start of the game, she can’t be kind because she wasn’t spoiled like princess Zelda in the bountiful kingdom of the light. 

Midna is so selfish and yet doesn’t really have her own wants and needs as a person outside of the role she has to play for her people, which is why she’s so terribly lost without it and just because this terrible selfish little gremlin. Link and Zelda affect Midna so much because they humanize her. They both sacrifice themselves to save Midna the person and she doesn’t get why. She doesn’t get why two people would help someone who has been so unkind to them and who has failed them this much so far. 

That act of selflessness moves her, and also freaks her out. She even says she didn’t want to be saved by either of them. Which is what makes her redemption in the second half of the game so interesting, because Midna really improves herself so she can become someone worth their kindness. She doesn’t want the selflessness of people like Zelda and Link to go to waste, and because of that begins to care about things outside of her kingdom and her role as princess 

Vriska Serket

“After all of this is over. Do you want to go on a d8?”

Unfortunately one of my top 3 favorite characters of all time comes from a really terrible source material. Vriska is everything I like in a character.  She's a mess. She's really hard to swallow. She's a character that's not meant to be liked.

Nobody really likes Vriska and it's all her fault for being such a horrible person, nobody wants her damage. Which is so interesting because usually main characters get forgiven over and over again. Everyone leaves and if they don't Vriska will burn those bridges herself. No character better embodies what it's like to be stuck in a self harming cycle

Authors are always so obsessed with making characters look good or showing what a good person they are few characters are allowed to be just plain unlikely in ugly ways. It’s what lets Vriskas genuine desire to be better actually seem like a struggle. 

Kocho Shinobu

“Are you angry? Yes, I’m angry Tanjiro. I’ve always been angry.” 

Shinobu is just all pleasantries on the surface, but so full of negative emotions in ways women aren't allowed to be. I love the medicine / poison dynamic to her character and how it rots her to the core. Too much medicine is a poison, while poison can be a medicine when applied to the right situation.

Shinobu is, two faced. She’s beautiful and kind, and full of ugly emotions and empty. She nurses people back from the dead, she sees no point in living herself and purposefully throws herself into a suicide in her plan against Doma. There’s just such a destructive dance between extremes for her because Shinobu is such a unique individual, trying to deal with all of these emotions she just can’t deal with. She can’t be noble, or better than her trauma, she just pretends to be a good person while she slowly rots away inside.  

Shinobu can put on smiles all day -

But she can't be like her sister.  She can't love people like her sister can. Maybe she could once but all that's left now is anger. Bitter, unpleasant, and completely in denial of it and still masquerading as a good person. The most beautiful kind of poison of all.

She’s not her sister, but she’s also not really her own person. She doesn’t know who Shinobu is, doesn’t know who Kocho Shinobu lives for. She just doesn’t imagine herself living past her revenge, and even though she’s surrounded by love she’s just so cracked it all pours out of her and absolutely nothing could be worth prolonging her life after everything she’s lost. 

Toga Himiko

“What exactly is a normal life? I also live a normal life, you know.” 

Himiko Toga is a girl who lives entirely on her own terms. Which is just so rare for a female character, you know? It’s so genuinely subversive to know that Himiko was once a nice girl, who always smiled, always put other people’s feelings first, and that sort of ‘good girl’ behavior drove her completely insane.

Toga deciding to be true to herself is an act of rebellion against the world. 

For Himiko everything is flipped. What others regard as psycho behavior is her normal. She doesn’t let other people define her story as a tragedy, and even murders the one person who tries to control her story. In a story where female characters constantly downplay their own importance to support the male characters Himiko is the only character important enough to be the center of her own story. Himiko’s story is so subversive as well, both of how society treats her, and how the story treats characters like her. 

Himiko is such an excellent yandere, all yanderes wish they were himiko. She comes off as this batshit stabby girl,  but then you find out that shes actually emotionally perceptive. She first comes off selfish, bratty, and self-centered but she turns into one of the most sensitive characters in the manga. She eschews the ideals of being a good girl that was forced down her throat, but that doesn’t mean she’s not empathic, or that she’s not capable of goodness. She’s good to twice. She’s good to the people who accept her. 

Himiko no matter what will always be a deviant. Always be an outsider. Instead of trying to make room for her her parents forced her to lie and wear a mask until her identity became completely shattered. I like Toga because under the knife wielding psycho she's a normal girl. Then under that normal girl there’s also a knife wielding psycho ready to fight back, and both of them are the real her. 

Ihei Hairu

“I saw the reaper, he was very beautiful.” 

Every character from the garden is just fundamentally broken.  Hairu and Rize are interesting foils, because if you think of about it a loveless childhood turned them both into ruthless killers. It’s just they decided to live for different things, Rize lived rejecting love and Hairu lived chasing after love. However, fundamentally they are the same. They are children starved for any kind of love or nurturing.  Hairu is so desperate she devotes her entire life to the first person who acknowledged her. However, the same sort of desperation to live, that tragic need to make the most out of the few short years they have exists in all garden children.

Hairu wants so badly to be a person, but she’s not a person. She’s half ghoul. 

There's just something about a girl who was never meant to be born and never meant to live, still trying.  There's a dark side to her character, she's violent and inhuman exactly like the environment she was raised in but she was also still a child at heart seeking love.

Which is why though her narrative is a thoroughly unhappy one, it does make me happy that there was someone who loved her in the form of Koori Ui. There is someone who wanted her to live longer. Her life was short, but she did live, and it’s that struggle to connect to others that made her truly alive. 

#hairu ihei #ajimu najimi #enoshima junko #toga himiko #kocho shinobu #midna #rachel roth #raven #azula #vriska serket #morrigan #morrigan dragon age #meme #spooky speaks

[missjosie27]

Year 3 Part 6- Tulip Karasu

Hey, guys.

New chapter is up. Sorry it took so long, I've been dealing with some highly personal stuff. It's not going to get any easier so things are going to be a bit unpredictable for awhile.

But that being said, I hope you all like the content as usual and please let me know what you think of my interpretation of Tulip!

Tonks did indeed have a plan, but it was risky, even by their group’s standards. Rowan and Ben were not at all convinced of its merit.

“Let me get this correctly. Tonks is going to pretend to be Snape and report that Peeves is messing up the Transfiguration classroom while you sneak into his office and take back your brother’s quill?” his best friend asked while they ate dinner in the Great Hall.

“Yup,” David replied, taking a bite of his steak. “Pretty much.”

“You seem entirely too unconcerned.”

He gave a nonchalant shrug.

“What choice do I have? I’d have to break into his office somehow and get it back.”

“There are many ways to get Filch to leave his office,” Rowan told him. “But impersonating a teacher is probably the most dangerous. Especially Snape. What if the real one catches you?”

“We’re doing it Friday evening,” David explained. “By that time, Snape will be brooding in his bedroom and won’t even be aware of what’s going on.”

“He could always find out later,” Ben pointed out.

“And how could they prove it was me? Mates, we got every angle of this plan covered. I promise.”

Rowan adjusted his glasses skeptically.

“I just hope Tonks knows what she’s doing. I hope you both know what you’re doing. This could go spectacularly wrong.”

“It’s the only way to find out more about my brother. I’m taking that chance, plus I owe that mean old geezer what for.”

“And what about the cursed vaults? More boggarts keep popping up everywhere. Are you still content to heed Dumbledore and your parents?”

It was the million galleon question. More than ever, David felt the pull to continue to investigate the vaults. But despite what people thought of him, he was not going to purposefully seek trouble. Family mattered more. Not the vaults. But was it time to concede the two were irrevocably linked?

“I’ll have to do a rain check on that,” he told Rowan who looked at Ben.

Neither one of them seemed reassured.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was quite impressive...and bit odd that Tonks knew Filch’s habits so thoroughly. David didn’t mind pointing it out to the metamorphmagus either.

“If you spent half the effort in Herbology as you do tricking Filch, you wouldn’t be spending every other Tuesday with Sprout shoveling dung.”

Tonks clutched her heart in mock offense.

“Merlin’s beard, Dave. You wound me to the quick. The art of hoodwinking this mangy caretaker is an art just as important as any academic mark.”

David snorted.

“Right, whatever you say.”

“Do you want your quill back or not?”

They were in the same corridor as Filch’s office, about thirty feet away, peeking around one of the corners. Tonks wore her usual ensemble of a ripped t-shirt, boots, gray woolen tights, and denim shorts, but she summoned a huge mess of robes from her bag and put them on. The effect was to make her look like a pint sized dementor without the hood.

“Of course.”

“Then follow my lead.”

“Where did you get the robes?”

Tonks couldn’t help but grin.

“Penny has a contact with one of the house elves. Also helps that our common room is right by the kitchen and laundry room.”

“One of these days one of you has to sneak me in there, I swear,” David said eagerly.

“All in good time,” the pink haired witch said with a wink. “For now, it’s showtime. Follow my lead, and stay hidden until Filch is out of sight.”

Without another word, she transformed into an exact replica of Professor Snape, walked promptly down the hall and knocked on the third door to the left.

The jangly, old caretaker opened it immediately, Mrs. Norris purring by his shoes.

“Professor Snape, sir! What can I do for you?”

It was evident that Filch had a great deal of respect as the man bowed as low as his aching joints would let him. David supposed it had something to do with Snape’s reputation as a harsh, no nonsense disciplinarian.

“Yes. It is I: Severus Snape. Potions Master and head of Slytherin. I have a job for you.”

Much as he hated to admit it, Tonk’s acting was atrocious compared to his own stint as the Potions Master. He slapped a hand to his forehead.

“We’re bloody doomed.”

But thankfully, Filch was no Dumbledore when it came to discerning through disguises.

“What seems to be the trouble?”

“Peeves is currently wrecking the Transfiguration classroom and I thought you were just the man to fend him off. I would have done it myself, but I have too many papers to grade.”

“Yes, sir, Professor Snape. I’ll go head him off right now. Come, Mrs. Norrus.”

The caretaker hobbled off, his beloved cat in tow. David was sure to remain plastered to the wall as he went by. When out of sight, he went back towards Tonks, who by now had returned to her normal self.

“That was quite a performance.”

“Thank you, kindly. The Transfiguration classroom is pretty far away but I reckon you still only have fifteen minutes before he realizes he’s been tricked and comes back. Search that office as quickly as you can.”

“Right. You’re amazing, Tonks,” he said sincerely to her.

“Praise me later. Go!” she urged him. “I’ll stand guard and give a signal when you have five minutes.”

Wasting no more time, David used a simple unlocking spell on the door, which opened with a small click, granting him access to its contents.

Inside was a jumbled mess of filing cabinets, papers, and notes that surrounded a heavy wooden desk. Boxes of contraband lined the walls. There was a bowl and sleeping area for the mangy cat as well as a cot for a human being. Hanging from the walls were shackles, which were the best maintained objects in the entire room. They were shiny, well oiled and ominous, as if they were being prepared for use in a seconds notice. On top of that, there was a light draft from an unknown source.

David couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity for the man but there was little time to dwell on that. He needed to find this quill and fast.

“Filch’s office is just as cold and depressing as I imagined,” he surmised to himself.

Peering around the mass of boxes, cabinets, and contraband he gave a frustrated sigh.

“It’s going to take me forever to go through all this rubbish.”

He began looking through the drawers and various boxes, ignoring the damp smell of moth balls and cat hair. There was nothing much to report, files on various students who had attended the school many years ago, confiscated items such as fanged frisbees and nose biting tea cups. No doubt he’d been on the receiving end of many prank items.

“This is taking too much time,” he muttered.

Then David realized he’d been looking in the wrong place. Quills were small items most likely to be kept inside a desk…

Quickly, he turned around and began scrummaging through Filch’s hardwood desk and soon enough in the second drawer from the right, there it was.”

“Gotcha!” he cried out triumphantly.

Just then, there was a knock on the door indicating five minutes left. He’d made it with time to spare.

Time to get the hell out of here

He and Tonks laughed all the way back to the Gryffindor Tower where she saw him off, both surprised the plan went off without any hitches.

“He’s going to be furious tomorrow,” the pink haired witch chuckled. “Peeves was actually in the Astronomy Tower. Oops.”

“I guess it pays being a metamorphagus,” David said with a grin.

“The teachers all know, of course. I’d never try to fool one of them, but Filch is an exception. Plus, this was important to you.”

David felt his heart warm with gratitude. For as clumsy and goofy as she could be, Tonks really was a true and loyal friend. She had proved that yet again.

“Thank you.”

“Any time, mate. So what do you think this quill contains anyway?”

Rubbing his fingers on the soft, smooth edge of the feather, David only had one thought in mind.

“Something that belonged to my brother. And another key to finding him.”

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back in the common room It didn’t take long for David and Rowan to get started in analyzing the quill. Though it was late, they were careful to stay quiet so as not to be overheard.

“This quill looks remarkably similar to the one we found on Ben during second year. Do you think it’s ‘R’ again?” Rowan asked.

R was still a mystery to them all. There had been no sign or message from the group since last year and without more evidence to go off, finding out who they were would remain unknown for the time being.

“I don’t think so. Madam Rosmerta said this quill belonged to my brother. It was on his person when the Ministry hauled him away for questioning before leaving it behind.”

“Only one way to find out,” his best friend shrugged.

Laying the quill out on one the tables, David cast the untransfiguring spell.

“Repifarage!”

Almost immediately the quill turned into a brown, leatherback notebook. On the bottom right corner was the name ‘Jacob H. Grant’.

“Whoa…”

Wasting no time, the two young Gryffindors opened it up to the first page. It contained a bevy of symbols and a language that looked suspiciously familiar.

“Ancient Aramaic,” Rowan breathed out. “The same inscription we saw in our first year and on the walls of the ice vault.”

“It’s becoming a common theme,” David said. “Can you decipher it?”

Rowan nodded as he picked up the book and studied its contents.

“I can but it’ll take me a few minutes. Not exactly easy to decipher messages in a dead language.”

“Only a few minutes?” David teased him.

Rowan blushed. “Shut up.”

Indeed, the prowess of his highly intelligent and book smart friend proved quite useful as it only took him a short amount of time to work out the message, constantly tapping the pages with his wand while muttering underneath his breath.

“Alright, I think I have the basic gist of it.”

“What does it say?”

Rowan cleared his throat but spoke in a low whisper as a few sixth year stragglers passed them by. No doubt they were returning from a party of some sort.

“‘These boggarts must have something to do with the curse protecting the next vault, which means someone found it first. If I don’t hurry, Hogwarts is doomed.’”

“History seems to be repeating itself, then,” David mused to himself.

“And look at this!” Rowan said in a hushed, excited tone. “A location of where he conducted most of his research. It’s near the greenhouses on one of the lower corridors.”

David’s heart began to race with anticipation. He hadn’t felt a sense of urgency quite like this since the previous year.

“Just like he told me last year in the ice vault. ‘Find my room, David’. We need to get into it, pronto.”

“You go find it while I take Sunday to decipher the rest of this notebook,” his best friend told him. “We can cover more ground that way.”

“Sounds good. I’ll take Bill with me. He’ll be more than happy to do more investigating into this vault. Plus, he can use his prefect status as a cover just in case a teacher comes along.”

“Tell him I said hello!”

“Rowan, we see him almost every day.”

“I know...I just...never mind.”

David smiled and shook his head. He often wondered just how far Rowan’s admiration of Bill Weasley went. But he shrugged off that thought.

It was time to find his brother’s room.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sunday was always a lazy day, even by Hogwarts’ usual busybody standards. Most students were content to lay around, sleep in, catch up on homework, or hang out with their friends. For David Grant and Bill Weasley, however, that time was spent searching for a random room that contained possible information about a cursed vault.

“This is definitely an unexpected development, but not an unwelcome one,” Bill told him as they walked along the lower corridor. “How did you find out about your brother’s secret room, Dave? You never explained that when you asked me to come along.”

“He kept records of his search for the Cursed Vaults. Madam Rosmerta gave me a black quill at the Three Broomsticks that once belonged to him. Turns out it was a hidden notebook. Rowan deciphered one of the pages and we found the location of the room he used for his research.”

“That’s huge,” the eldest Weasley commented, clearly impressed. “I’m amazed you deciphered it so fast.”

“Thank Rowan. He’s a genius when it comes to that sort of stuff.”

“Of course. So this place is somewhere at the end of this hallway?”

“Past the greenhouses. There’s supposed to be an anonymous room with a dark wooden door.”

Bill swelled up with pride.

“Well then let’s go find it. Now that I’m a prefect, I can make sure that students are out of the corridors if we need some privacy. Plus the teachers won’t think to question us.”

“Didn’t think you’d get those kinds of perks, did ya?” David elbowed him with a grin.

“Being a prefect is something I’m truly thankful for. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy being able to move more freely throughout the castle because of it,” Bill laughed.

Moving forward, they scoured the corridor, glancing around for any sign of their quarry. When there was no door to speak of, David had an idea.

“Let me try something.”

Visualizing an old, dark brown, wooden door, the third year Gryffindor cast a revealing charm. And sure enough, in a tiny corner packed away to the left underneath an archway of stone, one materialized.

“Blimey, David. I still can’t believe you know that spell. McGonagall says most students don’t even attempt vanishing and revealing until sixth year.”

“She says I have the chance to be a certified master in the subject before I turn 17,” he replied, trying not to brag. “I dunno, I guess I’m just naturally good at it.”

“Ever think of becoming an animagus?”

The third year Gryffindor shrugged.

“Not really. The idea of changing into a smelly animal isn’t all that appealing.”

“Fair enough,” Bill chuckled. “Now let’s check out this room.”

But they were in for a frustrating surprise. Upon closer inspection, there was a yellow padlock with two keyholes around the handle.

“Well this sucks,” David muttered.

“I’m sure we can get around it with an unlocking spell,” Bill encouraged.

David withdrew his wand and gave an ‘Alohomora’ but nothing happened, much to his chagrin.

“No good.”

“I’ll try busting it down,” the eldest Weasley said, taking out his own wand. “Flipendo!”

It did not have the intended effect. The spell ricocheted off the door narrowly missing his head and creating a scorch mark on the opposite wall.

“Guess we can cross that method off the list.”

“Must be sealed with some kind of spell beyond our means to break,” Bill surmised. “We’re going to have to find another way.”

It was then that David finally noticed something he hadn’t before: scrawled, tiny writing at the bottom of the lock.

“Look at this,” he pointed. “Property of Tulip Karasu. He looked towards Bill for clarification. “Who the hell is that?”

“I actually know of her,” the Prefect explained. “She’s a Ravenclaw in your year. Apparently, she’s always in detention. Bit of an eccentric from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh, joy,” the third year Gryffindor snarked. “Guess we have no choice but to confront the nutter, eh?”

“Either that or we’re not getting through this door.”

There was no question on what to do next. Whoever this Tulip Karasu was, they would have to somehow convince her to give them the key or enchantment to unlock the secrets inside. Another roadblock in the enigma that was fast becoming the next cursed vault.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It didn’t take long for David and Bill to track down their desired person. Tulip was known to hang out in the Transfiguration room after school hours and it was actually Andre Egwu who pointed them in the right direction.

“Just be careful,” he told them at breakfast. “None of us really interact with her that much, but she’s weird even by Ravenclaw standards.”

“We’ll be alright, Andre,” David thanked him. “I’ve taken down an Ice Knight before. I think this shouldn’t be too hard.”

The black teen gave a knowing shrug.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And so the two boys agreed to meet outside the Transfiguration classroom once lessons were done for the day. Ben had unfortunately landed in detention after Ismelda blew up his cauldron and laid the blame at his feet. Rowan was assisting Madam Pince in the library. Upon meeting in the corridor once more, Bill gave him an inquisitive glance.

“I forgot to ask, David. Given everything that’s going on, does this mean we’re all in on the vaults again?”

The third year couldn’t deny that finding his brother and the vaults were undeniably linked by this time. And what’s more, that inescapable, consuming drive was back. He could feel it in the very essence of his soul. He wanted to find Jacob and this vault by extension. If that meant saving the school from a few boggarts, so be it.

“Yeah,” he replied back with a reassuring look. “We’re back.”

Bill grinned.

“I was hoping you’d say that. Come on, let’s see what we can find out from this girl.”

Sure enough inside, there was a third year girl dressed in Ravenclaw colors. She was writing something on a sheet of parchment, giving no indication she was aware of any other presence in the room.

“That reminds me, how do you want to approach this?” Bill asked him.

“Ask nicely and hope she cooperates?” David whispered to the side. “She can’t be that unreasonable.”

Upon approaching the desk Tulip was sitting in, he was able to garner more of her physical features. She was fair skinned, thin, with dark brown eyes that took on a slight Asiatic quality. Long, red hair draped down past her shoulders and like Merula, took certain liberties with the uniform; her sleeves were rolled up and she wore brown oxfords, light blue socks with black tights underneath. To top it off, she also donned a necklace that looked suspiciously like a dungbomb. On the left side of the desk was a green toad which David thought was peculiar but thought nothing more of.

“Uh...excuse me? Tulip? Hi, I’m David Grant. I know your time is valuable and you’re probably very busy, but I really need your help.”

The response they received was bizarre to say the least. The Ravenclaw girl didn’t even bother to look up from her writing.

“Little flower...smells so sweet, so soft and delicate.”

David and Bill gave each other sideways glances, eyebrows raised.

“Uh...did you hear what I asked, Tulip?”

“I’m very busy. Talk to Dennis until I’m finished.”

“Who’s Dennis?” Bill asked, highly confused. He looked down at the toad in front of them, which gave a loud croak. “And what is that?”

Tulip again didn’t bother to look up from whatever she was writing.

“That’s a toad. His name is Dennis.”

Bill resisted rolling his eyes, while David had to suppress a laugh. This girl was barmy.

“We know what a toad is,” the third year Gryffindor said. “What’s that thing strapped to its back?”

It was only now that both boys noticed there was an object tied around the toad’s midsection, which looked suspiciously like…

“A dungbomb,” came the girl’s reply.

“As a prefect and a Weasley I can safely say that is the case,” Bill affirmed.

“I don’t smell anything.”

“It will when it explodes.”

Sure enough, the detonation timer was already set, a quiet ticking permeating through the odd conversation. It was only then David realized the gravity of the situation.

“Son of a...Tulip! How do I disarm this thing?”

“I can’t just give you the answers to my test. I need to know if you’re worthy of my help.”

He looked back towards Bill, panic growing on both of their faces.

“Wait a minute can you actually disarm a dungbomb?”

“If there's a method, I’m not aware of one. Fred and George set them off all the time. I’d say we only have about 10 seconds before it goes off.”

David was in no mood to be smelling the end of yesterday’s lunch and they had mere moments until the fateful explosion. Mind racing, he struggled to think of a solution.

“Wait, Bill. Use that new charm you were showing me the other day.”

“Which one?”

“The bubble head thingy.”

“You mean the bubble head charm?”

“Yes!”

Bill looked very perplexed now.

“How is that supposed to-”

By now David had cut the smelly projectile from the toad’s back and tossed it into the air.

“Cast it now!”

With precise aim, Bill understood his meaning and hit the dungbomb with a liquid blue bubble, enveloping it at the moment of detonation. Inside a greenish gas swirled about before the charm was lifted allowing the noxious air to pass harmlessly into the air.

“That was way too close,” the elder Weasley muttered.

“We didn’t disarm it but we got rid of it at least,” David offered.

“I assumed you would,” Tulip cut across them. By now she had ceased writing and looked upon both boys with great interest. “Getting rid of a dungbomb is nothing compared to breaking the curse on a Cursed Vault. I was quite jealous to be honest. I’ve always wanted to be told off in front of the entire school at the Welcoming Feast.”

“Er...right. May I ask why?” David asked, still unsure of what to make of this person.

“Because rules are made to be broken and Hogwarts has far too many rules,” came the mischievous reply with an equally mischievous smirk he felt oddly drawn to. “You inspired me David Grant. I knew I had to be the next one to open a Cursed Vault. I immediately scoured this castle for clues until I found an abandoned room that your brother used to research the vaults. To prevent anyone else from going in, I fashioned a key with two locks.”

“Well I’m flattered. But I can only assume you have the means to get inside?”

“I do but only partially. One key is in my possession. The other I agreed to give to my accomplice.”

David didn’t like where this conversation was heading. Every time he thought he had the answer to getting into his brother’s room, something else thwarted him.

“And who would this accomplice be?”

Tulip again gave him a curious, eccentric stare.

“I need to know I can trust you before I tell you that, David Grant. Meet me in the Great Hall tonight for dinner. We can chat one on one.”

David was tempted to put his foot down and just demand for the information and they key right then and there but he withheld his frustration. That kind of tactic wouldn’t work with someone like Tulip, especially since she held the key to his brother and the latest vault...quite literally. Of all the houses, he had the least amount of experience with the Ravenclaws.

It seemed as though he was about to get an education. Bill gave him a shrug as if to say ‘couldn’t hurt’.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you there.”

Tulip gave another mischievous smile in return.

“Excellent.”

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #hphm fanfiction #fanfiction #writing #David Grant #tulip kasaru #nymphadora tonks #ben copper #rowan khanna #bill weasley #gryffindor

[witherins]

・  。  ◟   ⟨  🥀  ⟩   *    ──            so  ,  it  only  took  me  three  whole  days  to  write  this  ,  but  i  did  it  nonetheless  .  pls  focus  on  what  matters  most  :  the  dumpster  fire  of  an  intro  that  i'm  calling  my  own  .  i'm  cc  &  this  is  my  lil  thief  ,  pip  .  she's  a  mess  ,  not  a  cool  guy  &  entirely  based  off  of  the  song  her  by  chase  atlantic  ,  i  linked  it  :)  go  listen  to  it  :)  B  U  T  ,  if  u'd  like  to  plot  ,  react  to  this  or  lmk  if  u  prefer  d*scord  .

ʻ   /   wow ,   i  am  so  excited  to  introduce  philippa  ‘  pip  ’  kwon  to  our  current  students  at  cape  coral .   she  is  extremely  excited  to  join   women’s  tennis .   coming  in  as  an  20  year  old  sophomore ,  they  shouldn’t  worry  about  fitting  in .   the   cis  female  scorpio   has  always  reminded  me  of  ha  sooyoung  ,  but  some  people  don’t  see  it .   trying  to  keep  the  fact  that  she’s  been  breaking  into  the  homes  of  the  wealthy  to  steal  for  profit  from  getting  around  this  school  is  going  to  be  tough .  no  worries ,   though ,   cape  coral  will  create  a  new  life  for  them ,   i  assure  you .  ʼ    

𝓲.     𝕒��𝕣𝕚𝕕𝕘𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥   .

birth   name   :   philippa  kwon current   name   :   philippa   bae nickname(s) :   dumbass   ,   pip   ,   pippa age   :  twenty gender   /   pronouns :  cis  gendered   female   /   she  /  her  /  hers orientation   :  pansexual   /   panromantic hometown   :   portland  ,  maine faceclaim :  ha   sooyoung

fun facts :  significant  dumbass  ,  ruled  &  directed  by  money  –  meaning  she's  ecstatic  to  be  here  because  she's  trying  to  marry  rich  i  can't  lie  ,  has  a  third  degree  black  belt  in  taekwando  ,  has  sticky  fingers  &  thoroughly  enjoys  stealing  from  people  ,  can  knit  really  well  &  will  knit  her  friends  cute  sweaters  ,  also  !  is  good  at  fencing  but  doesn't  do  it  as  often  ,  really  good  at  drawing  &  theoretically  could  make  a  career  out  of  it  but  nah  .

aesthetic :  feet   planted   firmly   in   dark   soil   as   roots   do   ,   perfectly   imperfect   day   old   curls   ,   salty   tears   while   crystal   eyes   look   into   the   moonlight   ,   skipping   unabashedly   through   puddles   after   the   rain   ,   fingerprints   lingering   on   hot   skin   belonging   to   others   than   her   ,   framed   paintings   worth   millions   hanging   on   bony   shoulders   &   flushed   cheeks   accompanied   by   a   rosy   red   nose   .

𝓲𝓲.     𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕟𝕚𝕔𝕝𝕖   .

mom  doesn’t  want  her  ,  dad  thinks  there  are  too  many  kids  already  .  youngest  of  seven  ,  hues  filled  with  life  are  quickly  extinguished  when  she  grows  up  with  not  enough  love  .  siblings  are  hard  working  ,  fingers  calloused  from  hustling  on  the  streets  while  her  parents  wipe  sweat  from  their  brows  breaking  their  backs  to  barely  make  end’s  meet  .  five  &  left  on  a  crowded  street  ;  her  fingers  get  dipped  in  tar  for  the  first  time  as  she  lifts  a  wallet  from  a  protruding  pocket  .  she  thinks  she’ll  get  in  trouble  ,  but  she  gets  a  swift  congratulations  from  an  elder  sibling  as  they  collect  green  paper  from  the  wallet  .   doesn't  get  told  no  ,  so  she  doesn't  stop  .

moves  across  the  country  at  six  –  her  mom  is  chasing  a  career  that’s  going  to  fall  through  ,  but  none  of  the  nine  kwons  know  it  .  they’re  eager  &  pip  is  told  she  won’t  have  to  dip  her  fingers  into  full  wallets  anymore  ,  but  one  month  in  a  real  home  ,  the  walls  are  thin  enough  that  she  can  hear  someone  crying  in  the  next  room  .  hauntingly  ,  they  come  every  night  &  naivety  fills  her  mind  as  she  imagines  a  ghost  –  the  boys  at  school  have  called  it  a  weeping  woman  ;  they  don’t  know  how  right  they  are  .

she  says  goodbye  to  her  own  bedroom  that  fall  ,  moving  into  a  trailer  down  the  road  as  she  watches  another  princess  move  into  her  home  .  crystalline  tears  hide  behind  small  hands  and  as  an  outlet  ,  her  parents  gather  up  as  much  as  they  can  to  make  sure  she  never  has  to  be  like  them  .  they’ve  found  out  about  her  extracurriculars  ,  the  fights  she  gets  into  &  how  she  gets  extra  money  on  the  weekends  .  they  focus  her  never  ending  energy  elsewhere  ,  taekwando  ,  fencing  ,  soccer  ,  tennis  –  anything  the  rec  center  offers  for  free  ,  she  gets  signed  up  in  .  everything  that  requires  more  than  a  passion  ,  dad  works  extra  hard  for  her  .

grows  up  busy  ,  but  never  forgets  to  get  her  fingers  wet  .  the  art  of  pickpocketing  is  delicate  ,  but  it’s  one  she  has  mastered  before  she  hits  puberty  .  bracelets  are  sold  for  jewels  ,  sold  for  cash  ,  exchanged  for  food  .  spends  a  lot  of  teenagehood  looking  over  at  the  people  walking  on  the  clouds  .  they  walk  with  their  heads  held  high  ,  ignoring  a  girl  with  dirty  cheeks  as  she  steals  the  least  valuable  expensive  item  from  their  persons  .  she  wants  to  be  like  them  ,  but  she’s  barely  in  school  &  she’s  barely  making  it  .  will  she  even  be  alive  long  enough  for  an  opportunity  ?

her  parents  want  what’s  best  for  her  .  they  crave  a  child  with  success  &  they  know  her  potential  ,  even  if  she  doesn’t  see  it  for  herself  .  goes  to  community  college  ,  works  as  hard  as  she  can  while  discovering  a  life  of  crime  .  fate  is  the  reason  she  doesn’t  get  pulled  underneath  the  tide  ,  a  scholarship  presented  to  her  that  she  didn’t  think  she’d  win  .  doesn’t  know  how  she’s  chosen  ,  but  an  opportunity  to  rub  shoulders  with  the  people  she  so  despises  ?  she  won’t  let  it  pass  her  by  .

𝓲𝓲𝓲.     𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟   .

exterior  .  flitting  &  free  ,  she’s  a  lifetime’s  experience  of  adventure  &  a  lust  for  something  greater  .  pip  always  has  something  to  do  ,  someone  to  see  &  she’s  intoxicating  .  like  honey  ,  she  has  a  way  of  drawing  people  in  &  trapping  them  in  amber  .  doesn’t  stay  for  long  ,  never  stays  for  long  –  due  to  an  irrevocable  fear  of  commitment  .  lost  a  lot  of  things  ,  not  interested  in  losing  anymore  .

interior  .  a  mess  ,  a  jumble  of  thoughts  &  emotions  that  when  mixed  together  ,  cause  acidic  reactions  .  doesn’t  stay  still  for  too  long  in  avoidance  of  the  things  inside  of  her  mind  ,  terrified  of  seeing  who  she  is  underneath  the  banter  &  the  laughs  .  always  wishing  for  better  ,  desperate  for  a  move  up  ,  doesn’t  want  to  be  like  her  family  but  has  always  known  deep  down  that’s  all  she’ll  amount  to  .

𝓲𝓿.     𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕝𝕦𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟   .

so  yea  it  took  me  24  hours  to  write  this  but  what  r  u  gna  do  about  it  ?  my  wc  include  :  ride  or  die  ,  a  lil  ...  slow  burn  ,  a  big  ol’  “you  stole  from  me  i  remember  you!”  thing  ,  someone  she  wants  to  open  up  more  &  corrupt  ,  crushes  that  go  either  way  BOTH  unrequited  &  not  &  a  squad  .  :)  thanks  .  love  u  .

#capecoral:intro

[magicalwardrobe-mw]

Subtlety, thy name is not Arya Stark

Or the many ways in which Jon (and other people) could have found out about Gendry and Arya.

Here comes chapter two! 

Part One.

Also on AO3.

In which Arya is not antisocial and goes to the feast.

Arya doesn’t know what a tree is.

Jon was still trying to wrap his mind around it. Everything had gone so fast but yet so slow. The battle had seemed to drag on and on, really a Long Night. A never ending night. But at the same time the hours had rushed past him as he fought and flew and fought some more until suddenly it was over.

The smell of burning flesh still lingered in the castle and Jon wondered if it had seeped so thoroughly in the stones that Winterfell would never smell of anything else ever again.

Beside him, Arya took a long swing of her tankard of ale. It rubbed at him wrong, seeing his little sister drinking like a man.

She’s too young to be drinking like that, he thought.

She killed the Night King, he told himself. She can do whatever she wants.

It hit him once again. Arya had killed the Night King. Little Arya. Arya Underfoot.

He didn’t want to think about that.

Daenerys looked… empty at his other side. He couldn’t blame her. He’d seen Ser Jorah’s Mormont’s body among the dead. Jon knew the man felt a deep love for his Queen and that she loved him back, just maybe not in the way he desired.

She was looking at the men but her eyes were glazed over and it told him she wasn’t really looking at them. She hadn’t touched her food and her cup was still full.

They hadn’t talked since the beginning of the battle.

“Hey.” He touched her arm, a simple press of his fingers to bring her back to him. “Are you alright?”

Daenerys looked back at him, her eyes wide and so full of emotions Jon felt he could choke on them. No, she wasn’t alright.

He could never repay what she’d done for them. She had saved them all just like Arya had. Jon opened his mouth to say something, anything, to try and make it better.

A man stood up. The hall had been filled since that moment of quiet chatter and people eating. When the man, a simple soldier from what Jon could see, stood up they all fell silent.

“To Arya Stark,” the man brought up his cup.  “The Bringer of Dawn.”

The crowd roared, slammed their cups against the table and made as much noise as they could. ‘Arya Stark’ ‘Nightslayer’ and ‘The Bringer of Dawn’ could be heard here and there.

Arya seemed to hide on herself.

“I told you I didn’t want to come,” she hissed at Sansa.

“People need to see you,” said Sansa. “You’re their saviour. And I think you need to see them, too.”

“I didn’t want to be their saviour,” Arya muttered. There was a handprint in her neck and Jon knew, he knew, that it came from the Night King. The thought of that creature with his hand around his sister’s neck set his blood boiling but at the same time turned it to ice.

The feast livened. Soon mead was flowing freely and everybody seemed to celebrate they were alive. Someone found a woodharp and some more instruments and music filled the hall among the conversations. The quiet chatter turned into loud talking and Jon felt like he could relax.

He let a smile take over his face as he made himself more comfortable on his chair.

“To the Bringer of Dawn!” shouted one man.

“The Bringer of Dawn!” echoed the others.

Arya scowled something fierce. “Alright, that’s it,” she huffed. “I’ve endured this long enough.”

Arya stood up. Since her leather outfit was a mess of blood and dead men’s bits, Sansa had forced her into a grey doublet and skirt. It looked, in Jon’s opinion, a lot like a dress. Arya hadn’t complained as much as Jon thought she would, it seemed the not-dressed was indeed hers, and that had been another sign that his little sister had changed irrevocably.

Arya didn’t make it more than two steps. Gendry Waters emerged from the crowd with a determined expression on his face. It vanished, though, at the sight of Arya.

Jon memorized that expression so he could tease him over and over afterwards about the time he froze at the sight of a highborn girl.

“Gendry,” Jon smiled warmly. “I’m glad you’re alive.” He hadn’t been able to talk to the man in the middle of all the aftermath of the battle but he’d been greatly relieved when he’d seen him standing among the living while they burned the dead.

“I’m glad I’m alive, too,” Gendy told him cheekily. “And I guess I’m glad you’re not dead either,” he said after a moment of false consideration. “I had just gotten used to you.”

Arya, Sansa and Daenerys were looking at the blacksmith as if he had lost his mind. Jon knew they were probably surprised at the sight of a lowborn bastard talking so freely at him. But Jon knew Gendry wasn’t just a bastard, even if he wasn’t going to share that with Daenerys or his sisters because he didn’t want to get him killed.

He had grown fond of the man.

“I’m glad it’s over, though,” said Gendry. “Mayhaps I can get a full night of sleep now.”

Arya snorted.

Jon wanted to scold her. Gendry had worked hard to arm them all for the war against the Night King and it was not a laughing matter. They owed Gendry their lives as much as they did Daenerys and her armies and dragons and Arya herself.

Gendry’s ears turned red and Jon decided to save him from more embarrassment. “Gendry, meet Queen Daenerys, my sisters Lady Sansa and Lady Arya and my brother Bran.”

“Your Grace,” Gendry bowed his head respectfully at Daenerys. “My lady, my lord,” he acknowledged in Sansa and Bran’s direction. “M’lady,” he told Arya then and his gaze took in her attire. “You look different now.”

Arya’s eyes widened and Jon would have thought she was about to chew him out for daring to comment on her appearance hadn’t it been for the vulnerability in her eyes. He hadn’t even thought this new Arya knew how to be vulnerable.

She looked down at her hands and then back at Gendry again. The furrow of her brow was determined and Jon wondered if that was what she looked like when she killed the Night King.

“I look like an oak tree,” she said slowly.

Jon worried that the blow to her head had been more severe than they’d though. Arya looked nothing like a tree. Her dress was a bluish grey and with a trimming that looked like it was knotted together. There was nothing that could remind of leaves or branches or acorns or anything remotely resembling a tree or anything vegetal. It was the furthest thing from a tree that could ever exist.

Still, Gendry’s eyes softened, his whole face looking tender.

“Nice, though,” he said, his voice scratchy. “A nice oak tree.”

Jon looked at Sansa and then at Daenerys to see if maybe he was missing something. Perhaps because he was a man and there was something that escaped him.

They both looked as confused as he felt and that was a relief but at the same time it wasn’t.

Bran’s lips were twitching. Was that a smile?

What the fuck?

Arya and Gendry still hadn’t taken their eyes off each other. It was starting to make him uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.

As if he had broken a spell they both blinked. A soft pink tinted Arya’s cheeks.

His sister was blushing.

“I wanted to thank you,” Gendry told Arya. More like he stammered it. “For saving us all.”

Arya scowled. “I don’t want your thanks.”

Her anger just made him smile. “I know,” he said happily. “But you saved us, even if you weren’t doing it for us, and you deserve some credit.”

Arya stepped forward, invading Gendry’s personal space. She had to tilt her face up to look at him and he glanced down. Their chests were almost touching.

It was like watching a battle. Jon didn’t want to watch but at the same time he couldn’t keep his eyes away.

“Are you going to reward me?” Arya asked slowly, her voice low and full of something Jon never again wanted to associate with his little sister.

Gendry leaned in even closer. “As you wish, M’lady.”

Arya’s eyes flared but not with anger. She grabbed the blacksmith’s hand and tugged him away. They were gone before Jon had time to react.

He didn’t think he liked Gendry quite so much now.

“What the fuck was that?”

It was the first time Jon had ever heard Sansa curse.

#got #game of thrones #got fanfiction #Arya Stark #Gendry Waters #Gendry Baratheon #jon snow #Sansa Stark #bran stark #daenerys targaryen #arya x gendry #gendrya #jon and gendry #Jon and Arya #got season 8 #the last of the starks #jonerys

[phantomphangphucker]

The Bindings Of Time - Chapter 1. Eventually, Even Time Moves On - PhannieMay- Day 22 Memories and Day 30 Moving On

Summary: Danny’s irrevocably tied to time

Warning: character death, funeral, bleeding

(Multi-chapter fic, each chapter falls under the Memories prompt as well as another day’s prompt)

Danny walks numbly and tentatively places the thermos on the table before slumping into the couch. Rubbing his forehead feeling mildly overwhelmed by everything that's happened in the past four days. He hasn’t even really had time to properly come to terms with ClockWork’s death, or fading as it’s called. He still feels like he could only be seconds away from hearing a riddle or getting called for apprentice work, which technically he is.

Fiddling with his hands and mentally ignoring the thermos, “at least his afterdeath ceremony was suiting”. Danny’s still a bit surprised those were even a thing but he should have expected as much for any powerful or respected ghost; and ClockWork is, no was, both. That was even more evident at the ceremony, everything was almost grandiose.

—three day’s ago—

Danny sighs sadly before pushing open the large doors, he’d never really been to this place and now he knew why. It was only for this purpose, the purpose of saying farewell to ghosts of greatness. Looking around he feels both comforted and painfully nostalgic, seeing everything decorated in ClockWork’s purples, greys and blacks; accented by various bits of clocks. Thick rich velvet drapery lining nearly every wall and the seating was all clearly soft extravagant royal purple plush over dark grey wood.

Running a finger over one of the chairs, he hears Skulkers' voice, “this is your first ain’t it, Phantom? Well, they are uncommon. Only the highest get them”. Danny shakes his head a little and looks to Skulker, “that’s almost sad but very right”. After all, ghosts weren’t like humans, more solitary than social and perfectly acceptable for one to just fade away. He knew it was best to just let most go without drawing attention to it. Ghosts didn’t grieve like humans did, not unless the faded ghost had a massive and far-reaching impact. Like ClockWork, the Observants...or like him. Even if Danny knew he wasn’t capable of human death or ghost fading.

Skulker nods as Ember comes to join them, “today doesn’t seem like the time to call you dipstick, so I won’t. Everyone knows you two were unusually close”. Skulker nods, “can’t say any of us know why”.

“Nor do they even know just how close”, the three turn their heads at the sound of an Observant. Danny’s not surprised that he’s the only one to not really reacting strongly to the presence of one of these guys. Pretty well all ghosts have a healthy fear and respect for the Observants. He and ClockWork have been two of the exceptions, Vlad was one as well but he’s never even met one. Skulker and Ember stand a bit stiff and eye the Observant cautiously while Danny talks, “no surprise to find one of you here. Though I fully intend to punch you if you try to use this to bitch about any of his past transgressions against your desires”. Danny doesn’t really care that Ember is gaping at him a fair bit, someone making a threat at an Observant was considered a rather insane and foolish thing to do.

“We would expect no different. I am not here for the ceremony. Ghosts pass, it is expected”, Danny can’t help but cross his arms and glare a bit before relenting and holding out his hand. Letting the Observant place whatever he’s holding in a clenched fist into his. Danny understands that whatever this is, isn’t meant for others eyes so he glances at it sneakily; thoroughly amused that his two ghost frienemy’s don’t even try to peak.

Glancing up at the Observant who merely nods and turns to leave. Danny runs a finger over the time medallion, one that looks so different than what he’s seen before. Tracing the DP symbol inside the gear shape attached to a soft black ribbon, before tucking it to hide away in his cloak. He felt it only fitting to wear the cloak ClockWork had gifted him with as a sign of his apprenticeship, though he kept the hood down. Rich black velvet with white fluffy plush lining the inside, accented by shimmering silver stitching; with the same gear as ClockWork’s for a clasp.

“Normally, I’d ask what weirdness you’re up to now, but I’m not about to question anything involving those guys”, Danny feels a bit of pity for Ember but he’s not completely sure what this means yet. “Yes, some things are better left unsaid. At least until time decides otherwise”, really there’s no way Danny couldn’t make at least a few time jokes. ClockWork would do the same honestly, though Danny has a suspicion not a lot of people know how much of a jokester that man was. Both Skulker and Ember look a bit confused, Skulker shakes his head, “is there nothing to stop you from being a floating joke?”. Danny simply smirks, though there’s not any warmth in it, as a glass case holding ClockWork’s cloak and Staff starts glowing faintly, signifying the ceremonies start.

Thankfully, Danny’s good at reading people now and can tell there’s not going to be any speeches or talking. Instead, each ghost takes their turn in spilling some of their own ectoplasm over the case. Simply touching the case appears to be all that’s needed to make them bleed, removing whatever part of their body they touched it with once they felt they’d given properly. Danny does find it a little disturbing but the symbolism makes sense. Something like paying their dues for all the faded time master had done. Some spill more, others less. This almost makes him annoyed the Observants aren’t here, if anyone owes ClockWork, it’s them. Second behind them would be him of course. Though this would likely be royally messed up to humans, but he was a ghost and this is what ghosts do. The clear rightness of all of this only solidifies that to him, even if he was definitely less comfortable with this than the others. Likely influence from his human half but that was ok and expected.

Danny decides the best rule of thumb is to give whatever feels right to him, though there’s probably not enough ectoplasm or blood in him to really show how much ClockWork had done for him. He also knew he did a lot in return though, so that made it better.

Remembering how ClockWork had simply placed his palm to Danny’s chest when accepting, or more so inviting him, to be his apprentice; Danny places the entirety of his palm on the glass case, around the chest area of the cloak and squarely over top of the head of the staff. Letting his ghost forms green ectoplasm flow until he was fairly dizzy, before leaning against a wall and staring numbly at his palm. It really didn’t feel like enough but he knows ClockWork would have berated him for giving so much.

Kitty walks up to him, glancing at his soaked hand, while Danny rubs his pointer finger with the same thumb. Looking to him sadly, “I’m not going to ask just what or how much he’s done for you. But I can not think of anything that would drive me to give so much”. Danny follows her gaze as she tilts her head back to the case, at least a third of what’s on it is Danny’s. “I would give more if I could and he would’ve berated me for it”, smiling sadly but with fondness, “something tells me, he would have done the same for me”. He knows full well that Kitty’s confused, “in a sense we saved each other. From two different kinds of everything. Self-destruction, being destroyed, corruption. Solitude, weariness, time”.

“I don’t think I get it. But everything with ClockWork is like that”, Kitty pushes him gently, “you even sound like him”. Johnny comes up and nods, “it’s actually a little creepy man”. Earning a laugh from Danny, “we rubbed off on each other, you could say”.

Danny spots one of the FarFrozen waving him over so he nods farewell to the couple, catching Kitty mutter, “how do you even save someone from time? Especially ClockWork”.

ColdStep claps him strongly on the shoulder, Danny finds it nice to not be so much smaller than his odd giant worshipers now. He was even almost as tall as some. ColdSteps voice booms loudly though it’s clear he’s not aiming to be loud, “I am unsurprised to see you here. FrostBite is saddened he could not come himself, but he knows The Time Keeper already knew he wouldn’t be able to”, Danny nods softly, he knows full well how busy the leader of the FarFrozen can be. Danny knows the only reason he wasn’t busy himself is because every ghost instantly agreed to leave Amity be for a while; time’s truce they called it. His fondness of ClockWork was no secret. Walker even went and threatened Vlad to stay away, which he’s still baffled by. After all, Walker’s one of the few that is purely an enemy not a frienemy.

ColdStep hands Danny an intricately embellished ice crystal lily, small clocks, gears and birds winding in between numbers and carved vines. “We know humans often give flowers when one of their own dies, so BluePond felt this right. This maybe be an afterdeath ceremony, but you are human too”, ColdStep nods at Danny warmly while Danny runs his clean hand over the ice petals.

Danny’s currently thankful for being so skilled at schooling his expression and keeping himself from looking weak, otherwise, he’d cry. Doing that around ghosts is never a good idea, so he has to thank not only his secretiveness but ClockWork as well. The man always was big on controlling what he expressed, always preached it as a life necessity. Which in a sense it was, for important powerful ghosts at least.

Nodding back at ColdStep before heading off to place the lily in the same place his hand had bled earlier, sometimes it was easy to forget he was human when doing things explicitly ghostly. He can’t help but get some amusement from his actions clearly confusing most of the other ghosts. Most of whom were not familiar with human ways, he’s sure ClockWork would get some kicks from his afterdeath ceremony confusing people. He’d be flat out proud that it was Danny causing the confusion.

Danny can’t help but smirk as his suspicion is confirmed by the ice lily, that shouldn’t be able to melt, melting across the case and coating it in the ornate icy designs. Muttering with a smile at the case, “you can’t help being extra can you?”. He easily overhears a couple ghosts being completely confused but gives a loose smirk, mood lifted a bit.

Danny’s not really sure what the purpose of everyone taking a bit of the purple velvet cloth with them is, but he’s not going to complain. Touching a few sections till he finds one that just feels right, pulling the piece away he can’t help but blink a bit surprised. The size and shape of it, is exactly the same as a burial flag. Rubbing his left thumb over the fabric, before duplicating himself to fold the fabric like a proper funerary flag would be. He catches Walker looking flat out impressed and as soon as Walker notices Danny’s noticed him, he stands stiff and actually salutes Danny. Danny puffs his chest out a bit before walking, proud and tall, out with his left hand on the top of the folded triangle of fabric.

Upon returning home he places the fabric on the only purple shelf in his room. Sitting back against his bed with a sigh, before pulling out the new time medallion. Tapping on the notch of one of the gears before walking over and placing it on top of the fabric. He’s pretty sure he knows what exactly it means now, and he feels ClockWork has earned getting to “keep” the first Phantom time medallion. Since his existence is, in a sense, frozen in time. But the hands of time must keep moving along.

End.

#danny phantom #phandom #phanniemay #phanniemay19 #memories #moving on #death #character death #funeral #blood #bleeding #skulker #ember #kitty #johny #observants #clockwork #clockwork’s apprentice au #phantomphangphucker #have a fic suck my dick

[ghostmartyr]

Avengers: Endgame Thoughts

SPOILERS, obviously.

So I figure I’ll babble enough to keep all the genuinely spoilery content under an appropriately timed cut. Even though everything after this statement is full of expectation spoilers. The few key things that I can think about to mention are that I really appreciated the movie and enjoyed the highs and teared up aplenty.

Also that I think this is going to be a primarily negative post. Whoops.

Not because I think it’s awful. I want to emphasize that I don’t think it is awful, because I am very worried that I’m going to forget to say that.

There’s a base level of quality you can sort of expect from MCU movies, so I don’t generally feel the need to move beyond the role of passive audience member for them. Then Infinity War really impressed me, and I couldn’t wait to see how everything was going to wrap up when they really left the movie there, so my investment level piqued.

As a result, there are more thoughts than usual. About a movie I really did find to be of high quality, and probably would see again happily if planning to sit still for another three hours didn’t make me twitchy.

I liked the movie.

There are just some character decisions and plot mechanics and overall writing decisions that... really?

First thing that I don’t have much to say about but can’t rationalize having a complaint post with no mention of: Thor and Hulk.

People in charge of the movie, you had no problem including Captain Marvel when you had no earthly clue what to actually do with her. Her smile warmed my heart in every scene she graced, and while I was criminally disappointed she was not more involved, none of the material she was given made me feel like the people writing her didn’t care about her.

...

Actually, now that I think about it, this should not have just a Thor and Hulk complaint section. Like that was the idea, because I didn’t have much, because I don’t care (slightly different than the writers’ level of don’t care), but the whole...

...

Oy.

Here, once for flavor, with the knowledge that I’ll get back to it and repeatedly whine about it this whole post.

I find the fucking time skip wanting in too many ways for me to really forgive the film for.

Anyway, Thor and Hulk.

In short, no.

In less short, what are you doing.

Hulk I don’t have a serious gripe with, except my main complaint about Infinity War was how Banner (I should probably change how I name him based on which character I’m talking about, but I really just mean the entity represented by a particular actor so I can’t care that much) got used up as comedy relief. You can have comedic moments and characters. If you have transformed your character into a comedic moment, you’ve fucked up.

(See Thor in too much of this movie.)

But one of the interesting parts of Hulk’s general arc in the MCU was how Banner and Hulk were starting to negotiate for their place in their body.

Cue Endgame, cue time skip, cue completely glossing over how they make their peace with each other.

Avengers franchise, why?

I am not attached to Hulk or Banner or any of that section of the plot, honestly, but the potential of that entire element is shot and left for dead in the water. Then the floating corpse gets up and starts walking around as part of a cog of the story.

Hulk’s most interesting plot point basically happened in another movie that doesn’t now, and probably won’t ever, exist, and considering what Infinity War put the guy through as a character, my writing senses are hurt and sad all over.

Then there’s Thor.

I think he might fit into the whole thing I will soon get into about character resolutions that hit the right emotional keys solidly enough that you forget they’re playing the wrong song.

Mostly he picks up the “hole” (wrongly perceived as something that needs to be filled) left by Hulk leaving the walking gag scene party. Drinking himself into oblivion and disregarding self-care in the aftermath of an immense trauma is one of the film’s chosen humor mainstays.

My impression is that I’m the only person in my tight corner of the internet who doesn’t really like Ragnarok because its silliness felt like it was trying too hard. It’s my favorite of the Thor movies, but a bunch of the humor didn’t feel natural to me. Better than Infinity War’s handling of Hulk, and better than Endgame’s handling of Thor, just not my favorite tone.

Endgame sort of takes that element, jacks it away from its surrounding strengths, and rolls out a keg for it to drown in.

When the movie remembers to empathize with Thor instead of mocking him, there are some great moments. But he draws one of the shortest straws of the movie.

And the character resolution is...

Good fuck this is why I had to say I liked the movie. Because when I actually sit down and think about my problems with it, the rest of my brain just lounges to the side in horror, wondering what could possibly have been entertaining if such elements were included.

The very beginnings of my problems with the movie is that they kill Thanos.

I think he’s dead ten minutes in.

Then they skip five years.

Five years.

Ooooh my everything.

Okay so like, you know how you start reading something, or watching something, and your head immediately takes note that oh, this must be a dream sequence. The couple in a romance is suddenly way too hot and steamy for where the story has them in their development, a random bomb goes off, the guy who destroyed half of all life in the universe because no one can stop him in the last movie is killed in the first ten minutes of the next--

There’s like.

A rhythm. There’s a rhythm to how stories work.

When that rhythm is disrupted, the audience is left with a tangible feeling of wtf. Either that feeling enhances the other quality stuff going on, or it enhances the other Quality stuff going on, if you catch my drift.

You step into a vacuum.

It’s great for recreating that sense of absence. The world is irrevocably changed. It’s emptier. The heroes are broken. Their revenge doesn’t fix anything. They just. continue to exist, with losses they aren’t equipped to handle.

FIVE YEARS OF IT.

I have probably a longer list of things I want stories involving time travel not to do than is perhaps healthy. But maybe stories involving time travel should keep their act together better or I don’t know.

Bad Future ends are not something I appreciate, because often, they go grimdark just because they can, because they know it’s not the final future, so anything goes. You don’t have to treat it like any reality that matters, because it isn’t permanent.

This story... I would say it toes the line there, but in ways that grate on me thoroughly enough that it presses all the same buttons.

Thanos can die in the first ten minutes, and it doesn’t matter. We know it doesn’t matter, because it happens in the first ten minutes. ...Maybe twenty, to be safe. It’s early. But you have this villain who’s built up to a ridiculous degree, bizarrely succeeds in living up to his own hype, then you kill him off so that a younger version of himself gets top billing in the final battle.

Why?

I get why as far as the story is designed, but at some point in the process, this story is designed by humans. Humans who could have stopped and asked themselves if they were really telling the best version of this story they possibly could.

Thanos is defeated while his blight remains. I love saying that. I love that I can describe a story with those words.

But the initial defeat is so unsatisfying and bereft of life. All the energy of him as an external force for our heroes to unite against is bled out early, and to get it back, they really do just ship in a younger model.

Which does make sense. Younger Thanos’ motives are fine and reasonable. Just, as far as the plot design, the whole presentation of the movie’s setting feels like a dream sequence. It feels, very early on, like this will never be allowed to be forever.

Then that feeling lasts for five years.

Getting into the time travel thing.

Time travel is really hard to get right in stories. You want to change something, but the people doing the changing are products of what they’ve lived through. How do you honor that while still fixing the unspeakable evil that happened? How do you change the world while keeping the threads that made us care alive and relevant?

One thing I very much like is that Tony fights to keep what he’s gained alive. Good. The volcanic soil grew him something irreplaceable, and it’s perfectly reasonable for him to want to hold on to that, and I’m glad he does.

But then you have the other half of the story, where no one is able to move on.

My preference for time travel correcting things is for characters to either be trying to change their own future that they have yet to live through, or for them to trying to fix something that is so recent the characters are still wrangling with it as a piece of their present. I have more than a touch of “humans should not mess with these things they don’t know what they’re doing,” past a certain point.

In case it weren’t obvious, five years is pretty far past that point for me. It hits this awful uncanny valley sweet spot of people wanting to change a reality that never should have been vs. people who are willing to fuck up the world because they can’t let go.

I like superheros. I like correcting injustices. Save all the people. I like people fighting tooth and nail to fix things set in stone because these are their people, dammit.

I also hate seeing people so stuck in the past they refuse to make a future.

This movie screams both of those elements so loudly that it’s hard for me to really piece out how I feel about the story in its entirety.

I like that they don’t simply hit an undo button, and do bring everyone back in a way that lets the future that has already happened continue.

But then there’s Steve and Nat and just... fuck, dude.

Gun to my head, I’m a happy person. If everyone could be alive at the end, that would be my preference, I don’t care if it’s cheesy. But you have the choice between Hawkeye and Black Widow. The man who’s lost his family, and the woman who’s lost purpose.

Or something. I don’t do MCU meta.

The sense I get from watching is that Natasha feels like her life works better as a sacrifice. If they succeed, she doesn’t have children and a wife waiting at home. So clearly it makes sense for her to be the one to die. Her road ends to bring back the happiness of others.

Which...

I don’t know how to articulate my problem with this without moving on to Steve first.

So let’s do that.

Steve.

Steve, whose story ends with him going back in time and staying there.

Forget about how the story criticizes every movie that does time travel better than it. Forget about all the levels of not caring went into designing the time travel elements. If possible.

I do not like how Steve’s story is essentially about how there’s only one time and place for him to experience a fulfilling life.

It is the nature of writing stories that we want to encapsulate things. The perfect moment. The perfect set of emotions. The perfect time. Everything falls into place, and that’s how we want it. We’ll never get it better than that. Keep retreading that dead horse, because it was so good.

Steve and Peggy are beautiful together.

What I hate about them ending up together is that... there’s this obvious, painful belief that the world of the future doesn’t have anything left for Steve. Bucky’s there. Sam’s there. Billions of people have just found there way back. Steve’s lived in this century for years.

Reclaiming the past is more important than building a future.

Even though the story’s driving plot is about keeping their past maintained so they can have this future. Or something.

Steve doesn’t have a future. Natasha doesn’t have a future. So the story removes them from it, and calls that a clean, happy (if bittersweet) ending. They’re pieces that don’t work in this world. Their chances are gone. They can live in the past or die.

I hate that. I’m a sap who will read a million stories about someone having a single true love they can’t be without and no one else could ever compare and blah and blah and blah, but that somehow feels different from watching a character’s life play out for years, and seeing them come to the conclusion that they can never belong in this place.

Building a new home never compared to the old one.

That’s depressing as fuck.

Thor gets a piece of this as well, becoming more of a knight errant than a king. After going to so much trouble to become his people’s king and just. Geez.

I don’t think that this is a thing the movie as a whole is really trying to encourage. I think the people working on it just had different visions for what would be cool as a sendoff and so on. Tony’s insistence that they don’t undo the five years they’ve had, and Nebula’s... everything--those aren’t elements of a story that says you can’t grow and find a new place. You don’t have to keep on repeating what you know and nothing else. You really don’t.

But that feels very twisted around for some of these characters’ personal journeys, and as happy as I am for Steve getting his dance with Peggy, the idea that this is a person whose true happiness could never be in the future...

That lingers in a way that I can’t like, and colors a lot of the other resolutions.

.

.

I really enjoyed the movie?

Yay?

Even though no one cared even a little at all even once except to attempt to drag other movies about time travel.

This movie’s time travel mechanics are terrible.

They’re just bad.

When you drop the titles of that many other things that have time travel.

And say this isn’t like that.

You should. you should hope. that your thing could at least make a convincing case for making more sense.

This does not succeed in that.

How could you watch enough of those movies to know they had time travel, yet fail to learn anything about how to write time travel. How. Why did you. why. Dragon Ball Z has more internally consistent time travel.

Three hours well spent. The hours on this, maybe less well.

#Avengers #Avengers Endgame #endgame spoilers #spoilers #tl;dr

[mysterioussinkhole]

The Librarian

Everything Goes To Shit: This is the statement of Jurgen Leitner. Given as Jon threatens him with a pipe. They are in the Archives now, and the Not Them are trapped. Leitner says Sasha is permanently dead. He is a bit of a surprise, unintimidating and thoroughly English. The man says Jon is quite like Gertrude. After being asked how he did it, Leitner explains how an early copy of The Seven Lamps of Architecture to trap the creature. Reading specific passages allowed him to rearrange to Smirke’s architecture. He’s been messing with them for awhile in order to keep Jon away from him. The arrow Jon found in the tunnels was left by Not Them in order to use the Archivist to find Leitner. Jon asks about the other missing book, A Disappearance. When his assistant read it he disappeared completely, but reading parts allowed Leitner to stay hidden from Jon’s “master” and meet with Gertrude in secret. He has been in hiding ever since his library was destroyed and has been shifting between safe spaces he has put aside. About three years ago he spent a night out in the open and was nearly beaten to death by Gerry Keay. Jon actually laughs at that. Then he asks how his books have their power and why his name is on them. He says he collected them in the hopes of controlling their power. Leitner admits he underestimated their danger and how far their “followers” would go to retrieve the books. Many of his assistants died in order to discover the power of those texts. He used to imagine himself as a guardian to the world. Now he admits it was hubris. Jon wants him to tell it from the beginning.

Jurgen was born rich. He was never under pressure to learn anything useful, but he felt a pull to be important. The only thing he had a talent for was acquiring valuable items. He first heard about “the magic books” from an acquaintance. This acquaintance managed to get his hands on a real one, The Stalwart Hunter’s Alamanac, and died shortly after from intense mutilation. It was the first of Leitner’s library. Shortly after he hired his first assistant who died within a fortnight. His primary focus became hunting down these strange books. When he had trouble figuring out how to store them, he began looking into Smirke’s architecture. Some books reacted badly with each other but Smirke seemed to have devised a way to balance them. Leitner had his house built based on some his specs and looked into his existing buildings. By the end of it all he had 978 books in his library. A few years after he built the library it was attacked. It started with odd visitors he refused to let in. One night he was doing a catalogue entry of Journal of A Plague Year when everything went mad. Everyone was screaming, one of the assistants was stabbed, another was swallowed by a new maw, someone else ran into a new door, a huge hand plucked one up, and one was pulled into a pile of meat. Leitner managed to escape but the library was lost. He was hunted by both those monsters and people whose loved ones were killed by those books.

Jon says Leitner was indeed a fool. The man never burned them due to pride. He says he’s been trying to learn. Gertrude provides him with the ones he had now. He was her only company after the last of her three assistants died. Jon brings up the Key of Solomon which Leitner said had to be destroyed due to its dangerous mix of poses. The Archivist asks about the powers he keeps mentioning. Leitner’s surprised he doesn’t know by now and says that they are vast entities outside our universe that attempt to reach in to touch us. They are something like evil gods, though worship doesn’t help much. The powers are really outside human understanding. Leitner describes the creatures and books like a huge creature seen in parts by an ant. They are all one but they are all different. Jon mentions Michael as an example and a Leitner explains how he is part of what he calls the Spiral. Jon asks about the meaning of bones, but Leitner says he is focused on the physical rather than the meaning. Jon’s a bit lost. He asks if he killed Gertrude. Leitner says he did not. Jon asks who. He says it was probably Elias, after discovering that Leitner and Gertrude planned to destroy the Archives. This shocks Jon. Leitner wants his help to get files that would help take down Elias. Jon can’t really process it all. He asks if the Archives belong to a power. Leitner says he already knows the answer to that. It is the Eye’s. Jon belongs to it as well. He decides to go smoke a stress cigarette. Jurgen stays put, mumbling about how Jon doesn’t have the stomach for it all.

Elias comes in, seething. He threatens to kill Leitner if he uses a book. He asks what he told Jon. If he told him about Gertrude. Leitner says no, nothing. Elias is surprised it was him in the tunnels. He found him thanks to Jon’s carelessness. Jurgen admits he wanted the files on the Stranger and the Unknowing. Elias says they don’t need his help to stop it. He says Jon needed to go see the world at some point. Cue the extended sounds of brutal pipe murder. Elias leaves. There’s the sound of blood dripping. Jon returns and has a panic attack.

Tim manages to get recorder working. He and Martin are back in the Archives after having been stuck somewhere Else for a long while. They saw Helen while they were there. Martin says they should look for Jon. They got to check his office and Martin continues his tradition by finding a body in the season finale.

Who Did It: Elias in the office with a pipe

Spooky Rating: 7/10, brutal pipe murder is brutal

Stray Thoughts: LOTS OF LORE!! This episode sets up for Gerry’s episode in Season 3 and together they basically give people a crash course in The Magnus Archives’s lore. Jurgen Leitner is such an ass but I also kinda love him. He’s here to info dump and then die. Which, mood. Jon is definitely compelling him here because there’s no way Leitner would want to waste time out in the open like this unless he felt forced to. Elias turning out to be a murder boss makes perfect sense. I’m glad it was him and not someone whose character would be irrevocably altered by this type of revelation. I would not have been surprised if someone told after episode 1 that the boss kills people. Gertrude’s plan to burn the Archives is interesting. It definitely influenced Martin’s plan in Season 3. Maybe we’ll get more on how she came to that decision. Poor Jon, he’s trying his best and suddenly everyone thinks he’s a murderer. Even his employees. Especially his employees.

#the magnus archives #tma #archiving the archives #leitner’s library #recorded live in front of a studio audience #the librarian

[recentanimenews]

Birdie Wing: Golf Girls’ Story – 04 – Snakebit

When Aoi missed her putt, Eve confronts her angrily, thinking she let her win. But Aoi admits the miss was “her mistake”—apparently no one noticed Anri flashing a laser into Aoi’s eye before she putted, including Aoi herself. But she wants to have another go at a real game with Eve, so they agree to meet back at the course at 5 AM so they can play until her flight back to Japan.

Normally Eve would be able to keep such an appointment, but Catherine cashes in on Rose’s favor to her for letting Eve into the tournament that very night, and Rose and Anri deliver her to a massive configurable underground golf course. This is just the window-lickin’ craziest shit.

Eve is Catherine’s golfer, while her opponent in a real estate deal, fellow mobster Mr. Nicolas, has hired the thoroughly corny Vipère, a vampy minx in a leather catsuit. In addition to their employers’ bet, Vipère makes it interesting for her and Eve by saying whoever loses becomes the personal property of the other for a day.

Eve is neither amused nor impressed by all this nouveau riche and faux-vampiric posturing, and simply wants to get on with the game. But every other shot she makes is totally off, and she has no idea why…until she notices the same thing most of the audience probably noticed immediately: Vipère stinks. Not at golf, but literally.

Every time Vipère unzipped the front of her catsuit near Eve, she messed up. Turns out her perfume is a sublt poisons that threw her game off just enough to almost lose. Not about to lose to a cheater with fangs and a way too active tongue, Eve uses her Yellow Bullet to drive her ball out of a bunker and straight into the hole, beating Vipère and fulfilling her favor to Rose and Catherine.

What follows is a lot of plot malarkey, unfortunately. First, Eve has Vipère drive her to the course to meet with Aoi…in Vipère’s slow antique car. Aside from it not being Vipère’s style at all (why is it yellow?) Anri was right there in the parking lot with a Jaguar XJS, which if I know Rose had a V12. Combined with the fact the distance from the underground course to the above-ground one wasn’t revealed until it became a problem, and my eyes were rolling like a Titleist on the green.

Just as Anri manufactured Aoi’s loss and Vipère almost manufactured Eve’s, the the plot tomfoolery ends up manufacturing the first major interpersonal conflict between Aoi and Eve, as Aoi waits as long as she can but has to board her flight before Eve gets there. She leaves her Pac-Man ball on the tee, but drew a tear in its eye and “Liar” on the other side.

As her plane takes off, Aoi spots Eve and her Blue Bullet taking flight. So, I guess the airport is right next to the golf course? What with that crazy golf bunker, I half-expected Eve’s golf ball to go into the jet engine, forcing it to land and giving the two a chance to play.

Of course, there’s a good chance that would have ended in fiery tragedy, so maybe it’s best Eve didn’t hit the plane….I just hope their budding friendship hasn’t been shattered irrevocably. After all, Aoi began the episode with a mistake caused by others; now that Eve was late, the two are even par, as they should be.

By: braverade

#Anime #News #RABUJOI – An Anime Blog

[ourlittlesecretokay]

17 & 18!

The way you said “I love you” when the broken glass litters the floor

The way you said “I love you” from very far away

Did it even matter anymore who hit first when the violence was a senseless as it was ineffective? No, not ineffective–Mutual. Shared. In the end she wasn’t any better off, and now, they had one less bottle of wine. She had one less bottle of wine. It really was his fault; he should have known better.

It was his fault, really. He should have known better. “You wouldn’t dare.” Had stupider words ever been spoken? Any indecisiveness left in her shattered with the glass against the floor the moment he had spoken. For a moment, she seemed so startled herself that he could laugh, but her surprise quickly steeled itself into harsh indignation.

Wordlessly, he picked up his own glass, and not breaking eye contact, he dropped it. It smashed with a satisfying, if brief, symphony of cracks.

“Hey!” she turned her eyes back to him, livid, “I have to clean that up now!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did my juvenile little temper tantrum somehow inconvenience you?”

“I swear, I-” Quickly, she lifted a plate holding it above her head, “If you don’t apologize, I’ll drop it!”

“Then drop it.”

She did. Less satisfyingly, the plate fell with a thunk, only chipping against the floor.

“No, here; more like this.” Lifting the offending piece above his head, he brought it down hard, scatting the porcelain into a constellation of fragments. “Try again.”

Burning, she grabbed the closest thing within reach, which just happened to be another stemmed glass. Letting it fall to the floor, she kept her hands in the air, gesturing out, “There! Is that better? Is that good enough for you, you asshole?”

“Ehh,” he clicked his tongue, doing his damndest to be as infuriating as possible. “More of a break than a shatter. If you’re going to ruin my things, at least have the decency to do it well. Observe-” he broke another, smaller, dish.

“Fuck off! You have a height advantage!”

“Language. Besides, it’s a bad craftsman who blames his tools. At this point, I’m willing to bet you can’t.”

“You- I am not-” Entirely too easily baited, she only hesitated a moment. Ready to damn them both at this point, she grabbed the nearest bottle of wine. Lifting the bottle behind her head, she was only marginally aware of him being there at all.

“Wait!” He held his hands out. Did he really think he could stop her now? “Maybe you’re onto something!” And then he was catching her around her thighs, lifting her up. The side of her leg pressed to his shoulder, and she wobbled a bit, catching herself. “Alright, now go!”

Holding onto the bottle she was only moments ago threatening to obliterate, she looked down at him, at them, making such an obscene show of impropriety she hoped an afterlife didn’t exist just so that no one else had to witness it. And then she laughed.

She laughed, “I- I changed my mind. I don’t want to anymore.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to?” Unable to look at her face, he simply tilted his head upwards.

“Seems like a waste of wine, yeah?”

“Of course it is. Wine is one of the few things meant to be wasted.”

“I don’t know. Hardly seems worth it anymore if it isn’t going to piss you off.”

“At this point, it would be more distressing if you didn’t.”

“You’re only hurting yourself here.”

“I didn’t know dropping things required so much thought.”

“Alright. Here; you ready?”

“I was born ready.”

Hoisting the bottle over her head again, this time she let it fall the impressive length to the floor. Both of them watched it, the glass breaking marvelously into small bits that littered the floor. The cherry red wine exploded like a firework, making a crime scene of the already dismal floor. Grabbing onto his shoulders, she let him lower her onto the table.

She tried to hop down, among the carnage, but he stopped her with a quick hand, “Better stay up there. I don’t know if you know this, but there’s some glass on our floor.”

“Only some?” Looking down, she surveyed with equal parts pride and dread the menagerie of incomplete pieces, a mosaic in honor of madness. Folie a deux, the artform. The cuffs of his pants were thoroughly stained, and she wondered abscently if she’d be able to wash it out. Part of her hoped not. It would serve him right. But then he was kissing her and she couldn’t be mad, couldn’t remain angry; it was all so ridiculous.

And she was beautiful, surrounded by debris and bad decisions. Her arms sagged with the tiredness only a good and lethal outburst can bring, and he’d be lying if he denied how incredibly gorgeous she looked, weapon in hand, even if said weapon is only a chipped plate. He kissed her, and she leaned into him, holding onto his shoulders, her hands tugging him closer. He touched her knees, the stained fabric of her dress, her deceptively strong legs, which she was now pressing against him.

“God, I love you.” The words were as much a part of the scene as the spilled wine and shattered ceramic. He was all tied up in the mess too, irrevocably and unaccountably undone by her. He kissed her lips and she kissed him back, kindly allowing his destruction.

The way you said “I love you” from very far away

It was weird not seeing him. She didn’t want to say she didn’t like it, but she certainly wasn’t used to it. He was such a large personality, any space not occupied by him seemed suddenly to be lacking. No, not lacking, empty. Or maybe empty wasn’t right either. Maybe she was spending too much time thinking about it.

Things were quieter; that much was certain. And perhaps more ominous. The only thing worse than having him around was not having him around; there was no telling what he was up to. And honestly, if history was to be a predictor, it could be just about anything. It wouldn’t have been worth it to ask; he only would have dodged the question, and besides, did she really want to know? Ignorance wasn’t necessarily bliss, but neither was knowing and being unable to do anything about it. The worst part of it was that he probably didn’t think half as much about her. It was ridiculous, being worried about a grown man. Although, to be fair, she was less worried about him and more worried for everybody else. He was a force of destruction, she was well aware of that. And still, the house seemed too quiet.

The knock at the door startled her. She was smart enough to be scared by it; he didn’t tend to have visitors she liked, let alone wanted to be with alone. When she peered through the window, the man outside seemed concerningly at ease, bored almost. Carefully, she opened the door only after taking stock of the nearby lamp, which could easily be employed as a weapon if need be.

The man appraised her quickly, “Can you sign for a delivery?”

She raised an eyebrow, but nodding, scrawled out a signature on the clipboard proffered her. Handing her a deceptively light box, the man nodded with a tip of his hat and was off.

Closing the door behind her, she turned the package over in her hands. It was awkwardly shaped, all length with almost no width. Setting it down on the kitchen counter, she chose the slightest knife she could, carefully opening it.

The cardboard unfurled to reveal a mess of flowers, gaudy implausible shades of oranges and reds. More than a bit surprised, she lifted them from the box carefully, looking them over. A tag fell to the ground which she bent to pick up, careful not to crumple the flowers.

“Will be late. Don’t get into trouble, but if you must, at least make sure you keep the problems solvable.” He didn’t specify how late, but judging from the amount of flowers, she was willing to bet it would be at least another two days. Searching the kitchen for a vase, she came up empty, and so filling a glass with water, she carefully placed them in, letting them settle however they pleased. Gently, she placed them on the counter, making sure they got the best of the kitchen sunlight. The petals were a spot of warmth, soft and lovely amongst the hard edges of knives and cabinets. Sighing, she touched them lightly with her fingertips, feeling the velvet softness beneath her hands.

[vieuxnoyesrp]

Isa. Elijah Mikaelson is an incredibly difficult character to nail; as the ethical backbone of his family, he is often charged with not only acting as his siblings’ moral compass, but also with damage control for the chaos they leave in their wake. On top of that are Elijah’s own emotional complexities and vulnerabilities, which are often at odds with the aloof and austere exterior he likes to exude. We were wowed by you attention to detail in this application, and the way you managed to tiptoe the line Elijah walks between disapproval and condescension, careful not to tip too far in the direction of superciliousness and superiority. It was clear to us that you had done an incredible amount of research in preparation for this application and we couldn’t be more honored or pleased to welcome you to Vieux Noyés RP. 

Isa, thank you very much for applying. As for Elijah…

                  ⚜ ~ WELCOME TO VIEUX NOYÉS!!! ~ ⚜

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⤜ Name/alias: Isa.

⤜ Pronouns: She/her.

⤜ Age: 21.

⤜ Timezone: AEST/UTC +10.

⤜ Activity: I’m on uni break from now until February, so I’d say around 7 with work.

⤜ Best form of contact: Tumblr.

⤜ Any triggers? Nope, but thank you.

⤜ How did you find Vieux Noyés? From memory, I think it was a supernatural related RPG tag.

⤜ What drew you to the RP? I adore the shows and books this roleplay is inspired by and I have a huge respect for design… Vieux Noyés stood out immediately because it was so beautifully put together, then I read the plot and was hooked! The Appreciation Blog was also really encouraging to browse through! It seems like a wonderful group of people collaborate here.

⤜ What is one subplot/element from the Plot page that you are particularly looking forward to seeing in this roleplay? I’m watching (binging?) The Originals for the first time and the tension between supernatural species has me on the edge of my seat—it’s clear this is just as prevalent in the roleplay. I especially love that the VN plot incorporates the Salem witch cult to the mix. To see just how much pressure the NOLA coven can withstand, and how many shifts in magical balance their home can endure is exciting. A power struggle between the Originals and Marcel won’t matter if the city crumbles! How the wares, psychics, hunters and humans contribute to that war will also be undoubtedly epic (so basically all the elements, I’m terrible).

⤜ Desired character? The one and only Elijah Mikaelson.

⤜ Why do you want this character? I’ve always gravitated toward influential types who are strong willed and intrinsic to other’s development (I love to plot!). I’ve written as sadistic business moguls, security heads in dystopian angelic societies and warlock gang lords from the 1920s… I’m fascinated by prominent figures in history and the effect power has over an individual’s actions and sentiments, so I like characters that are dealt immense responsibility. I’m equally intrigued by their inherent weaknesses and the blurry line that separates honour and evil. The noble stag, the ripper of hearts, the eldest living Original vampire epitomises both extremes. Elijah’s Myers-Briggs Personality Indicator states that as an Architect, he presents as a paradox to most observers, and that he lives by glaring contradictions that nonetheless make perfect sense from a rational perspective. His sense of morality is unparalleled among vampires, but simultaneously he is one of the most dangerous and unpredictable of them all—I can’t wait to explore that synergy.  

⤜ What are your future plans for this character? The Mikaelson siblings haven’t had a lot of fortune in the ol’ love department. Elijah particularly struggles to avert his attention from Klaus long enough to establish deep connections outside his family. It doesn’t help that on the extraordinarily rare occasion his focus has been elsewhere, tragedy has struck: first Tatia, then Celeste. There’s a quote from TO when Elijah says to his brother, “I have forsaken every single one of my desires in the name of your ridiculous redemption. No more. If I want something, I’ll take it. And nothing, nothing will stand in my way.” In the RP, I want Elijah to be pushed to this degree if he develops a romantic interest, triggering irrevocable consequences for his relationships and those inhabiting New Orleans.

⤜ Put yourself in your character’s shoes. Give us a few lines to describe a day in the life of your character… where do they live? Where and how do they spend their time? As Klaus expertly manipulates those in the French Quarter like pawns in a wicked game of chess, Elijah is close by to collect the pieces, regardless of how damaged they may be. While his dedication to his family is relentless, he finds peace in the Tulane University library or at Rousseau’s on nights featuring live entertainment. Further spare moments are spent playing the piano or writing in his journals which are kept in his offices at the Plantation House: a sanctuary for his business in the quarter and a beloved, albeit temporary home.

⤜ Give us three headcanons regarding your character of choice:

For a millennia, Elijah’s driving priority has been to protect his brothers and sister from their father, overconfident rivals, and each other. Elijah places family above all, even at the expense of his own happiness, but when they aren’t faced with imminent threats he utilises rare moments of peace to explore lands abroad; his favourite destination being Denmark where he lived with Klaus and Rebekah in the 1500s. Not sharing his sibling’s contempt for humans, Elijah has made many illustrious friends in his travels such as Caravaggio, Hemingway, and Ellington. Back in NOLA, Elijah continues to orchestrate alliances, believing unity is a necessary requirement for success.

After fleeing Mikael in the 11th century, Elijah settled with his family in Southern France. To assimilate into noble society, and for their true nature to remain undetected as they discovered the extent of their affliction, it was necessary to adopt local customs. This meant learning aristocratic manners and studying the arts. As his brothers found solace in paint or the blood of the townspeople, Elijah read every piece of literature he could get his hands on—discovering that strength came, not only from family, but from knowledge. This early exposure to formal education piqued a relentless curiosity that developed into something more sinister over the centuries. Elijah’s intellect is now his greatest asset, supernatural abilities aside. His penchant for establishing contingencies has proven invaluable and in battle, his strategic and calm demeanour only heightens his physical prowess making him near unbeatable (note: it’s always wise to carry a pocket handkerchief, just in case there’s a mess).

Elijah exudes elegance and is renowned for possessing an unfaltering gentlemanly demeanour. He values virtue over narcissism, but over a thousand years of life, an unparalleled encyclopaedic understanding of the world, and the inability to be killed has made the vampire supremely confident. He has no qualms reminding those that have forgotten that his niceties are a curtesy, not a given. Sassy Elijah is inevitable.

⤜ What are some plots you’d like to explore with your character?

As it mentions in the Plot Teasers section of Elijah’s biography, his future is entwined with his brother’s role in creating more hybrids, which will test loyalty. Furthermore, how will this impact his relationship with the Crescent Wolves and Hayley?

I’d love to do some flashbacks exploring the Originals’ historical ties to the city. There’s a great book I picked up after starting this application called “Empire of Sin: A Story of Sex, Jazz, Murder, and the Battle for Modern New Orleans” and the recounts from the early twentieth century in particular are magnificent.  

I want to see Elijah’s investment in Gia Talwar’s training and plot how he will respond to her tenacious spirit. I imagine he’ll be a bit overprotective too.

Will Elijah intercede between Elena Gilbert and Klaus if they meet again? Can Elijah ignore the doppelgänger’s intoxicating familiarity?

I’m sure the unknown whereabouts of Finn has Elijah on edge, tracking him down may become something of a priority.

⤜ Para sample: Inspired by events and quotes: x

RFP

⤜ Would you like to be considered for another character if not accepted as your primary choice? Ooh probably Rebekah Mikaelson. Keep it in the family ;)

⤜ Have you read the rules? Thoroughly.

⤜ Anything else? Thank you for taking the time to read this application. Elijah is a considerably complex fellow and a beloved canon character, so I hope I’ve done him justice!

#elijah mikaelson rp #literate rpg #the originals roleplay #to rp #crossover rp #accepted