#the doodle in the bottom right (that is not the among us) is him taking a nap inside his mech's reactor

[dracomonarchy]

it's all fun and games until you get trapped in the torture labyrinth with the most dysfunctional team of mech pilots in the dawnline shore a.k.a i was becoming the joker at work and filled a canvas with lancer pc struggleposting to cope

#lancer oc #oc #mart #fun little details for those who read the tags: several of these doodles are based on reaction images in my reaction images folder #it's easy to tell what's what if you know the originals i think #the person with the star-like head is another pc as is the person grayson is gripping by the shoulders in the bottom left #the doodle in the bottom right (that is not the among us) is him taking a nap inside his mech's reactor #he pilots a sunzi. for the record #and the among us is actually legitimately how he'd customize his crewmate in the game

[sanddusted-wisteria]

A Builder, a Researcher, and a Rooftop, Ch. 7: Mentha spicata

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From the bottom of the stairs, the builder could hear faint murmurs of conversation up on the roof. They could make out Qi’s sharp, accented voice, and another, less-familiar one. Who else was up there?

“Ah, there they are,” Qi said as they reached the landing. Next to him was Mint, lounging with his arms behind his head.

“Hey, builder.” Mint gave them a wave and a polite smile, which the builder returned.

“I invited Mint to our usual stargazing session this time, since he won’t be in town for much longer. I hope that isn’t too bothersome?”

“Nah, you’re good,” the builder said, taking a seat next to Mint. “Haven’t really gotten the chance to talk to Mint a whole lot.”

“Yeah, after the whole train station thing, I got super busy. Oh yeah, and you did too, with all the building and stuff. Thanks again for all that.”

“Wait, wait. The ‘train station thing’?” Qi frowned. “Mint, what happened?” The builder raised an eyebrow. Mint never told him?

“Oh…yeah,” Mint said, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “Guess I forgot to tell you. You know me, heh heh…”

Qi was not amused. Mint took his silent glare as a cue to continue.

“Well, after I got off the train, there wasn’t anyone there to meet me. And I didn’t know where to go, either. And to top it all off, I could feel a nap coming on pretty fast.”

Qi let out an exasperated sigh. “Please don’t tell me you decided to fall asleep on an active train platform…”

“I mean, I didn’t really ‘decide’ to, but uh… I was already sitting on a pretty sturdy-looking bench, so…”

“And what happened after that?” Qi asked resignedly. Mint stammered, trying to find the easiest way to tell him that he nearly got hit by a train. Qi looked at the builder, expecting the answers from them.

They pursed their lips. “He rolled over and fell onto the tracks.” Qi tensed, a hard expression to conceal his fear. “I managed to pull him off just before a train pulled in.”

Qi groaned and shook his head. “Mint, I know it’s been years, but we’ve talked about this. Benches may be comfortable napping places, but they are also among the most hazardous for the very reason you witnessed at the station. A safer place would have been–”

“A flat, open space, away from any roads or monsters or dangerous machinery, I know,” Mint intoned. “The Civil Corps said the same thing.”

“For once, I agree with them. I’m at least relieved to see you uninjured. You as well, builder. Your proactive reflexes are commendable.”

“Yeah, thanks for uh…not letting me get run over by a train.”

The builder waved a hand. “I’m just glad you’re okay. I should be thanking you, too. You’re the only reason this bridge is open.”

“Aw, shucks. I just checked a couple meters. You guys made a good bridge, so I barely had to do anything.”

“Indeed,” Qi said. “Thanks to some very innovative construction techniques, we were able to produce a more than satisfactory result. Your duties helped to confirm that fact.”

“Innovative…yeah,” Mint chuckled. “I still can’t believe you guys used a robot to build a bridge.”

Qi sat up straighter and crossed his arms. “Indeed we did! Made by yours truly.”

“Ahem.”

“Right, right. Designed by yours truly, built by our mutual associate builder here.”

“Well yeah, no way anyone else designed it,” Mint grinned. “Only you could turn a doodle of a Gungam OC into an actual robot.”

“Ohhh, so that’s his own character. No wonder it was so obscure. Hey, you were right, Qi. It is something I never would’ve heard of!” The builder grinned, but it quickly faded when they looked up at Qi, his face drawn taut in the most horrified expression they’d ever seen on a human being. Was his face always that pale, or was that just the moonlight?

“Gotta admit, though,” Mint continued, oblivious to whatever ordeal Qi seemed to be going through. Looks kinda…bare-bones. Didn’t you have plans for a modular weapons system on there? Didn’t see any arm cannon or laser blade or anything…” He looked over at Qi, frowning at the look on his face. “Spacecase? You okay?”

The builder swallowed. They probably should salvage this one, should they?

“Ah come on,” they said, trying to make it casual. “We just made the thing. And we built it for bridge-building. We can add the cool lasers and pew-pew guns and stuff later.” The horror on Qi’s face faded a bit, taken over by light surprise.

“Ehm. R-right you are, builder!” he piped up, a hint of strain in his voice. “It was merely several weeks ago that we found the R47 Ultra. Having a working prototype Mobile Suit already is astounding progress. Hopefully in the future, with enough budget and loose-enough governmental scrutiny, we can create a fully-realized Mobile Suit!”

“If you say so…” Mint was still giving Qi a funny look.

The builder cleared their throat. “So Mint, you know about this whole ‘Gungam’ business already? I’m afraid I haven’t been…enlightened yet.”

“Oh yeah, we watched it all the time when we were kids. There were a whole bunch of giant robot shows out there, but Gungam was the best one, bar none.”

“…And it had the most content available,” Qi added quietly, eyeing the builder’s reaction carefully.

“Even so, they’ve only managed to recover a part of it. There’s still a couple gaps here and there.”

“I still remember the agony I felt when we realized the final episode of season 4 was never found.”

“I think that guy at the store never told us on purpose. We blew a month’s worth of pocket money on that.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have trusted him.”

“No you didn’t,” Mint scoffed. “You were the one begging for the ‘full’ disk set the second you saw it on the shelves. I just happened to have the last 15 gols you were missing.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t’ve given him the money then,” the builder said lightly.

“He was convincing.”

“It was a sound argument!” Qi blurted out, his previous trepidation vanishing. “It would have taken me approximately another week and 2 days to get the missing change, and that was with extra chores! Someone else could have had a wide window of time to claim it before then!”

“Still don’t think it was worth my 15 gols.”

“No, season 4 was worth much more than a measly 15. It would’ve been priceless with the finale…”

“So yeah,” said Mint to the builder. “Big fans.”

“Please tell me you guys made all sorts of replicas out of cardboard and stuff,” the builder laughed.

“You bet. We’d get old boxes and sticks and pretend to be Gungam pilots at recess. And we’d be building weapons and armor and stuff from whatever we could get our hands on. Blocks, paper, fish, anything!”

“Awww, that’s–” Adorable. “–sweet.”

The builder’s train of thought hit a pebble on the tracks. Why on earth was “adorable” the first word that came to mind…?

“I still have diagram drafts of things we built in case we ever find the right materials…” Qi muttered before they could dwell on it further.

“Well, if you guys can find R47 Ultras in these ruins, I’d say sky’s the limit.”

“Ideally, I’d like to go beyond the sky. But yes, with the likely existence of other powerful relics and a reliable builder on hand, there is potential for many more of our designs to come to fruition.” The builder felt a small swell of pride at the offhand praise.

“Save me a blaster then, if you make one,” Mint said with a fond smile.

The three of them kept talking well past midnight. Qi and Mint would recount their shenanigans as kids in Vega 5, while the builder listened and chuckled along.

After a while, Mint started to nod off. “Think I’m gonna…have to call it soon… I’m…” he trailed off with a yawn.

“Hey wait, don’t fall asleep up here!” the builder exclaimed. But the only response from Mint was a snore.

Qi clicked his tongue. “No use, builder. He’ll never hear you when his eyes are closed.” He grabbed one of Mint’s arms and threw it over his shoulder. “Can you get his other arm?”

They nodded and copied his motion. Together, they hoisted the limp, snoozing Mint up, and carefully brought him downstairs for the night.

“I can take it from here,” Qi said when they got to his front door. The builder shrugged Mint’s arm off their shoulder.

“Have a good night, then.”

“Same to you. Oh, and…thank you.” He gave them one last unreadable look before quietly shutting the door.

“Uh…you’re welcome…?” they muttered to no one. For a minute, they stared at the closed door, as if it would give them an answer. When they finally remembered to start walking home, all they could think about was that brief, but odd stare.

What was he thanking them for? It might’ve just been for helping him drag Mint downstairs, but what was with that look? That didn’t feel like a look for a small thank you. Was it for something earlier? He didn’t give them that look when he was thanking them for saving Mint’s life…

…Why were they thinking about this so hard?

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#shady's fics #brr #mentha spicata: the scientific name for spearmint

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Thursday 18 June 1835

6 5

11 5

no kiss had been rain during the night  and recently - fine but dullish morning F62° in my study at 6 55 - out with the workmen till 7 40 - then came in to read but soon had Mark Hepworth who brought the 2nd hand single horse he has bought for me, and the great bay gin horse drew it - the joiner Mosey came with Mark - had Ruthin the gin-horse put into my father’s cart, leader the great bay horse - Ruthin would not pull - ill tempered horse - Mark does not like - said he would not sell for more than £12 - offered to take both these horses (might perhaps sell the great bay for £11 or £12)  in exchange for a black cart horse of his aetatis 5 and that he valued at £25. said I would consider a day or 2 - on leaving Mark at the top of the bank met Mr Horner the drawing master coming to Shibden - brought him in (at 9 ¾) to A- downstairs and took him into the blue room to see the prints - not spoilt by dust but by damp probably got into the box in coming from London - breakfast at 10 ¼ in ½ hour - then had a Mr F. Milner recommended by Mr Duffin and the reverend of Mr Graham of York - thought him so likely to suit us,  called A- down to speak to him - he 26, his wife 21, but his mother aetatis 60 would live with them and take charge of the Sunday school - said we had written by last night’s post to one of the other applicants and therefore could give no answer now, but he should hear yes, or no, in the course of a fortnight, the letter to be directed to Mr Duffin - the young man is now living at Brandsby - heard, read a few of the 1st verses of the 1st chapter of St. Matthew - he could not multiply a + b by a + b and began £19.19s.6d. + £19.19s.6d. by decimals but did not work it out quite right - however

SH:7/ML/E/18/0050

he said he would improve himself - and I told him I thought he would be competent to the situation - said there was no fixed emolument but £6 a year for the Sunday school but we (A- and I) would find him a house and a school-room rent free - he seemed anxious for the situation  - said he should be satisfied with 5/. a quarter for reading and writing + 8/. a quarter for accounts - A- thought him too good but seemed afterwards to come more round to my opinion in his favour - he was hardly gone before Washington came - Mr Leather not at home I think he said - rag-covers would be very difficult to get - advised walling and arching                                         [doodle]

arch wide 3.6

to spring of arch 2.0

from spring to centre 1.6

walls thick 1.0

footed below bottom 0.6

1 ½ rood wall stones will do 7 yards forwards and will be delivered from Turners at 13/. per rood Backings delivered at 1/. per yard forwards Lime 6d. per yard and labour 3/. per yard

Estimate of culvert per yard in length

stones delivered 2.9 3/7

Backings ditto 1.0

Lime 6d. Labour 3/. 3.6

7.3 3/7

Washington recommends for teachers

Nesbits’ mensuration

Ditto Landsurveying

Bankers’s mechanics

Saturday 4 July Booth would have 6in. parpoints worth 5/. a rood at the delph and 5/. dressing and 3/. carting the walls should be backed up straight with the crown of the arch* would have flag bottoms 2 1/2in. thick - to be delivered at 1/. per square yard = 1/. per 9 square feet. *i.e. the spandrel should be filed up solid. vid. Friday 31 July 1825.

flags at 1/. per square yard of 9 square feet = ½. per yard in length 3ft. 6in. wide.

went out to the masons (who wanted more stones) about 12 - some time talking to John Booth mowing among the young clump of trees behind the barn - with A- at her luncheon and sat talking till she was off on the pony to Cliff hill about 2 ¾ - then with Marian - she kept me talking till 4 - about Mr Abbott  thought if I wanted influence in the town  I had better not ice him  if I did the contrary from policy  it was bad disclaim all thought of policy  she insinuated that I might get much for the family from Mr A-  very gently but decidedly snouted this idea said I acted from a deep feeling of disappointment   never thought of interest  poor Marian - From 4 to  6 ½ out with Booth who had come this afternoon and with the other men - Robert S- and his man getting stones to the dry arch from the fish pond - had the cart and old mare - A- returned at 6 ½ - dinner at 6 55 - coffee - a few minutes with my father - sat near an hour with my aunt and wished her a good night - much better today - slept comfortably last night in the drawing room all today while her room was washed and the curtains of her bed taken down to be washed - old curtains being put on - tea at 9 - wrote all the above of today till 10 ¼ - fine day F62° now at 10 ¼ pm.

[lovelytarou]

love notes — midoriya izuku

— izuku is known for many things, among them is his knack for scribbling notes about the quirks of others. you also witness it firsthand as he left little notes around your house to remind you of small tasks and messages of love.

pairing: midoriya izuku x reader

tags: established relationship, mention of reader's quirk, mention of slight friends to lovers??

genre: fluff

word count: 797

a/n: 2/7 of the 200 follower event! i intend for this to be a drabble so it's shorter than the last one. i'm sorry the ending sucked i'm kinda bad at ending a story lmao

i went out earlier this morning to buy milk. i saw that we ran out of it today.♥

you read the note that izuku left on the fridge with a smile on your face. right, you forgot you were supposed to go out and buy groceries today, but it seems that your darling boyfriend took care of that already. 

memories flooded back to you to the time where the both of you were just friends and he used to do these kinds of things. you knew he loved writing in his little notebook about other people's quirks and even making points to help them improve their skills. that's actually how you two met. 

“quirk–photon blast? sort of like a dying star…” you heard him muttering to himself one day as you and your classmates trained. meanwhile, he was sitting on the floor as he scribbled his thoughts away. where did he even hide that thing?

you watched him for a moment, noticing the little doodle of yourself that he did and it brings a chuckle out of you. 

“maybe if they stored all the power into all parts of their body instead of focusing in one place…” 

“that's a great idea, actually.” 

he yelped when you spoke, almost jumping 40 feet into the air, his notebook and pen flying away. his face reddened upon seeing yours a few inches away, just hovering above his shoulder as you were watching him scribble a while ago.

“sorry, didn't mean to scare you. it's just that you're so immersed in your notes.” you laughed sheepishly, bringing a hand up to scratch your head.

“no! it's okay i uhm, i wasn't just expecting you is all…” there was an awkward silence after that and you noticed his forgotten notebook and pen on the floor, picking it up yourself as the page about your quirk was shown to you. 

“wow this great! i love how you got my hero costume right, and the colors too.” you complimented, a hand caressing the drawing softly, admiring it. 

“you really think so? it wasn't creepy or nerdy?” definitely nerdy...but in a cute way. not that you ever told him in his face. 

“not at all! in fact, i find it cool. the way you pay attention to certain details and how you figured out people's quirks is brilliant.” handing him his notebook, you gave him a warm smile. your skins touched and it made the two of you feel a slight tingle as you both pulled away. 

“so...would you like to go somewhere and talk about the notes you made about improving my quirk?” it was subtle, and pretty lame, to be honest. but you liked him for a while and you always find a reason to speak with him. every one of those chances getting cut off, or interrupted or simply wouldn't happen. a chance presented itself to you and naturally, you have to strike while the iron's still hot. 

“well, i was thinking about how you have this power, right? what if instead of focusing it into one part…” he told you all of his thoughts about your quirk as you two walked, and from then, came a date. and then another. until you're both getting to know each other and a few years later, here you are sharing a home with him.

you would usually find it annoying when other people would leave little reminders around the place. but not when it comes to izuku. there's something comforting about seeing his familiar handwriting, the cute notepads taped onto surfaces and the little doodles of hearts and smileys on them. 

don't forget your vitamins! it's important to stay healthy so you won't get sick! :)

it read on the pink note taped onto the container of your vitamins as you took one. 

it's weird but oddly soothing in a way. even if he isn't home, you know he still cared and his presence is all around the house everywhere you look. 

remember to take breaks! you got this, i believe in you! ( ˘ ³˘)♥

this one was taped on the bottom of the monitor of your computer. he had made that a long time ago and since then, you haven't removed it. you can call it a...motivation or inspiration for when you felt like you're procrastinating while working. one look at this note and you'll immediately feel like breathing fresh air, and that everything's going to be alright. 

you can say it's his way of caring for you. looking after you when he isn't there to do so while he's out there patrolling, or doing hero work. as something as simple as a note is enough for you to know that he's always there for you no matter what.

Taglist: @chibishae34

#i just find him cute when he starts to write on his notebook and he mutters to himself swjskssjs #tarou writes 🌹 #tarou at 200 🎉 #💫. midoriya izuku #bnha #bnha fic #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya izuku #midoriya x reader #izuku x reader #midoriya izuku x reader fluff #bnha drabbles #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #bnha fluff

[deathbystereo87]

Good evening~♡ Had a kinda sappy request but could there be a prompt where TLB stumble across the diary/journal of said S/O and just sneak a peek of what she wrote about them, perhaps something "special" about each of them?

A/N: I really liked this prompt, and wanted it to be so much longer. I hope you enjoy

Word count: 987 

Warnings: fluff 

Paul always took the longest to get ready. It didn’t matter where he was going or what he was doing, he took literally forever. He always had to make sure his hair was styled just right, and eyeliner was extremely hard to do (especially considering he couldn’t see himself in the mirror). 

Making one last run through the house, he decided to stop into y/n’s room to steal some of their bracelets. They had just left to go food shopping, so he wouldn’t be caught in the act of stealing their accessories. Rummaging through the drawers of their dresser, his hand caught on an odd shape. Pulling it out, Paul had found a book in the bottom of y/n’s sock drawer.

The book was a pale blue color with seemingly no engravings or title on the outside. Curiously opening it, it seemed to be no other than y/n’s diary! Without a second thought, Paul found himself mindlessly flipping through the pages. 

Before he could start reading, he was interrupted by Marko coming into the room. “There you are! Come on! David’s getting antsy.” He started, before looking at the book. “What’s that?”

“It’s y/n’s diary,” Paul said in a hushed tone. 

“And you’re reading it?” 

“Not yet, because someone decided to rudely interrupt me!” 

“Bro, I don’t think you should be reading their personal diary!” Marko urged, “It’s not something you’re supposed to do.” 

Letting out a groan, Paul protested, “Yeah, but what if it has stuff in there about us?” 

Marko hesitated, “I mean, if it’s about us, then I guess we can,” He slyly supplied.

The two flipped through the pages together, most of them contained mindless doodles of different things around the cave or the boys. Some were filled with song lyrics of the newest pop hits that were catchy. However, nearing towards the middle, there seemed to be four sections, each one with a different name on it. 

Marko’s section came first, and the pair didn’t wait to read it. 

Paul read it out loud, “Marko is the most artistic out of the four of them. He loves to spend his time painting and sewing new pieces of fabric onto his jacket. His face always pulls an interesting expression when he is focused as he pays attention to the intricate details. While he can be rambunctious at times, he always knows when to calm down. When he’s caring for his pigeons, he always takes the time to be so gentle with them. When we cuddle, he also makes an amazing little spoon,” 

Paul started to laugh, “Ha! You’re the little spoon!” 

“Hey! I’m short! What do you expect?” Marko fired back. 

“Whatever, I want my section next,” Paul replied. 

Marko rolled his eyes and flipped through the pages. “Paul is definitely the craziest one of the group. Sometimes, he can be a little too crazy. I admire his ability to not care what other people say, as he enjoys his own personal style. His music taste is immaculate, and he always shows me the newest songs. Sometimes, he takes me to concerts in town, too. I don’t have the heart to tell him that his singing voice sucks, but it’s okay. He never fails to make me laugh, and is the iconic joker among us. “

“At least my singing voice doesn’t suck!” Marko nagged. 

Paul stuck out his tongue in response, quietly pouting. 

Both Dwayne and David walked in.

“What are you two losers doing in here? We’ve been waiting out there for like 20 minutes!” David grumbled, crossing his arms. 

“David thinks he’s going to starve to death,” Dwayne complained. “What are you reading?” 

“I found y/n’s diary! Marko and I were just reading it.” Marko elbowed Paul in the stomach. 

David furrowed his eyebrows. “Aren’t you not supposed to read through anyone’s diary, especially your partner?” Paul scratched the back of his neck.

“I guess neither of you wants to hear what y/n said about you,” Marko countered, shutting the book and sending them a sarcastic smile.”

David and Dwayne shared a look, “Well, we never said all of that, did we?”

Opening the diary back up, Marko opened up to Dwayne’s section and started to read it out loud. “Dwayne is very simplistic with his lifestyle. He prefers to spend his time either reading or writing. Sometimes, we just like to read together and enjoy the company of each other. He likes to read to me occasionally, his voice is very soothing. I love falling asleep listening to him. I also get to braid his hair sometimes, and he doesn’t complain like the others do.” 

Dwayne didn’t say anything, but a wide smile spread across his face in appreciation. 

“Alright, pick up the speed,” David said impatiently.

Paul looked up at him, “Aww, is little Davey-Wavey excited to see what is written about him?”

“I will cut off your hands again, they’ll take at least a week to grow back.” David threatened. 

Paul’s eyes went wide as he turned to David’s page without hesitation. “David is definitely the most commanding out of them. He prefers order and enjoys his seniority and status. He can be extremely eccentric, but I like that about him. His taste in clothing and fashion is classical but enjoyable. His trench coat is very comfortable, and I love when he wraps it around me on cold nights. He also seems to leave me little gifts around my room, like things I’ve taken a liking to on the boardwalk or things I’ve made comments for. He never says anything, but I just know it’s him. It’s an extremely sweet gesture. His hugs are always the best, too.”

David looked prideful, but none of them got to enjoy the moment for too long. Footsteps coming into the cave interrupted them. 

“Boys! I’m home! Come help me put away the groceries.” You yelled. 

#the lost boys #lost boys #david the lost boys #paul the lost boys #marko the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #fluff #horror #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x reader

[kyoupann]

Please do more of the writing head canons. It’s really interesting to see other people’s ideas on the topic, so if you can be bothered, I would highly appreciate more, thanks bye <3

Y’all don’t know how happy I am to talk about these headcanons, they are my babies and I love them so much :’) thanks for asking g <3

Handwriting Headcanons

Same dynamic as before, try to guess whose handwriting it is before reading and tell me how many you got right! <3

You can find the first post here (no need to check it tho)

Quick disclaimer: halfway through making my initial notes, I remembered I had one (1) single lesson of graphology in my applied linguistics class, but that was a year ago and some information might be off. I just thought it was neat to include.

Another quick disclaimer: I don’t know much about Hylian, but I like to think it has a similar stroke system to Japanese, so the pressure and accuracy of your strokes play a major role in your handwriting (among other things, ofc.) so there are some parts where I focus more on that

(First Row, from left to right)

Sky

Our first boy is mother hen! Believe it or not, he has the prettiest handwriting out of all of them! Sky: probably has nice, even elegant handwriting because Sun forced him to practice when they were little. In the end, that paid off because his handwriting is the prettiest one. There’s no pressure, but he is confident in what he writes that his lines aren’t thin. Mistakes? what is that? this boy has impeccable grammar and spelling. No mechanic errors to be found in his letters! I’d like to think that many of Hyrule’s classic/staple poems were originally written by the firt king aka sky child. Like, imagine, after a retiring from being a Person of Power (as the first ruler), Sky finds comfort in the arts: revisits his old woodcarvings and starts writing poetry about the world he still doesn’t fully understand. wowie. tldr: sky writes poetry and you can pry it from my cold dead hands.

This is what one of his letters would look like: 

Next one is the one and only, our Hero of Time

2. Time

I’ll die on the “Time didn’t know how to read and write” hill. His handwriting is simple, not pretty but not messy. It has some grammar and spelling mistakes here and there. Can become unreadable if writing in a hurry, he sorts of forgets spaces between words are a thing/letters have different sizes and lowercase letters end up the same size as capital letters. I’m not saying he sometimes forgets to write articles: he just doesn’t want to. Honestly, he just has this dad-neat handwriting. He is a gentle dad and writes like a dad, if he puts too much pressure onto the paper, his handwriting become too sharp/angle-ish and ends up looking ugly. And as much as he would like to not care about it, in the end he does (:

Malon taught him how to write and it was quite the experience. At first he didn’t want to because he was ‘too old’ to learn and it was torture at first, but now look at him devouring his cowboy novels. 

A chunk of his handwriting: 

*sniff* such a dad quote.

3. my mansss, your  4x1 deal at Target: Four

Look, my boy is patient! He could do some nice and fancy lettering if he wanted to. He was taught that handwriting and spelling said a whole lot about him as a person, you know, like a first impression kinda thing; so he always proof reads more than twice before sending ­a letter. Super rare grammar mistakes.

The faster he writes, the more slant his writing becomes. Under stress/ when not sure how to write things down, run-on sentences are everywhere and his handwriting is inconsistent in general (I don’t headcanon each part of him having completely different handwriting because handwriting becomes muscle memory over time. It’s just slightly different variations of the same, like idk  Vio’s handwriting is neater than Green’s and Red writes hearts instead of any dot/circle and no, I do not take constructive criticism on that, jk i do.) Adding on to each of the colours’ handwriting, I’d think Red and Green write with words slanted to the right( inclined), Vio is a mix of the opposite, so reclined and straight, and my mans blue a true neutral writes straight (kinda like Time’s).

The logic behind this is that inclined writing supposedly means honesty and need for giving (and getting) affection; reclined means, as you can probably imagine,  defensiveness and repression of true feelings, but also shows great concentration; straight handwriting means self-control, observation and reflection as well as distrust and indifference. But as complete being (tm), Four just writes as in the image example which is not too straight and not too inclined, and I believe that’s a good middle for him

HOWEVER, if I’m feeling in the mood for crack, I totally accept this boy to have the ugliest, chicken scratches-looking handwriting! :’D It’s just funny to think that someone like him, who has to be precise and careful in his work, can't write neatly to save his life. 

One of his letters would look like this: 

Also I just LOVE how his hero titles look in this font ksksks

and that’s

(Middle row, from left to right)

4.- Mister Bunny Boy - Legend

His uncle taught him how to write. I’d call his handwriting pretty and neat at a first glance, but he presses too hard on the paper, most of the time staining the back or the following page. Sometimes will retrace some words if he doesn’t like how it looks (which only makes it messier). According to my notes, a thick or strong handwriting represents determination/commitment.

As I also headcanon him to know many languages, mechanical errors are more present than grammar ones; that is, weird capitalisation of words. Punctuation is somewhere in between; uses too many commas when he should just cut the sentence. he mixes punctuation from two languages or more in writing when too distracted (or too focused, because, well, pressure.); when he writes for himself, he has almost no problem following said language’s punctuation rules. Also, this is just polyglot culture, and I’m projecting a bit, but when he forgets a word in the language he’s writing, he just replaces it with its equivalent in another language because we don’t care about fluency, but rather functionality. in this household (more on that in my language hc, ksksks).

An example of his writing:

so powerful

4.-  Mr. Wolfman, howl me a song - Twilight

I don’t have much for him because 1) I don’t think he writes a lot and 2) he is a hands-on/visual learner, I’ll die by that. He only learnt how to write because Ulli insisted it was important and he was not about to disrespect his momma; he IS That Guy, but doesn’t really write enough to have neat handwriting.

Many people seem to overlook the fact that his house is filled with books and write him as completely illiterate (which if not explored properly, ends up feeling a bit disrespectful and full of prejudice, but go off I guess; and that’s on my core Headcanons for Twi); however, he sticks to simple sentences. Knowing how to read and understanding a text is different from knowing how to write them. Like, when we would see a semicolon and understand its position in the text, but didn’t understand the nature of it. Is this clear? idk i’m sorry. So yeah, boy reads a lot, writes very little.

As for his Actual Handwriting, as opposed to Legend, his handwriting is thiccc but not because he presses into the paper; he is just that messy, he has no sense of ink-flow-control, he does what he can with what he has. To the untrained eye, his handwriting illegible letters like v, n, u are very similar; when he makes notes for himself he does it in the form of doodles or small ‘icons’. But! He reads a lot, so he rarely makes spelling mistakes (: he is your go-to guy when you don’t know how to write a word.

An example of his writing:

He keeps a journal, sue me.

3. My first born- Warrior

Okay, first off... I accept this is completely biased. I saw the idea and said “That’s True”. If you haven’t, please read Effective Communication; or The Lack of Thereof by htruona, a fic where the boys reflect on the language barriers between them. It’s incredibly funny and probably what made me start making these silly notes. So, if you’ve read that fic, you know where I’m going.

My man, Warrior, can’t fucking write. I mean, he physically can, but it’s very bad. Here’s the reason for it, tho, and it’s not his fault: Technically, he knew how to write alright but he joined the military and whatever note he had to write had to be concise or in the worst case coded. He mixes capital and lowercase letters. If we consider that he joined the military at around 15, his handwriting and grammar had yet to continue developing. Just think about how after summer break, your handwriting was always slightly worse than before because you didn’t write for an entire month. Now think what 2 years can do to that. Hmm, not cool, dude. He makes quick notes, when writing he’s all gotta go fast. he is the lighting mcqueen of writing; good for emergency messages, not ideal for love letters. His punctuation also suffered a lot, he only know full stops and commas and hardly uses them. A sentence for him is either one word or fifty without a single comma, no inbetween.

His hero title and an example of his writing.

(Bottom row, or what I like to call “fuck cursive” row)

7.- Magic man - Hyrule

I’m basic and I do agree with the popular headcanon of he not knowing how to write because well, y’all know his Hyrule. He only knows how to write his name because that’s important, same with numbers. I don’t see why would he write/read except checking the roadsigns. (he can even use this as an excuse for getting lost frequently; he thought it said something different.) But I do think that because his habitual reading consists of roadsigns, his ‘punctuation’ is weird af and places full stops/points/periods at the same level of his words and his commas/question/exclamation marks below them. Yk, creative license. Sadly, I don’t have much about my magic hands man so here’s what his writing would look like if he actually wrote a paragraph:

Man, I love Hyrule.

8.- Man, I don’t understand this boy -  Wild

Cursive? ain’t nobody have the time for that. He woke up and had to save the world in his underwear while not knowing how to read nor write.  He learnt during his journey and was taught by multiple people from different regions, that explains his inconsistent spelling of things and names for them. So Wild knows language variations for many items and uses them interchangeably (even if they aren’t exactly the same). Another headcanon related to writing/language skills that I’ve been thinking about is that if the shrine was able to cause amnesia, I’m sure there were other areas in the brain affected which leads us to language disorders such as agraphia and aphasia. But that’s a story for another day ksksksk

An example of his writing (after relearning)

9.- The best of sons - Wind

I don’t have much for him and that makes me sad. Look, he’s a kid, doing kid things like stabbing dudes on the head. This boy was taught cursive by his grandma, but could never do it and no one needs it anyway. His handwriting is good enough for his pirate life, Tetra is the one to handle Official stuff, he just gotta sign. Spelling and grammar mistakes abound. He is still relatively young and can correct his handwriting if he desires. But same as Wild, with how many times he’s been thrown out and hit his head, I’m starting to consider some language disorder for him as well.

An example of his writing:

aaand that’s it.

Thanks, y’all for showing interest in this silly thing uwu it was fun to finally talk about this. If you ever want to discuss ideas/headcanons(especially if they are related to language and culture), I’m your person (: I’m always happy to hear new headcanons. Feel free to add anything to this post either in a reply or in a reblog, I’d love to hear from y’all <3<3

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #anon #ask #lu headcanons #well that took more than an hour #but tbh i got distracted by the polls #yikes #but anyways here's my essay #ksksksk #I'm sorry for being more detailed in some #sometimes there's not much thought going on other that #than I vibe with it #yk? #anywussy pls let me know what you think #and if you have any headcanons related to writing pls let me know i b e g #echo i'm sorry for slaughtering warriors like that ksksksk he wasn't the one with detailed writing #although i can also imagine him the way you described it #but russian-cursive-writing!warriors held my monkey brain hostage #and there was nothing I could do #aiñ forgot to add the main tag #because tis is the official post ksksksk

[aceofspadegrass]

Broken Arm Bath Time

Characters: Aguni Morizono, Hatter

Genre: Fluff. Aguni washing Takeru's hair and it's so soft.

2.1k words

Jokes on you slimy meatball I fucking did it! Of course, I can't say shit without getting a teensy tiny bit inspired by @hatterstan-shameblog 's latest fic (Please go take a gander it is neat), but otherwise this is wholesome and neat, perhaps 50% gay energy-

Aguni doesn’t get the chance to step into his apartment before he got a call, his phone vibrating rather exuberantly for 5 in the afternoon within his pocket. He sets down his groceries and pulls out the phone, a simple black flip phone as he didn’t really need to use it for much else. The number was all too familiar, Aguni pressing the answer button and holding it up to his ear.

“ Hello.”

“ Mori, hi! My good pal, best barbecue corn chip in my life, my beautiful-“

“ Get to the point Takeru.” Aguni takes his keys out of his pocket to unlock his door, Takeru humming nonchalantly.

“ Well, you know how I broke my arm last week?” Takeru chirps. Aguni answers with a simple short noise of acknowledgement, mentally imagining Takeru’s calm yet dopey smile on the other end.

Aguni remembered it quite well actually, briefly reminiscing as he opens his door and hauls his groceries inside. The two were actually out on a fishing trip together, although it was less for the fish and more for Takeru to hang out on a boat they rented all day wearing fishing hats that Takeru found in storage in the back of his shop. It was supposed to be a simple trip, catch some fish, drive around the lake, nothing tiring.

That is, until Takeru managed to hook in a monster one. The force of it yanking, coupled by him leaning a little too far (Aguni did try to warn him), led to him falling off and slamming his arm against some rocks that they were parked near.

The force managed to break it upon impact. It was a freak accident, but Aguni did have to get their driver to drive them back to the docks and call an ambulance for his friend. He had to hand it to Takeru though for keeping a brave face and not cry too loud as they used some ice from the fish cooler to keep it somewhat numb from pain until the paramedics arrived. Takeru did whine a little about the fish that stole his rod and how the day didn’t go as he hoped, but Aguni wasn’t focused on the results of the fishing trip. He somewhat knew Takeru was worried as well, but Takeru probably didn’t want to dwell on it and feel the effects more than if he focused on anything else.

The doctors said that it was a clean break, but he’s still need a cast to keep it in place, Takeru receiving all the instructions about how to care for it.

“ Well, you see….. I need to take a bath.” Takeru explains, Aguni saying nothing as he stocks his fridge and pantry, letting Takeru continue. “ And as you know full well, I can’t get my cast wet. Adding on to the fact that a I can only do so much with one arm…..”

Aguni swears he can hear Takeru pouting on the other end. He sighs, shutting his pantry and leans against the door. “ Do you need me to come over.”

“ Oh that would be wonderful. Yes, please do. I’ll be waiting!” Takeru hangs up, Aguni slipping his phone back in his pocket and walking right back to the front door. He leaves his apartment not even ten minutes of finally getting inside, and after locking the door Aguni makes the rather short distance to Takeru’s apartment. It was easier for them to live close to each other, even if it meant Aguni got minimal heads up before Takeru let himself in to his apartment.

Aguni enters with the spare key Takeru gave him when they first got the places, shutting the door behind him and switching to the fuzzy slippers that Takeru leaves for him and him only.

“ Mori!” Takeru peeks out from the hallway once Aguni comes in, waving with his free hand that was attached to his only good arm, Aguni not bothering to wave back as he closes the distance, Takeru smiling and dragging him to the bathroom.

The cast that rested in the sling was a soft red colour, which he insisted wasn’t just pink — not that Aguni cared, it was just a cast — and already covered in small doodles made by Takeru himself among other people that likely pitied Takeru’s poorly arm and wanted to decorate it. Even Aguni had something on there, on insistence of Takeru the day he got the cast done. It was a simple and poorly drawn flower done in black marker, but Takeru was happy with it. Compared to all the other, much more colourful and creative things that surrounded it, it almost looked like such a sad excuse for a doodle.

Still, Takeru assured him that he loved it. Aguni watches as Takeru pulls out a plastic bag and some rubber bands that he was going to use to cover the cast, sliding the bag over his right arm. Aguni didn’t have to be told anything as he grabs the bands and pulls them over the bag and cast, holding it firm so no moisture would accidentally get inside. It wasn’t too tight to cause his friend discomfort, and the two head together to the bathroom.

The bath, unsurprisingly, has already been run, Aguni dipping his finger in the still warm water. Takeru strips into nothing from him, and Aguni steps back to let him sink into the water, Takeru letting out a satisfied breath. “ Ah, this is nice~”

Aguni kneels down next to the tub and positions Takeru’s arm so it rested outside, Takeru grabbing a bottle from a metal rack that was within his arms reach. Takeru holds it out to Aguni with a smile, Aguni wordlessly uncapping it before pouring a little into the water and turning the faucet on again, bubbles soon emerging along with the scent of lavender and apples.

“ You are such a saint, Mori. Who knows how I would’ve survived without you in here!”

“ You would have done okay, you know.”

Takeru chuckles, leaning his head back and sinking further into the water, Aguni laying a hand on the arm that had to stay outside. “ Yes, but I would have felt oh so uncomfortable! Curse past me for getting bottles that don’t work with one hand.” He lays his other hand over his forehead as he lets his head loll to the side in anguish.

Aguni lets him be to soak for a bit, getting up and going through his friend’s rather extensive soap options. Unlike him, Takeru preferred to smell nice everyday instead of going about in a natural scent or, as Takeru calls it, ‘The artificial man scent of trying too hard sometimes’. He did own said artificial man in a bottle, but they were only for very specific uses.

“ Which one do you want today.” Aguni brushes his fingers through the bottle, Takeru humming as he thought.

“ Obviously something to pair with this!” Takeru splash taps the surface.

Aguni grabs a random bottle and holds it down to hover in front of Takeru’s face, not bothering to read the label or check if it paired. He didn’t even know what would pair with the bubble bath, Takeru was always the one that knew the answer and differences. All Aguni ever did in his own shower was a simple shampoo and body wash before leaving. Takeru had a ritual in his own bathroom, and Aguni barely could comprehend it outside of a lengthy process that Takeru religiously followed.

“ This is a body wash, Mori. Try again.” Takeru pushes the bottom of the bottle up, Aguni putting it back and choosing one that he actually read to be a shampoo.

“ Hmm….. not today, Mori. We’re going for a nice floral today, not woody.”

“ It’s both nature based. Smell like an apple tree today.”

Takeru snorts, Aguni putting the bottle back and choosing the next one that almost was promising. Takeru inspects it for a bit, before letting a pleased note out from his throat, Aguni kneeling back down and setting it on the bath mat. He grabs the shower head and guides it down to Takeru, reaching over and turning it on. Takeru lets out a sigh through his nose as Aguni starts washing his hair, Aguni staying steady and firm as he wetted Takeru’s locks. Setting the head down after turning it off, he opens the bottle and dispenses a fair amount before rubbing it in his hands, getting a good lather before massaging it into Takeru’s hair.

“ See Mori? How would I get such sublime treatment for my hair care by myself. You do it so well.”

“ Thank you. You could have at least tried by yourself.”

“ Mori I can’t simply get a good lather with one working hand.You, maybe, because you have less hair and the bathroom routine of the average male. I would not be surprised if you used your own hair as a method to work one up. Me? I could never. It would be like rubbing dish soap on a plate raw.”

Aguni nods, making sure to be thorough as Takeru liked it to be. He’s gotten enough lectures about his friend that he had a decent idea of what Takeru liked during bath time, or even a shower. To be honest, this wasn’t even his first rodeo of washing his friend’s hair, for many different reasons that always ended with a platonic bath or hair care.

“ Alright Mori, that’s enough. You’re gonna rub out too much oils at that rate.” Takeru tells him after a few more seconds, Aguni turning on the shower head once more and rinsing out the shampoo. Takeru quietly hums as he did so, and once Aguni was satisfied that he got it all, gets up and tries to find some conditioner for him. He finds it after a short look, kneeling down again as Takeru confirms that he took the correct bottle. Aguni squirts a fair amount into his palm and lathers it just like the shampoo, although it didn’t made suds as it simply spread it across his palm to apply to Takeru’s hair. He picks up the hair in sections and rubs conditioner into it, Takeru idly humming some tune that Aguni vaguely remembers.

He doesn’t register his own quiet singing along until Takeru joined in at the chorus. “ Stay with me~ 真夜中のドアをたたき~”

“ 帰らないでと泣いた…. あの季節が 今 目の前….. Stay with me…”

“ 口ぐせを言いながら 二人の瞬間を抱いて~”

“ まだ忘れず 大事にしていた….”

Takeru peeks at Aguni with a small smile, Aguni offering the slightest one of his own. He rinses off Takeru’s hair of the conditioner thoroughly as they both end up going through the rest of the song in a gentle duet, making sure not to leave a single strand unwashed of the product.

“ Now the body wash. Can you do it yourself since I did your hair?” Aguni asks, Takeru nodding and sitting up to reach for the loofah and grab some body wash in reach, using the edge of the tub to click the bottle open. Aguni still had to help him get the soap onto the mesh mass, but he at least could sit back and let Takeru finish by himself.

“ You can help yourself to a snack in the fridge, Mori. As thanks.” Takeru tells him as he scrubs himself, Aguni briskly nodding and leaving the bathroom. He washes his hands in case of any spare suds left on his hand before raiding Takeru’s fridge. He procures a single pear and stands in Takeru’s kitchen eating it — after he quickly rinsed it, like he should — until Takeru finally emerged, towel still on head as Takeru dried it one-handed and fluffy white robe around his frame and bagged cast.

“ That was a good bath~ Thank you ever so much~”

Aguni lets out a soft grunt noise in response, pear still in the stage of being dissected between Aguni’s teeth.

“ Oh, and while I heal, would you mind coming over ever so often to do it again? A man’s gotta keep his routine after all.”

Aguni breaks a piece the pear from its body and silently chews, staring at his friend idly smiling from where he stood, towel now draped over his shoulders.

Aguni swallows his pear, and after careful deliberation, offers a short nod.

#aib #alice in borderland #aib fanfic #alice in borderland fanfic #morizono aguni #hatter #takeru danma #very soft very wholesome #takeru owns a lot of different scents in that bathroom alone just for any occasion #aguni on the other hand only owns the scent of standard care in his for every occasion #yet they can respect the others decision to smell as they do #them singing together? bop #aguni has been with takeru's takeruness for so long he's gained an understanding of what his friend wants #they both came out of that experience smelling like floral #aguni doesn't care about his friend being butt naked how else is he going to bathe- #yes I borrowed the lyrics straight from the source and yes takeru starts the chorus first

[teacherunicorn]

A/N: I really see OneRepublic's 'All This Time' as Five & Delores' song. I feel like it has the right vibes to it. Am I wrong?

@tomisbaeholland @universsdaughter

Delores Theadoisa Hargreeves

Chapter Sixteen

The Hargreeves kitchen was silent as five of the occupants stared at the one other, who just went about making his sandwich.

"What's the date? The exact date."

"The 24th." Vanya offered uneasily.

"Of?!"

"March...."

Number Five paused and seemed to think for half a second. "Good."

"Are we gonna talk about what just happened?" Luther put forward, only to be ignored. He stood in Five's way and said in his 'I'm Number One' voice: "It's been seventeen years."

"It's been a lot longer than that." Five snapped and with a flash teleported behind him.

"I haven't missed that...." Luther sighed.

"So where'd you go?" Diego questioned.

"The future." Five blinked between the cabinet and the table. "It's shit by the way."

"Called it!" Klaus piped up.

The next thing out of Five's mouth made everyone else stare at him like he had three heads: "I should have listened to the old man. You know, jumping through space is one thing, but jumping through time, is just a roll of the dice." He looked up from spreading peanut butter on his sandwich. "Nice dress."

Klaus lit up. "Oh, well danke!"

"Wait how did you get back?" Vanya asked in confusion.

"In the end, I had to project my consciousness forward into a suspended quantum state version of myself that exists across every possible instance of time."

Beat.

"That makes no sense." Diego looked at him with a furrowed brow.

Five didn't even look up. "Well, it would if you were smarter."

Number Two jumped up to attack, but Luther was quick to hold him back. "How long were you gone?"

"Forty five years." Five shrugged, closing the peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich. "Give or take."

"So what are you saying? That you're fifty-eight?"

"No, my consciousness is fifty-eight." Five corrected with a glare. "Apparently my body is now thirteen again."

"Wait how does that even work?" Vanya asked.

"Delores kept saying the equations were off." Five took a bite of his sandwich and shrugged. "Eh, bet she's laughing now."

"Delores?" Alison frowned. "Our Delores?"

Five turned to face them and seemed to notice for the first time that the caretaker was not among the group. "Where is she?"

"She was working in Germany when she got the news." Diego informed. "Pogo said she was flying in."

"Oh, she called; her connection got delayed. She won't be in for another few hours." Klaus commented idly.

"What?!"

"You didn't think to mention this earlier Klaus?!" Alison demanded.

"Well I'm sorry, when between Luther accusing us of murder and Five jumping through time was I supposed to relay a message?"

Everyone in the room collectively groaned. They all knew that they were doomed to insanity until Delores arrived to straighten things out.

"Well, nice to see that nothings changed." Five sighed, strolling past the group and out the door.

"Really? That's all you've got to say?" Alison called after him.

"What else is there to say?" He called back, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Circle of life!"

*******

Upon entering his old bedroom, the first thing Number Five did was open the door to his closet in search of something to replace the suit that had become far too big on him.

Flipping a few hangers to the side, it quickly became apparent that all the closet held were the Umbrella Academy uniforms he'd left behind. Cursing under his breath, he sighed and selected one off the rack at random.

Turning, Five paused when he noticed the large pile of packages occupying his bed. Wrapped in various colors of paper in various sizes, he noticed that the ones toward the bottom of the bunch seemed faded, as though they'd been there a while. A quick count showed that there were forty packages in total.

One for every birthday and Christmas he had missed.

"She waited." He smiled fondly. "Well, nice to see she didn't forget about me."

Leave it to Delores Theadoisa Hargreeves to go the extra mile for her kids. Had the situation been different, he may have been worried his caretaker would have planed a future without him in it; but this was Delores he was talking about. The single ray of sunshine that even the Apocalypse couldn't snuff out.

Seeing the small signs she'd left for him to find through the years he'd been gone had kept him going. A mark scratched into the stone of a building or sidewalk, small doodle in the corner of a historical paper that the Commission thought to be stray ink marks; it kept her voice with him.

It also made him all the more anxious to see her again in person.

******

*Several Hours Later*

Muttering to herself about about the fact that, for all his eccentricities, Reginald Hargreeves had never bothered to invest in a private plane, Delores unlocked the front door and pulled a large rolling suitcase in behind her.

Huffing, she propped it up on it's wheels and dropped her duffle bag on top of it. She turned to the empty entry hall and frowned.

"Come on! I know I can't have been the only one who came to make sure the old man was dead! Where is everyone?"

Her voice was still echoing down the halls when a familiar flash of blue blinked in the corner of her vision and Delores stumbled backwards when a weight was thrown against her and a pair of arms locked around her torso.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

The rest of the Umbrella Academy appeared in various doorways, but Delores failed to notice,her eyes locked on the person burying his face into chest.

She opened and closed her mouth serval times before hesitantly wrapping her arms around him.

Solid. Real.

"....Finny...?"

The only response she got was Five squeezing her tighter, as though she was the one that had been gone for nearly two decades and would disappear once more if he let go.

Blinking again, Delores looked up to see the faces of her other charges watching the pare of them. She skimmed over a quick headcount; Luther, Diego, Alison, Klaus, Vanya. All accounted for, and all the same age they had been when she'd seen them last.

In the doorway leading to the sitting room, she saw her mother and Pogo. Feeling more like a lost child than she had since she had properly been one, she looked to the pair that had raised her with a bewildered look.

"W-What did I miss?"

*******

Number Five was very much the type of person that hated having to repeat himself, but he gladly recounted the story he had told his siblings mere hours ago. Delores seemed to understsnd his explanation for his return better than the others had, but gave him a look when he mentioned the off equations that had put him into his thirteen year old body.

“Five what was the number one rule of all your lessons?”

“Don’t start fights with my siblings?”

“That was trainings.”

Five smirked. “Double check my math, then double check it again.”

“There you go.”

He chuckled. “I’ve missed you, E. Obviously....”

“The feeling’s mutual. Obviously.” Delores smiled at him. Finally turning to address her other charges, she did a quick head count to see who had actually shown up. When glancing over Number One, she blinked and did a double take. “What the hell Luther, you’re not supposed to be taller than me!”

“You didn’t know about this?” Diego raised an eyebrow.

“Spaceboy has been keeping radio silence for a while now.” Delores folded her arms.

“Oooo, somebody’s in trouble!” Klaus sang from his slouched position on the couch.

“Well while she’s already mad at you, why don’t you tell her about your theory of how dad died?”

“Diego—“ Luther tried to cut him off.

“An old man in his seventies had a heart attack.” Delores frowned. “While I admit that’s the most normal thing to happen in this house, what’s to theory?”

“Well- I- you see-“

“Luther.”

“He was anxious the last time he contacted me.” Luther tried to reason. “Told me to watch my back.”

“Sounds like the paranoia he instilled in all of us.”

“Maybe, but —“

He was cut off by the sound of the front door opening. Everyone frowned and looked towards the noise. They were all here, who the hell could that be?

“Oh little digits, I’m home!”

#tua #tua fanfic #tua imagine #umbrella academy imagines #umbrella acedmy #ben hargreeves #deigo hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #luther hargreeves

[elecman108]

Man, I forgot to post 90% of my art here for the past while. I’m gonna do an art dump in this post under the cut. Enjoy the bonk emoji if you don’t click the read more, and man am I dumb and forgetful lmao.

Includes: OCs getting names, a Sonic impression, a D&D map, homosexual energies, a sheep floating in the astral sea, a birthday drawing I already posted, Hex Maniac Ender, D&D Characters, D&D Characters as Miis in Miitopia, Little Hater Axel, local Demon in the consciousness of my D&D character yelling at him, illegal plants, a necromancer being cute, an actual event that happened in a D&D game two days ago, and Mermay drawing.

That’s everything in here as a TL;DR, I guess. Enjoy your day!

I’m gonna try and sort of have them in chronological order, oldest first, but I may end up putting them in the wrong order. If I do... Whoops, I guess?

[04/14/21] - This isn’t really new art, but I started to work on giving the four OCs of mine without a full name full names... I have not finished this bit, though. So Hunter and Akira have full names, and Warlock and Assassin only have temporary names. This may end up like Seven where I put in their names as a temporary name (7th OC I’d made at that time) and it just kind of... sticks. Lmao.

[04/20/21] - Alone on a Friday Night? God, you’re pathetic. I didn’t colour this one because it was a half-attempt at a meme image I still like it, though, so I might end up colouring it. It’s gonna appear again whenever I do my “unfinished drawings art dump” at some point probably in... June? I know I said I’d post them last month but forget it, lmao, it’ll happen eventually.

[04/20/21] - A D&D Map! This was to help me visualize the layout of my D&D character’s ship he used to be on. Also for my DM if they ever put us aboard the ship. The little fella in the corner is just there to vibe. This map is made of free to use assets from This Website, so while I’m gonna say DONT USE MY MAP WITHOUT PERMISSION, feel free to make your own!

[04/26/21] - Lesbian Day of Visibility drawing of yours truly, the disapointment! That’s... really all I have to say about this, honestly. It was just for that one day and that was it, lmao. I mean, I accidentally lined it in dark pink, so.. .That’s different, I guess?

[04/30/21] - Do Astral Seas dream of Ensorcled Sheep? Does the City know what Sheepleb is going to do? What crimes he may commit? Who knows! This was fan art of Critical Role ep. 134 if I remember correctly, right at the end when they jumped into the portal into the astral sea and Caleb was a sheep. Using my knowledge of the German language, I knew the word for “shit”, and had to use it.

[05/07/21] - This was already posted, but it’s going in here to dilinuate that it was drawn at this point. Also, aside from playing Miitopia, this is all I have to show for myself until the 12th.

[05/12/21] - Hex Maniac Ender challenges you to a Pokemon Battle! WIll you win against my team? My sis, who loves fairy types, pointed out to me that there’s a fairy girl and hex maniac duo, so I’d be the hex maniac. I spent... Over a week drawing this, because I basically had to redraw the Hex Maniac art from scratch in a higher quality size, and then draw myself over it. So... You can excuse the low-effort background for once. It was basically this, and then my birthday doodle from May 1st to May 12th, and then I took a break to draw up several D&D characters quickly for fullbody references.

[05/12/21] - Remember this art I made several months ago? I finally added my other two completed characters! I have three more named but without character sheet D&D characters, so for now this is just Kara, Axel, Golden Shadow, Kau, Cecillia, and Miri. Kress, Tempest, and Melia will have to wait until I make character sheets for them to be posted, and... For when I probably make more D&D characters. I have at least 9 additional, incomplete character ideas floating around, so... I’m never gonna be done this art, huh?

[05/12/21] - Speaking of D&D characters, did you know I’ve been making them as Miis in Miitopia? So here is their finished full body art next to their Miitopia self! Some of them look a little off (Golden Shadow, Cecillia) because of limitations of the editor and shading issues, some of them look a little off (Kau, Kress) because this is a human face canvas that I’m using to make a non-human face, and some of them (Melia, Axel) look REALLY GOOD. Common traits among my D&D characters include green eyes and tall. You wanna know why? Because I am tall and... despite having red eyes, I do have green eyes under the coloured contacts.

[05/15/21] - More D&D stuff! This is based around my D&D group’s current Rime of the Frostmaiden campaign where our Goliath Fighter, Nioh, ends up getting a little bit of hate for being cocky, and our little (well over 6′) hater, Axel, is just a man full of irritation. These are the tallest two characters of the group at the moment. Someone send help. Nioh belongs to one of the other D&D players, Axel (and his stupid additude) belongs to me.

[05/15/21] - This is what me playing D&D feels like. Me, the demon entity trapped inside the head of my D&D character, yelling at them to do things while the dice decide that they’re gonna get bopped a hundred times by a yeti and somehow still survive. This is also a reference to our first or second game where I just ran off like sixty feet to one side of the battle map to fight a Crag Cat and was just in Gay Baby Jail until like two turns later when I could run back to the others. I also drew him not in his winter gear even though this is a bit from when we were atop Kelvin’s Carin in an icy cave, so maybe that’s why he’s at low HP.

[05/15/21] - Melia has good gardening tips, such as Use A Mars Mii Trap To Hide A Body Because They Are Endangered And It Is Illegal To Dig Them Up. I love her a lot, because she’s the youngest of four, all four sisters based around the different seasons. She’s based around Autumn, so she’s all orange and yellow and brown and is so cute. Also she’s Chaotic Neutral, as if she didn’t need to be mildly more threatening.

[05/15/21] - Cecillia is my Tiefling gal who lived in a very northern town plagued by cold weather and snow, and Axel is my Pirate guy who spent most of his time further south on the high seas and warmer weather. So, naturally... I’ll use the guy more acclimatized to the hotter weather in the campaign where we spend 99% of it in the snow. She uses Tarot Cards as her spell focus, and I decided to sneak my other D&D characters onto her Tarot cards so naturally, Axel is The Hanged Man, given his backstory and personality. She’s a very cheerful and friendly Tiefling Necromancer of the Hexblade, so she’d for sure take care of those around her to ensure their success. Especially if they’re on her Tarot Cards, and their spirit comes to her aid when she asks for them.

[05/16/21] - Content Warning; Ryma thinks too much into local stupid moron’s lack of knowing how to answer a question and thinks too much into the reputation of Pirates. Poor Axel, man doesn’t know how to socialize with people who aren’t pirates and is used to being hostile towards everyone, so when he’s asked a question that his answer to is “uhh... no?”, he panics and ends up making a mistake that leads him to think that Ryma can read his mind. Ryma belongs to another of the D&D players. I guess me drawing all those spicy Cow Costumed OCs earlier just brought me to drawing Axel being a bottom in this, huh?

[05/16/21] - It’s Mermay, which means more OC drawings! Here’s Theo after drinking some potion that turned him into a mermaid, and Seven, tiredly, collecting his stupid boyfriend so that Lailah can fix the fact he’s turned into a mermaid. Mer!Theo is based around his sword’s colours of indigo-purple with red accents, which looks a little weird since Theo is the Blue one of the group, but... it looks cool, I guess. Seven’s just the same outfit as always, just no gloves this time.

--

And that’s it for the art dump! This was, frankly, MASSIVE. I’ll try and remember to upload both on Twitter and Tumblr at the same time, but... Ah... I have been drawing a fair bit. Just mostly sketches and linework that I haven’t finished and may not actually finish. If they’re not completed, I’ll dump them all into something at the end of the month or whatever. Maybe you’ll get the old sketch of the Axel face in panel 3 because in the sketch phase it was an Ahegao face, in the clean sketch it was a lip bite, and in the linework and final it’s just horny face. lmao.

Top ten things I have to remember for drawing: AXEL HAS A SCAR AND GREEN EYES. I remember his eye colour now, but if you look at his fullbody ref, he’s got brown eyes. And, naturally, I keep forgetting to put in his scar. He has more, but most of them are located in areas covered by his clothes. So if I ever draw him shirtless I guess I’ll have to place them somewhere.

Also maybe finish the reference sheets I have left to finish so I can post more of them, since I have two “Pets” completed (Roko and Mona’s nameless pet), but I have to do up Hunter, Warlock, Assassin, Akira, Myuut, and Stella. I’m betting when I do complete two more, it’ll be Hunter and Akira. Those two are the most fun to draw, at least.

#the disappointment speaks #drawings by me #OCs #D&D #art dump #Miitopia #of all of these drawings I gotta say the most cursed is censored bottom!Axel and the most blessed is Cecillia's lap nap #I drew a lot of D&D stuff lately! Most of my OC stuff has stayed in the sketch stage so #I guess that says something about what I've been prioritizing in my drawings? #Also that drawing a twunk as a twink is incredibly funny and cursed. love my pirate boy

[mikkomacko]

Christmas Magic 1

It was still crisp and bright outside the day the form came home. The balcony outside their apartment was littered with crunchy leaves of browns and yellows and reds, all different shades even if they all fell from the same cottonwood tree growing right outside. The one Kevin The Tenant swears needs to be cut down before it falls on the complex or its strong roots ruin the foundations. Every spring he swears it's coming down, and every spring Ophelia's pretty green eyes well with tears at the thought of her tree coming down, and yet every spring it's still there, the thick branches and leaves casting shadows on the tiny hall of their home.

They sat in the window ledge by the balcony where the tree had shaken leaves off, Harry humming quietly as he unlaced Ophelia's little brown boots, tossing them into the doorway of her room to trip over later.

"It's a carnival daddy," Ophelia spoke, voice always so soft and feathery, even when she was so unbearably excited about this carnival that her toes wiggled in her socks. "a Christmas one. Mrs. Frank said Mr. Clause might be there!"

"Mr. Clause, huh?" Harry hummed, pretending to be very thoughtful over this class trip. It really wasn't much of a big deal. The carnival was in the city, set up in the park with ice skating and music and games and lights and a Christmas parade. Mrs. Frank picked a weekday to attend so the crowd wouldn't be too rowdy for a group of four and five year olds. Harry himself was even invited to attend, like all the other class trips, because Ophelia is quite awful at going anywhere without her dad.

Ophelia nodded, her brown curls bouncing and a begging smile splitting her face. Harry smiled too, falling onto his butt on the wood floor, and admiring the beautiful girl sitting before him. He had no reason to say no and even if he did, how could he? He'd bestowed an unfathomably huge love for Christmas time in his daughter as well as a good heart and kind soul. There was nothing Ophelia could've possibly done in her whole life that would constitute a no from Harry.

"Tell you what," He climbed up from the floor, helping her down from the windowsill and leading her to the little dining table that's sat in the corner of the kitchen, right next to the bulletin that's always overflowing with pictures and doodles of their family. "I'll sign this for ya but you gotta promise me you won't have a cry if I can't go with ya, ok?"

Harry's sure he'll be able to go but he'd hate for his girl to get her hopes up and then have them cut down.

Ophelia eyed the form apprehensively, pink lips pursed to the right as she mulled over the idea of Harry not going to the carnival with her. He sighed softly and lifted Ophelia up onto the table top, hands cupping her little face.

"Ya know that whether I'm there or not you'll be perfectly safe." He whispered as if sharing the most illuminating secret ever spoken. "I'd never send ya anywhere that I wouldn't go myself and I'd never expose ya to people that would purposely hurt ya, ok?"

Ophelia blinked at him nervously, fiddling the little fingers that barely fit around Harry's thumb. "What if they accidentally hurt me?"

"Accidents happen, but I promise I'll send your card with ya and I'll always go save ya."

Her fingers stilled, one hand reaching out to fist the edge of his shirt. "Really promise?"

"Really promise."

"Okay daddy."

"Ya still wanna go?"

"Yes please."

He grinned. "Then you got it baby. I'll sign it and send it with ya Monday."

Ophelia beamed and Harry removed his hands so he could see the dimples sinking into her soft cheeks. Her hand tugged on his shirt, and her head tilted up, long eyelashes kissing her cheeks and Harry knew what was she requesting. He always knows.

"Love ya nipper." He murmured, hunching over to kiss her forehead even though it makes his back ache.

"Love ya daddy."

~

The leaves blew away days ago, the balcony outside their little home now weighed down with piles of snow that have Ophelia giddily smiling every time Harry carries her past the window. The hand turkeys on the fridge, one the size of Harry's palm and one the size of Ophelia's have been replaced by drawings of reindeers and Santa Claus, and Ophelia's ever growing Christmas list that will be mailed to the North Pole by the end of the week. Multicolored lights wrapped around false green garland have been tacked around all the windows of the apartment with a matching set on the mantel above the electric fireplace. A little pink stocking with her name stitched in cursive letters hangs next to the bigger blue one that's labeled with Harry's name, both of them swaying as the vent above releases warm air. The holiday advent calendar on the coffee table has six of its doors open, each one containing a different piece of SpongeBob themed candy. Yesterday Harry had gotten one of those gummy patties that only tastes good if you eat it one layer at a time. The toy nativity set that usually goes on the coffee table is missing the donkey but Harry doesn't have much time to worry about it before he's stepping on it, the donkeys pointy ears prickling the bottom of his foot.

"Bloody f-"

"Daddy!" Ophelia squeaks, eyes wide as Harry hops on one foot and rubs the bottom of the other, glaring down at the offender. He can't blame the donkey too much, after all Ophelia is the one that left him on the floor.

He huffs, returning to two feet and bending over to pick up the little barn animal. He holds it out to Ophelia, eyebrows raised expectantly and her little eyes widen, chin tucking down to hide behind the scarf around her neck. "Sorry daddy," she says shamefully, twisting her sock clad toes into the wooden floor.

Harry nods, shoulders sagging as he places the donkey among the other toy creatures. "S'ok pet just try to remember next time. Don't need ya killing daddy, huh?"

She grins, relieved that Harry's not upset with her, and skips to him, leaping up with just enough time for Harry to hook his arms around her before she goes crashing at his feet. "Don't want that 'cause then I'd have no daddy to make dinner or go on class trips with."

He chuckles, setting her on his hip and adjusting her scarf. "Speaking of class trip, let's get going. Don't want to be late." Ophelia nods eagerly, wiggling to be set down. Harry tugs his waterproof boots on, helping Ophelia tie hers because she still struggles with it no matter how many times she practices bunny ears.

Harry got Ophelia tucked into her wool coat, zipping it up to her neck and pulling her scarf out so she's not suffocating. She requests her earmuffs, watching him with stars in her eyes as he kneels down to adjust them on her head, the pink fabric getting lost in her wild mane of curls.

"Gloves daddy?"

Harry grins, nodding proudly. They've had this routine for years but it's still nice being reminded that she pays attention to him. He pulls yellow mittens over her little hands, kissing both of her fabric covered palms when he's finished. Ophelia tugs her backpack over her shoulders while Harry pulls on his own coat, buttoning it up to his chin since he hasn't got a scarf. He puts on a beanie of the same shade of pink as Ophelia’s earmuffs and some black gloves.

He unlocks the front door, peering down at Ophelia and asking, "Ready to go bubba?" She nods eagerly, latching get fingers around his gloved thumb. Harry grabs his keys off the hook, double checking that the fireplace hadn't been left on or the fridge open. When he's sure everything is settled, he pulls open the door, allowing Ophelia to hop over the edging of the door, a habit she's had ever since she started walking. He shuts and locks the door behind them, dropping his keys to his pocket.

"Right then," Ophelia bounces on her toes. "let's go have us some fun."

~

The entire park, covered in snow from the storm last week, has been turned into a winter wonderland. Paths lined by candy cane lights lead to all the different areas: Santa's Shopping Center lined with Christmas stores, Character Circle where you can meet Santa and other winter holiday icons, the ice skating rink, the North Pole, and Wonder Park which is basically a little pavilion that always has live music surrounded by a frosty wishing moat.

The rest of Ophelia's class really enjoys Character Circle, all of them happily sitting with Santa for photos or building a toy with the elves. Ophelia, however, was insistent on staying in Wonder Park, forcing Harry to sign her out early so she doesn't have to go to the other areas with her class. She managed to pull Harry to the front of the crowd, right next to the wishing moat and within ten feet of the band currently playing.

Harry sits her on his hip, swaying them back and forth as a girl dressed as Mrs. Clause sings a bouncy version of Jingle Bells. She follows a simple dance routine with backup dancers dressed as candy canes and Ophelia is looking at her with such fond eyes Harry wonders what she sees in the girl.

Yeah, she's got a lovely voice, soft and smooth with just a bit of rasp on drawn out notes. And she's quite a cute dancer, tripping over her black heels a couple of times, never actually falling but flushing pink with embarrassment. Also, well, she's cute. She's really cute. The kind of girl that draws more attention with her personality rather than her looks but, is still breath-taking due to the aura around her.

Harry may or may not have the same loving look in his eyes as Ophelia, only looking away to give his girl a quarter for a wish. When her set ends, Harry and Ophelia holler as if she were a Grammy winner, both of them deflating when she leaves the stage.

"Alright nipper," he puffs, bouncing Ophelia to his front so he can look at her. "what do ya say to a photo with Santa? Need to send one to Nana for her fridge."

Ophelia shrugs but the droop of her smile and shoulders tells Harry all he needs to know. He wipes under her red nose with his sleeve. "If ya take a photo we'll come back to hear more music?"

"I only want to come back if she's singing daddy."

"The girl that just sang?"

Ophelia nods, wrapping a lock of his hair around her finger. "I want to see her again. She feels magic."

"Magic?" Harry murmurs, confused as to what Ophelia means by that.

She just nods, laying her head on Harry's shoulder. He decides to just let it be, pushing his way through the crowd and towards Character Circle. His head feels a bit swirly as he walks and his stomach so full it almost hurts, and Harry wonders if that girl really was magic.

~

Running the pads of her pointer fingers under her eyes, y/n shakes her head in disappoinment. Every year the radio station puts on this carnival and every year she swears she'll buy waterproof mascara to keep her makeup from running down her cheeks after the snows got caught in her eyelashes. Yet every year she ends up in the restroom after every little performance, wiping mascara clumps off her frost bitten cheeks.

Y/n throws her bag over her shoulder, the bells attached to her Mrs. Clause outfit jingling. No matter how many different ways she tries to fold that darn costume, the bells always break free. Jingling with each step, she exits the restroom, ready to find her car and get home. Not that she doesn't love Christmas, it's her favorite time of year, and working the carnival was one of the best things about her job, but after hours of standing on a stage in a dress and tights (that don't do much to keep out the cold) and singing Christmas carols, she's ready to get home.

"'Scuse me?"

Y/n jumps when something taps on her arm, the scared voice immediately rising panic in her chest. And standing by her leg, shivering in the cold with tear tracks on her red cheeks stands a little girl. Y/n notices her big green eyes full of unshed tears and the way her bottom lip trembles and she realizes that something is wrong and the girl is absolutely terrified. Something hot, like a fire in her belly, stirs up and y/n ushers the girl to the side of the snow covered path, standing between her and the crowd of people.

She crouches down, not caring that the knees of her jeans are getting wet. "What's the matter sweets?"

The girls little lip trembles even more, a few tears trickling down her cheeks. Without thinking y/n reaches out to wipe her face, soaking up the tears in her gloves. "I lost my d-daddy."

Y/n coos, pushing the messy baby hairs off her face and smiling encouragingly. "Don't worry sweets, we'll find your daddy. Can you tell me the last place you saw him so we can go look for him?"

The girl blinks her doe eyes, a tear running down her cheek. She sniffles, lifting her hands up to hand y/n something. Y/n takes it from her, realizing it's a homemade identification card. She reads it over, smiling at all the little hearts on the card obviously drawn on by whoever made the card for her.

Hello! My name is Ophelia Styles and if you have this card it's because I misplaced my daddy (or he misplaced me). I tend to be very scared without my daddy because I love him so much and I know he'll be scared without me too. Please call the number below and tell my daddy that I'm found and safe and not crying too much (even if I am) so that he doesn't worry. Thanks for your help!

Listed below is a phone number, one that y/n punches into her phone as fast as she can with her cold fingers. She hits call, holding the phone up to her ear as it rings. Not even two rings later does a man answer, a rushed "'ello!" coming through the speaker.

"Hi, is this Ophelia's father?"

Something like a gasp and sob leave the man's mouth, and y/n notices Ophelia inching closer to her. Her Bambi eyes are searching y/n's face for any sign of comfort so she smiles.

"You've got her? Is she ok? She hurt?" The man asks hurriedly, obviously still panicking from the disappearance of his daughter.

"She's just fine," y/n soothes. "She's found, safe, and not crying too much."

A relieved sigh comes from the other side and y/n takes that as her chance to let him know where they are. "We're over by the shops and cafe's, right next to the restrooms and concert pavilion."

"That's on the other bloody side of the park!" He squawks. "Lost her over by the Christmas characters!"

Y/n gawks, looking at Ophelia curiously. Somehow she managed to cross the whole park without getting hurt, finding solace in what's probably the busiest area of the carnival. "Oh, would you like me to take her over there or wait here?"

It's a silly question to ask because she can already hear him pushing through the crowd, definitely trying to get to Ophelia as quickly as possible.

"Could you just stay there for me? M'already on my way."

Y/n nods, forgetting that he can't see her. "Absolutely," she agrees, looking over Ophelia as she trembles and tucks her red nose into her scarf. The poor thing is freezing. "Actually would it be okay if I took her into the Cocoa Cafe? She just looks like she's freezing and it might take you a bit to get over here."

He hums, seeming to contemplate the idea. Y/n hopes he agrees because Ophelia really looks like she could use a warm drink. "May I speak with her real quick?"

Y/n hands the phone over to Ophelia, finding it funny that he even asked. Of course he can speak to his daughter, she's his baby after all. Ophelia clutches the phone in her mitten covered hand, bringing it up to her ear and murmuring a little "hi Daddy."

Y/n waits patiently for a few minutes, trying not to look like she's prying as Ophelia seems to be answering random questions about food. It's not until her green eyes meet y/n's and she says firmly, "I really like carrots daddy," that she realizes her father must have set up a series of coded questions that'll let him know if she's ok and comfortable. Y/n wonders if he's lost her a few too many times or if he's just a protective dad.

"Ok. Bye daddy."

The phone gets handed back to y/n. "We okay, sir?"

"The Cocoa Cafe you say?"

Y/n hums an affirmation.

"That sounds good. Thank you for all your help."

Warmth swirls in her gut, a lot more peaceful and welcome then the burning heat from before, and she can't help but grin at how genuinely grateful the man sounds.

They exchange good byes, y/n promising to call him if Ophelia needs anything before hanging up. She tucks her phone in her bag, looking up to be met with a warm gaze and a dimpled smile that makes her heart ache. "What do ya say we go warm up while we wait for your daddy, huh?"

Ophelia nods, reaching for y/n's hand when she climbs to her feet. She doesn't hesitate to hold her little hand in hers, swearing to keep her next to her and safe until her father gets here.

~

Y/n can't help but fawn over Ophelia. The girl is just so cute, especially when y/n asks if she wants extra whipped cream on her cocoa and she just looks up through her eyelashes, nodding gently with her little dimples sinking into her cheeks.

They receive their mugs of cocoa, y/n having ordered one for Ophelia's dad that has extra marshmallows because "daddy loves marshies," and she finds a booth that's fairly close to the entrance, offering to let Ophelia sit facing the door so she'll be able to see when her dad gets here. She nods at that, tip toeing in her boots to place her mug on the table next to the other two.

"Can you help me with my coat please?" She asks, holding her arms out wide to expose the zip of her jacket.

"Sure thing sweets." Y/n unzips her coat, hanging it by the hood on the edge of the booth so it can dry and won't be wrinkled. Ophelia tugs off her earmuffs, shaking out her frizzy head of curls like a lion waking up from a nap. She hands them to y/n without a word, only giving her enough time to place them on the table before she's asking for help pulling off her mittens.

The fabric is soggy and cold, making her wince as she peels them off to reveal Ophelia's angry red fingers. Y/n lies them on the table to dry, taking both of Ophelia's hands in hers and gently rubbing them back and forth. She even goes as far as blowing hot air on her little digits, smiling when she notices the smiley faces drawn on her yellow polished nails.

"My daddy does that before bed," Ophelia says, removing her hands to do the same to y/n's. "He warms my hands because they're always cold and then he presses kisses," she pecks her chapped lips against the back of y/n's hand. "like that."

Y/n, glowing from how endearing she finds Ophelia, squeezes her little hand just once and nods towards the booth. "Why don't we drink our cocoa and you can tell me more about your daddy, if you'd like?"

Ophelia nods excitedly, clambering into the booth across from y/n. She sips her hot cocoa, whipped cream sticking to her upper lip. Before y/n can suggest she wipe it off, Ophelia's launching into a story of her father stepping on a donkey every morning and that he almost uses a no-no word but she manages to stop him. And for some reason unknown to y/n, he always has Ophelia apologize for the donkey leading her to believe this is some kind of toy.

"Ophelia!"

In the blink of an eye Ophelia is standing on the booth seat, beaming the happiest smile y/n's ever seen in her life and waving towards a man that's rushing (and stumbling) to their booth.

"Daddy!" Ophelia squeals, launching herself into the air. The man leaps forward, yelping as he manages to catch her against his chest. Y/n, feeling like she's intruding on a personal moment, turns her attention to her hot chocolate, stirring the cinnamon stick around until it's blending brown into the whipped cream. She tries not to listen to the two talk, but it's hard when she can hear how utterly relieved they are to be reunited and it warms her chest more than the drink ever could. Especially when her father's voice, deep and raspy croaks out, "missed ya so much. Ya scared the life out of me Babycakes," and she can hear him sniffle when Ophelia whimpers a quiet little, "missed you daddy. Sorry for scaring you."

The people in the cafe are watching the scene with an air of confusion, one lady seeming to pick up on the fact that the man had lost his child because she's shaking her head at them. Y/n catches her eye, glaring at her until she returns to her drink.

"We got you cocoa daddy," Ophelia squirms in his arms until he sets her on the booth. "with extra marshies!"

He chuckles, a nice raspy laugh that makes y/n's stomach stir. It flips upside down when he finally looks at her, bright green eyes and dimples that he clearly passed onto his daughter. And if y/n thought the features were cute on Ophelia, she can't even describe how good they look on him (even if his eyes are a little red and puffy as if he'd been crying).

"You must be our hero!" He greets, looking between her starstruck gaze with such intensity she wants to giggle but also cry a little.

"I wouldn't say hero," y/n shrugs, trying to keep her smile from growing too big.

"No?" The man hums, sitting in the booth next to his daughter. She attaches herself to his bicep, rubbing her cheek against the fabric of his coat and y/n can't stop the little coo that leaves her lips. "Just a super star singer with pretty sweet dance moves?"

Her cheeks flush, eyes widening a bit because she'd seen them! They watched her perform, they were the ones that had cheered stupidly at the end. Despite her shyness, she shrugs and says teasingly, "I'd say a super star dancer with a pretty sweet voice."

"Think ya mixed them up," he laughs. "spent too much time out in the cold in stockings and a dress."

Y/n laughs, maybe a bit too much considering it was a mediocre joke but he's awful charming, she just can't help it. "It was a bit cold. Still trying to get feeling to my toes."

"I warmed her hands daddy." Ophelia pipes up, smiling proudly at y/n.

"You did?" He gasps excitedly.

She nods. "Just like you do! And she did it to me too because you got me gloves that stay wet daddy."

He frowns a bit guilty, pecking the top of her head in apology. "S'good thing we were lucky enough to stumble upon-" he looks at her expectingly.

"y/n,"

"y/n." She likes the way he says her name. "She saved the day, huh?"

"I came to find her daddy."

They both freeze at her words, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What's tha' love?"

"I got scared. You were going to the Grinch and my fingers were cold so I ran back here to find her. She can make the Grinch nice."

Y/n flushes at Ophelia's words. She left her father because she wanted y/n to make the Grinch a better person in her eyes. She ran away from man that's probably protected her her whole life to come back to y/n? Someone she didn't know?

Y/n sips her hot cocoa, trying not to appear too concerned as he firmly scolds Ophelia for doing such a dangerous thing. He makes a point of reminding her that it terrifies him to think he's lost her because he loves her more than anything (y/n almost tears up at that) and to just tell him next time she's scared. Ophelia, pouting, nods shamefully in a way that has y/n feeling a little guilty. She wonders how he ever manages to scold her.

"M'sorry for all the trouble." He apologizes to y/n, rubbing Ophelia's arm as if trying to tell her he's not mad just upset. "Can't thank ya enough for taking care of her and being so sweet, 'specially on the phone. Don't think it's very fun speaking with a hysterical father."

Y/n shrugs, blushing under his thanks. "It was no problem. She's really sweet and adorable. I enjoyed chatting with her."

He seems a bit surprised at her words but doesn't common on it. Instead he chuckles, shaking his head embarrassedly. "I just realized I never introduced myself. M'Harry, Ophelia's dad."

Harry. Such a simple and common name but something about it being tacked onto him feels special, unique. Y/n smiles, endeared by the feeling radiating off of him. Harry.

"Nice to meet you."

Harry returns the sentiment, thanking her for the warm drink and asking if it's alright for them to stay and warm up a bit. Y/n agrees, not able to hide her excitement. She can't help but love Ophelia and Harry, both of them creating this comforting giddiness in her chest. She can't stop blushing every time tells her something remotely sweet and complimentary, dimples sinking into his cheeks as if trying to pull her into them. Harry's handsome, so handsome it's almost unbearable, and he's charming. Enough to have her giggling like a school girl. So when he thanks her for everything again, offering to make up for it with a date on Saturday, she happily agrees, and well, who can really blame her.

#Christmas Magic #cm1 #harry styles #harry styles imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #Christmas #winter #warm #romance #dad harry #dad harry styles #single dad Harry #imagine #harry imagine

[yeojaa]

SUGAR HIGH, chapter iv. (w. JJK)

You're not entirely sure when it happened, though you'd come to terms with it. You'd counted the days, waiting for the inevitable. You'd truly thought you'd be okay, but by the broken, half-beating thing in your chest - you knew you'd never really been prepared.

alt summary.  You thought you’d known real love and maybe you had - it just wasn’t with who you thought.

pairing.  jeon jungkook.  mentions/involvement of ot7.

tags.  angst, break up, post-break up, comfort, OT7, slow burn, friendship, moving on, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, emotional bagge, fluff, canon compliant, jeon jungkook is bad at feelings, jeon jungkook is a good friend, jeon jungkook is a sweetheart.

rating.  general (for now?)

word count.  ~2100

chapter 4.  How’m I Doing

They say all that ever matters is timing.  You think they must be right - because no matter how good you've always been together, the timing is just never right.

He's awake before you and for once, he doesn't mind how his internal clock has him stirring before the sun has risen. It gives him time to linger here, where he belongs.

It feels oddly domestic, his arm hooked around the pillow and the other barely breaching the divide between you.  Tips of fingers ghost over where you'd be if you only shifted an inch, trailing through the heat radiating off your frame.  He exhales a sound like frustration but there's only warmth in his mouth, peeking past his teeth like rays of sunlight.  

Like this, Jungkook allows himself to daydream.  To imagine endless summer skies and you weight of your hand in his, laughter curling out of your mouth like smoke and filling the space until he's drunk on the sound.  He drifts between your cotton candy smile, so saccharine sweet it gives him toothaches, and the feel of your hip nudging his through choreography he'd love nothing more than to practice with you.  (You'd hate it - two left feet, you'd argue - but he'd insist.  You'd always say yes.)

He closes his eyes and it's you at his side, keeping him anchored to this reality he's so often surprised by.  It's you laughing with Hoseok, bursting into an impromptu slide and disappearing behind fingers when he's focused his lens on you.  It's the two of you in the kitchen, adjusting to each other with practiced ease and cowering when Seokjin reminds you both of the burning banana pancakes.  It's you swiping the rain from his eyes, pulling him beneath a shared umbrella while the sky opens above you, so heavy it sinks into your bones.

He imagines being swept away during the holidays, Christmas shopping in between trying on silly costumes, elf-hats pulled low over your ears.  He kisses you at midnight on New Years and he nearly forget about the fireworks going off above your heads - there are enough of those between you.  He finds your face in a sea of thousands, serenades you like there's nothing else in the world.  

He daydreams about all the things he's never had.  

(Whoever said daydreams hurt had never dealt with a reality like this.)

 You're studying his face like a woman possessed, as if maybe, just maybe, you could burn this image into your mind for the rest of your days.  That it could be your saving grace when he's halfway across the world and you're reminded that you're alone again.  

You memorize the slope of his nose and the gentle curve of his lips, the way the little freckle smack dab in the centre draws your attention without even trying.  You examine the way his lashes flutter with each breath, the way his forehead tenses here and there, brows drawn together by something you wish you could smooth away.

You want to give him the world. 

Instead, you're gingerly reaching out, puppeteered by your quick-beating heart.  

It feels like electricity shooting through your veins, igniting your bloodstream as the tips of fingers graze his temple.  You touch him like he's precious, crystal, about to shatter into a million pieces.  Within your brassy broken cage of bones, your heart skips a beat.  You withdraw--

"Don't stop."  He's caught your wrist in the same moment you've pulled away.  He's pleading, hopeful and sweet.

When you card through his powder puff of hair, a smile spreads like butter, too big for his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.  A hum of contentment parts his lips and he's leaning into your touch, seeking warmth like a sunbathing cat.  You gladly oblige him, alternating between stroking the swell of his cheek, doodling nonsense into the margins of his skin, and sweeping his mop of brunette behind his ears.  

You stay like this for minutes that stretch on in silence - only broken by a vibration of his phone.

"You have to go," you speak the words faintly, muffling the sound against your pillow.  You know how you sound - disappointed and just a little petulant.  You don't mean to.  

He hums, as he always does, and catches your fingers in his own.  His large palm engulfs yours but your fingers, long and thin from years of piano practice, easily combat his.  You giggle once, soft and low, as he twines them together, gently knocking yours - his? - knuckles against your chin.

"I do."  It's like a nail in a coffin, the finality of it.  "Why don't you come by later?  Everyone will want to see you."

The thought makes you smile despite yourself.  You'd missed them, too.  "Okay."

Your acquiescence seems good enough for him and he's bright-eyed and bunny smiled, mouth splitting wide.  He's still got your hand in his, refusing to let go as he rises up, holding himself comfortably upon one elbow.  There's emotion in the way he looks at you, takes in the way your bangs drift hazy over your vision and your teeth worry your bottom lip with self-conscious abandon. 

"You'll be okay, you know."  His reassurance is stronger than the sun's rays, more concrete than the ground beneath your feet.  It's equal parts a statement and a promise.  He'll make sure you're okay - he always has.

Because he's the person who dives without thought, swimming among the shipwrecks in your eyes.  He's the one who has always brought the light to those cracked hulls and broken boughs.  He's ignored the swirling void and gnashing teeth, refusing to leave behind the buried treasure he knows sits beneath the trench.  He'll pull you to the surface, even if it means drowning in your ocean. 

"I know - I have you."  

 Once he's called for a car and you've both brushed your teeth, you wait outside the front door together.  You're sipping at coffee - or trying to - and he's leaning on the railing, light bathing his handsome face in a way that makes your heart stop.

He was your best friend but you'd be lying if you said he wasn't breathtaking.

"We've got meetings until about 3 PM.  I'm not sure what's going on after that but you can probably just come by then."  Jungkook is studying his phone, scrolling through unread messages and deftly ticking back responses.  He's got his bag hiked over his shoulder, lighter now that he's unloaded your souvenirs, and seems perfectly at ease.  Without glancing up, he's holding out a hand for your mug of coffee.  You pass it to him without a word, watching the way the steam curves  around powdery skin and drifts into the early morning.

He takes a sip, nose wrinkling in that distinctly Jungkook way, and hands it back to you.  "Too hot."

"I could've told you that,"  you murmur around a mouth of beguiling laughter, happily returning both cold palms to the ceramic.  Heat warms you to your core as you drag your lips through scalding liquid once more, staring at him unabashedly.

"What?"  He notices - of course he does - and levels you with what's meant to be a demanding stare.  Perhaps it would be, if not for the way his expression splits in half, suspicious facade giving way to a smile that could only be described as beautiful.  "Soomi-ah, you know it's rude to stare."  And there's that bunny quality, two front teeth standing center stage.

"I'm just glad you're home." 

He scoffs to hide the sudden rouge that colours his cheeks, tinges the tops of his ears.  He's immediately pulling you against his side, careful not to dislodge the cup from your hands.  It's silly, the bashfulness that rises in his chest and settles like an unfamiliar weight on his shoulders. 

Jeon Jungkook was many things but shy wasn't one of them - not really. 

He'd grown into his long limbs and wicked smile, frighteningly aware of the effect he had on most people.  He'd learnt to command it, switch it on and off so quickly it'd cause whiplash.  Gone was the timid fifteen year-old, replaced by a larger than life idol with a pouty mouth and a body that could make you cry.

But that was only out there - to them, the people who loved him and his hyungs unconditionally. 

Here, with you, he was just Kookie. Even if you rarely used the nickname now. 

(You said it didn't belong to just you two anymore, and he supposed that was true.  He wasn't just yours anymore.)

"I'm always just a phone call away," he murmurs into the top of your head.  He's said it once and he'll say it again, even if you don't believe him.  He knows it's just your stubborn nature that keeps you rooted in place, refusing to take up any more space in his life.  He also knows you'd call if you really needed him.  You always did.

You nod, the only indication you've heard him.  You know, you know. 

"Your car's here."  

It's like the ending to a bittersweet fairytale - the strike of a clock at midnight. 

He squeezes you a little tighter and you allow yourself to loop an arm around his impossibly small waist, gently squeezing his hip.  Then he's gone, taking the steps two at a time as he bounds down to meet the sleek black sedan.  You're not sure who's in the driver's seat - whether it's one of the boys or a manager or someone else entirely - but you catch the way a hand pops out of the window.  A quick wave.  Someone you know, then. 

Right before Jungkook steps into the passenger seat, he's waving as well, wrist flailing like he's boneless.  "I'll see you later!"  He calls, disappearing inside and behind the shadow of a tinted glass.  You wonder if he even hears you when you call out.

"Bye, Bunny."

 "She's back home."  There's surprise lacing the rich baritone, turning the statement into a question as soon as Jungkook has slid across supple leather.

The younger man hums, slotting his backpack between his knees.  "Yeah, recently."  He doesn't offer anything more as he cards a hand through his hair and shifts to recline fully into the seat.  He's ready to head back to the complex and take a long hot shower and prepare for the day.  Hopefully there'll be something to eat, considering how early it is.  He's sure Seokjin will have whipped something up.

"We weren't sure where you ran off to so quickly but Yoongi-hyung had an idea."  

"Why would Yoongi-hyung think I was there?"  Jungkook doesn't have time to catch himself before the his words are rolling off his tongue, seemingly held by a string that furrows his brow.  He ignores the way Taehyung's own raise, disappearing into his carefully styled fringe.  

"They talk, you know."  Whatever sixth sense the elder has seems to drive him to continue his first though, molasses heavy on his tongue in an effort to smooth whatever feathers he's ruffled.  "We all do.  She's our friend, too."  A moment of silence as he rolls to a stop, nodding politely at the halmoni that is helped across the street by what he assumes is her grandson.  "Yoongi-hyung said she'd been sad lately, so he figured you'd want to see her as soon as we got back."

Jungkook isn't sure what the emotion clawing up his throat is or why it feels like bile and envy, licking acid over his vocal chords.  He doesn't even realize he's holding tension in a vice grip until he's loosening his hand, little crescent moons dug into the soft flesh of his palm.

He shouldn't be jealous.  He doesn't really even think he is jealous.

Hurt, maybe.  That makes more sense.

"Oh."  He wonders if it comes off poorly.  By the way Taehyung shifts in his periphery, he's sure it does.  

So he clears his throat and offers a contrite smile.  These are his hyungs, his best friends, his brothers.  He knows better.  He thinks you'd reprimand him if you caught him like this.  You'd tell him they were your friends, too, and that you could never have enough people who loved you.  You'd make a point about ARMY, about the people who've raised thousands of dollars in his name and wrote you letters thoughtful enough to make you breakdown.  He'd have to agree.

An abundance of love was the best problem to have.

"She's coming by later,"  Jungkook relents, lolling his head to the side as he speaks.

Taehyung beams, boyishly handsome and relieved by the melting tension.  Long fingers tap the stirring wheel as gears turn in his head.  He hasn't seen you in forever - ages longer than his maknae - and he can't help but imagine the ease with which you'll slot back into their lives.  Even if only for a little while.

"Great.  Let's keep it a surprise."

notes.   i realized i haven't been proofreading anything so i apologize for any mistakes littered through past chapters. i'm going to start planning out future ones so hopefully there will be more rhyme and reason moving forward. @-@ 

this chapter was heavily inspired by eric nam's "how'm i doing". https://youtu.be/D46_enlxfP8

#bts fluff #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #work.zip #bestfriends.zip #sugarhigh.doc #jungkook.doc

[queerchoicesblog]

The Carpathia (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele Series, Ch. 13)

So, folks, here’s the new chapter of the series. Thank you so much for your support, hope you enjoy it!

Little disclaimer-favor: especially since the tags don’t seem to be working anymore, if you do enjoy it, please consider supporting the author & sharing this. A little gesture that means a lot!

Word Count: 3000+

Zetta x Adele Tag: @storyscaped​ ​ @storyscapefanficarchive​ @marmolady​ @animus-and-anima​ @hayley-carter19 @escako​  @everlastingchoices​ @andrxrneda @aestheticsayeed @indescribablechoices​ @ahrielstuff​ @bornonawdnsday​ @nazario-sayeed​  @h-doodles​ @adele-serda​ @marlcasters​ @brightpinkpeppercorn​ @nightwhite13 @ramenwithaspoon @michelleconnoly​ @charliejane-blog​ @ghost-of-yuri​  @choicesgremlin​ @shadeofangelus @lanzhansguqin​ @orange-elephants​

Zetta x Adele Series Tag: @eternal-langdon​ @nydeiri​

➡️ Ch. 1, Ch. 2/1, Ch. 2/2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8/1, Ch. 8/2, Ch. 9, Ch. 10/1, Ch. 10/2, Ch. 11/1, Ch. 11/2, Ch. 12

____________________________________

The lights of dawn warm our cold cheeks as hope kindles again in our hearts after the horrors of the night. A wave of relief wash over us all as we see another steamer, our savior, slowly reduce its speed until it comes to an halt not far from us. Waiting for us. Those who still have an ounce of energy in them cry tears of joy: never such sight has been more blessed. We are safe. We did it. Thank God we did it. "Is...is that real?" Adele's voice is barely a whisper. She hugs herself as she tries to sit straight, her eyes searching the horizon. I am about to say something but her sister anticipates me. Turning her head back towards us after spotting the ship, she gives a little cheer. "It's a ship! It's a ship!" she confirms with another cheer. Then she smiles broadly at Adele and meets my eyes again. "You were right, ma'am! You were right!"

The relived happiness exuding from here is heartwarming. You could see that could she, she would jump up and down and hug everyone at reach. The gleam in her eyes is almost blinding: she put all the fears of the night behind her and is now focusing back on the moment. On living. On this new dawn. "Why, I'm always right" I say jokingly, winking. I'm surprised I can still do that after tonight. But after all, a few hours ago I was winking and sharing a little joke with my love at the bottom of the Grand Staircase. Despite everything, despite the impending tragedy. "And it's Zetta for you, honey" I add as the officer stands and give our oarsmen the order to row us towards the steamship. It takes time to coordinate all the lifeboats in this sea of ice. We can see it now in the morning light: we're surrounded by a web of icebergs just like the one I saw with horror from the deck. They're everywhere, cruel testament of the mournful events of the night. Why no one spotted it? Why were we racing at high speed? I decide to leave my questions unanswered and hug my love as we move again. They don't matter now. All that matters is that we're alive. It takes hours and hours to line all the vessels alongside the steamship called 'Carpathia' and bring us all abroad. Which is easier said than done. Those who can climb up rope ladders, others are hoisted up in slings and the children in mail sacks. Our vessel is among the last ones to be boarded so when I finally set foot on the main deck of the ship, it is already crowded with passengers from the Titanic. As I take a few steps forward, the scenes of joy I witness move me to the point that I distinctly feel a lump forming in my throat and my eyes welling. I probably needed this: thee has been a moment I started losing hope to see this beautiful dawn. And this sight is...another dawn, in its own way. Families and friends reunited and hugging each other, cupping their faces and crying all the tears they've suppressed so far. It's a balsam to my aching heart. I hear someone saying something near me but I cannot tell if they're talking to me. I turn and a stewardess is standing at my side, handing me a wool blanket with a gentle smile. I smile back at her and wrap the blanket around my shoulders. I am freezing despite James's jacket so I am eternally grateful to her when a little warmth embraces me. I savour the feeling for a moment then I search my companions. They are all standing a few steps away. Hileni pulled Adele into a tight hug as Sabine is gathering blankets for them. Matteo and Jamie awkwardly stand side by side. Jamie is saying something I cannot hear that makes Teo shake his head but my nephew insists. He looks like he's begging him. It seems to be important...I can only hope he's not being unreasonable again. I walk towards my dear ones and approach my little Napoleon. Dark circles frame her bright eyes and mine too, probably. The night was rough, to put it mildly. We share a tired smile then I hug her. She tenses up at first, not expecting it, but soon relaxes in my arms. We're soon approached by another steward who invites us to follow him. They're gathering the rescued passengers in the dining rooms and serving coffee. We share a look and oblige him. We leave the deck and follow him and other passengers down a series of corridors and stairs. We must look like ghosts to the Carpathia's passengers stepping back at our sight. They wanted to witness this historical moment but they didn't know we would look that bad, I read it on their bewildered faces. When we finally reach one of the dining room a waitress welcomes us with a sympathetic smile and guides us inside. The room is almost full, only a bunch of table are still available. We all follow her, except James and Teo. We are already heading towards the table the waitress pointed when they leave. Last thing I hear from them is Jamie asking directions for the infirmary then they're gone. I'm too exhausted to inquiry further: if they're hurt or sick, the ship doctors will take care of them. We will check on them later. The waitress invites us to take a seat into a table nearby, before turning to attend other passengers. The table is a bit small for all of us but we hardly notice. We seat in silence until steamy cups of coffee are served. I take a huge gulp that almost burn my tongue but it's...resuscitating. The hot coffee injects new life in my veins. Surprisingly, Hileni is the one breaking the silence. "I've...I've heard that it was your birthday yesterday, ma' - I mean, Zetta" she says after clearing her throat. It's still quite weird to her to call me by my name only or so it seems to me by the way she stutters over it. "Belated congratulations" Hileni adds with a sheepish smile, her eyes wandering from me to Adele as if checking if she said the right thing. I wonder what exactly she knows about us, how much my love told her. Not knowing if I'm just an employer or something more than that in her mind, I thank her and flash her a grateful smile: I almost forgot yesterday was my day. I raise my cup and repeats in my best acting voice the words I said at my party: "Thank you, old friends and new, for being here with me to celebrate my twentieth birthday" They ring a bit hollow now, away from the Café Parisien. Adele and Sabine smile weakly, probably reminiscing when they first heard them, while Hileni looks at me with amused curiosity, raising her own cup. This time I change my next line, though. "...And that's all that matters now. All of us being here, together, drinking coffee at this table on another ship" I embrace all of them with one look. "It's the best birthday gift I could ask for after last night. I wouldn't trade it with anything" I add softly and God knows I mean every word. It's the first time that I see Sabine almost on the verge of tears at my kind words. I place my hand on her shoulder and squeeze it gently as she tries to shake the lump in her throat off taking a gulp of coffee. I continue sharing details of what a beautiful work my little Napoleon and Adele did with the decorations with Hileni. I know it may sound silly -some would even say disrespectful maybe- now talking about those things but my mind is frozen and it's the only happy thing that comes into my mind at the moment. For some reason I feel like I should talk, say something even little things like that to prevent us from drowning in our sorrow. I know that moment will come and I dread it: when it will all sink in, we will be shattered and we will need each other. For now I must try to fill the silence, the void...to patch our wounds even if temporarily. Adele is awfully quiet but her sister listens with interest and...gratitude, I cannot tell. Sabine tries to recover, sipping her coffee and adjusting her blanket. I'm telling Hileni that I will teach her how to waltz too when we will be in America and recovered from this tragic night, that Sabine and I will show them both around when someone startles me. All of us, to be honest. A hand grabs my shoulder and I turn to see a young woman standing at my side. Her hair and overall look dishevelled, she either refused or let go of her blanket as she's just wearing an unbuttoned wool coat. It takes me a moment to recognise the young lady Sabine and I bumped into as we ran to the promenade and saw the iceberg. I suddenly remember as a flash her walking past us at the arm of a young man. Now the look on her face is no longer numb...what's in her eyes is pure dread and frantic despair. "Pardon me, ladies, but I was wondering if you could help me? I'm looking for someone, maybe you've seen him. Here's a picture of him!" Both her voice and her hands shakes as she show us a miniature picture on the inside of her necklace. The young gentleman who was with her on the deck. In the picture he's wearing a uniform and a dignified smile is curling his lips. I grimace as we take a look and she continues, almost feverishly. "Name's Henry, Henry Atherton. He served in the Navy and...and he has quite an accent when he speaks, he's from Liverpool..have you seen him? We separated on the deck, he said he would get the next lifeboat I- I didn't want to go without him but he insisted saying we will be meet again when rescued but I can't find him anywhere, have you seen him?" My heart sinks as we all grimly shake our head saying that sadly no, we didn't see his Henry. Her face falls too but she won't surrender so soon. How long has she been searching for him? I wince at the thought of it. Sabine suggests her to go to the main deck: many survivors are still there or to ask directions for the other dining rooms. The young woman nods frantically and announces that she will go back to the deck. "Godspeed, we will come find you if we see him, Miss...?" I add as she's already resumed her search. She turns back and share her name before fighting her way through the crowd. Silence falls at our table as we share un uneasy look. I noticed a ring at her finger, I wonder if they're married, maybe even newlyweds. Maybe they decided to honeymoon on the Ship of Dreams...I pray she will find her Henry and her heart won't be broken in such a tragic way. In the days that follow, three days that resemble a haze, we soon realize that so many hearts broke or are bound to be shattered: so few of us made it to the Carpathia. Which means too many poor souls went to their watery grave. Fathers, husbands, wives, friends, crew, maids...even children. I hear that lifeboat 12 was filled with the corpses of those who froze to death on the vessels waiting for our rescue and abandoned there. I'm grateful I had already left the deck by that time and was spared such a sight. On a bright note, it seems the officer who came back to look for survivors manage to save three people in the end. The joyful hugs of sweet reunions of the first day become rare as hopes die when so many loved ones fail to reappear in the crowd. One of them is Henry: if he was here now, the poor girl would have no reason to sob uncontrollably in the arms of a maid. As we sail towards New York our hearts fill with a weird mix of relief of being alive and sorrow for all the lives lost at sea. Sabine takes charge of our group. I remember she mentioning being used to grief as she buried her family when she was young, and she tries her best to comfort me and the others. She tries to keep us busy, no matter how silly the tasks she suggests sound: "if the hands are busy working, mind aches less and heals faster", she explains, probably translating a motto a wise relative used to say to her. So she braids Hileni's hair and converses with her in French, or suggests card matches or literally anything that would prevent us from be quiet. Teo and Hileni sometimes oblige and joins her while James is ever absent. Always somewhere else, always lost in his own thought as if losing himself in a stupor. I wish I could talk to him but I have no words for him. Not now, at least: the wound is still too fresh. I return him his jacket and quickly hug him but that's all I can do for him. The one who concerns me most is Adele, surprisingly. The girl who left me speechless with her silver tongue during our short trip is now as quiet as a tomb. She tries to shake away her sadness when Hileni is around but the light in her eyes is fading. It's a terrible thing to see and it makes my heart aches even more. I find the idea of separating from her unbearable and I can only hope my closeness helps her somehow...even if I start doubting it. I escort her around the ship for walks because I can't bear the thought of her succumbing to her grief. I hold her close, uncaring of what others may think, but she's a ghost, a shadow of her usual self. I try not to think of what awaits me in America and make sure she eats, sleep, survive. I caress her hair hoping my presence is of some comfort to her. Maybe America will do her good too as it did for me. After the first year with Franz, that is. Maybe a change of scenery, a new job away, a new place to belong will help her moving on. Away from her past in England, from danger and this watery graveyard. I hope so...I can only hope so... One night I wake up before dawn and see her spot empty. A wave of dread runs down my spine as the worst thoughts crowd my mind. The others are sleeping, they didn't notice. Without thinking twice, I wrap a blanket around my shoulders and start looking for her, stopping every member of the crew on my way. Have they seen her? It's one of them telling me that he thinks he saw a girl meeting my description heading towards the main deck. I ran there full speed as I picture the worst: Adele diving overboard, Adele disappearing or freezing in the chilly night...but Adele is doing nothing of that. She's just...crying. She's crying, hugging her knees on a bench facing the ocean. Tears stream down her cheeks and she looks into the distance, into the darkness. I notice an officer nearby, probably wondering whether he should intervene, but when our eyes meet I gesture him I know the girl and he could resume his patrol. I walk towards her trying my best not to upset her. She doesn't seem to acknowledge my presence, lost in her own thoughts and sorrow. When I'm close enough, I reach out and caress her hair. My touch is gentle but sadly I startle her anyway. She looks up and meet my gaze: her eyes are puffed and red, I wonder how long she's been here alone on the desert deck. I smile down at her and nod to make room for me. She hesitates for a moment then scoot over and let me sit beside her. I wrap the blanket around her too and pull her close. We don't have to talk now, I can stay here, quiet and let her cry but she doesn't have to be alone. I kiss her forehead and caress her cheek: I'm right here, my love. Adele rests her head on my shoulder, grateful that I'm not forcing her to find words for the grief she's mourning. She holds on to me, wrapping her arms around my waist as if I am an anchor, her anchor in the storm shaking her soul. I stroke her back as her tears soak our blanket but I don't care. What I care and hope is she will feel a bit better after this: her wounds will take time to heal completely but grief needs tears at some point. When her breath slows down and normalises again, I sigh in relief: the storm is subsiding. That's when she speak, her voice hoarse from crying. Her words flow like waves and I'm glad she's opening up and not letting her sorrow eating her out. She's scared and broken. The horrors of that night are still vivid just like the memories of those left behind. The future is uncertain: she has lost everything, even the little she had, her savings...what are they gonna do in America? She blames herself: it's all her fault, she should have never dragged Hileni into this, how can her sister forgive her? However, I feel the real question here is how my love will forgive herself... I would like to say something but she continues. She has lost everything, including the only friends she made on board. "You and Sabine excluded, obviously" she adds, making me smile a little. I ask her who she's referring to. With a heavy sight, she explains she has not seen her cabinmate ever since. They parted ways on the ship, the water was rising fast in the Turkish Baths when she gave her friend directions to the decks. Adele is worried she didn't make it. "She broke her leg in the collision" she explains grimly before adding. "She provided the posters and pictures for your party. She...she had this dress made for me" Oh right, I think I remember. The cabinmate who is a huge fan of mine and works for Maison Lucille? I ask if it's Corinna she's talking about. "Her real name is Lena" she says but I glad to see her lips curl into a weak smile at my question. Then her eyes fall on her blue jacket and she goes quiet again. She categorically refuses to take it off. Ever, not even to replace it with something warmer. A sudden realisation hits me. I ask her if another friend gave it to her even if I already know the answer. So that's how I learn about Charlie Stoke, brave young steward who helped my love without never asking anything back. A fast friendship as it happens on ships, a friendship tragically interrupted. They parted ways in the engine room, she says. As soon as I hear it, I turn her to face her. My stomach turns at the mere picture of it. "The engine room? You went down there when the ship was sinking?" I ask searching her eyes. I am grateful I get to know this now: if I had known back then, I would have been shattered, utterly defeated. My foolish desperate love... "Yes, all the corridors were flooded and it was the only way out, he said. He was...right" she explains then she lowers her eyes and fresh tears run down her cheeks. "He didn't join you on the deck..." I wince, connecting the dots. No, he stayed down there to help the firemen keeping the lights on till the very last minute. That poor boy gave his life to save our, so many other lives who will never hear once of him. I immediately understand why he and Adele became so close friends in such a short time, two selfless and idealist gems casting a light so bright in this delusional world. I suddenly wish I got the chance to know this Charlie, we were strangers yet so close at my party... I caress my love's face as she regrets not saving him. She tried to stop him but he didn't listen to her. But then, maybe he would have been furious to her for not respecting his decision, his sacrifice. He allowed her to stay a bit longer but then encouraged her to go to the boats and survive this ordeal. "And I respect his decision, he saved my life and Matteo and Hileni but I feel...so lonely now. Without him and I know it's selfish of me when he-" Her voice breaks as her grief strikes hard. I pull her into an embrace and cradle her into my arms. I'm so sorry, my dear love, I'm so terribly sorry... When we part, I brush her hair away from her face, gently, and lean closer and kiss her tears away. No one is in sight or near enough to notice us. Then, I meet Adele's troubled gaze. It softens as I cup her face, stroking her wet cheeks with my thumb. "You are not alone, Adele, no matter how lonely you feel in the aftermath of this tragedy. You have Hileni and it's because of you, thanks to you she's here, quietly sleeping belowdecks. You went down to the belly of that ship and brought her to safety. You saved her. And Teo: you remember how you stood up for him with that officer? You fool" I smile tenderly at her, even if my forehead had certainly covered with cold sweat back then. "And Sabine! I'm pretty sure she has a liking for my former secretary. Tomorrow or when we reach shore we will try and find your cabinmate too, huh? If she's anything like you, I bet she's here somewhere. And...most importantly-" I take a pause: I want her to remember what I'm gonna say next. "You have me, Adele. You will always have me. I don't want to part from you anytime soon. I'll find a way, we'll find a way and- and maybe I can help you starting anew in New York, huh? I would gladly do it, if you let me. No, don't give me that look, my dear suffragette, I know you're an independent woman, I just wanna help" Adele suppresses a giggle at my last comment but I'm sure my words moved her. In full response, she reaches out and places her hand over mine. I follow her gesture and intertwine our fingers after one last stroke to her cheek. I look down at our hands as I choose carefully what to say. "I still want to believe that a renaissance is about to come. Mine, yours" I search her eyes again. "It's always darkest before the dawn, sweetheart, but our renaissance is just out there. I'm sure of it" Adele ponders my words then offers me a weak smile where I sense a little sparkle of hope. She rests her head on my shoulder again, pacified, and asks me if we can stay there a bit longer. Who am I to say no to my troubled Angel? "Tell me about New York. Is it bigger than London?" she whispers, cuddling up to me. I smile to myself at the thought of the city that I call home. The idea of sharing it with Adele makes me unbelievably happy. I tell her of the boulevards and high buildings, so high they look like they're touching the sky. Then the parks, my beloved Central Park, and the theatres, the cafes and restaurants, the movie theatres...the atmosphere. I have never been in a city like that. It's thrilling, vibrant but also quiet and comforting. You just need to know where to find what you look for. I savour the feeling of joyful anticipation of guiding my love through the streets and my favourite spots. To host her at my place and chat freely with her, not needing to refrain our affection. A smile is still lingering on my lips as I conclude my speech and press a quick kiss on the crown of her head. "You'll love it, Adele. I'll show you"

#storyscape titanic #zetta serda #adele carrem #zetta x adele #zetta x adele series

[statistically-unlikely-monster]

Secrets No More

Chapter 3: Trials and Tribulations

Poor Matt is just trying to be a good friend but Tom and Edd are acting weird. (Thank you to thelollipoper for the chapter name)

Edd slipped in the house just before 1:00 AM. All was quiet except for the sound of pittering paws against the floor. A purring ball of fluff rubbed itself against Edd’s leg, green eyes gleaming in the dark.

“Hey Ringo,” Edd whispered, patting the cat’s head, “Can’t play right now. I-” his sentence was cut off by his own yawn, “I need some sleep.”

He crept up the stairs, casting a quick glance at Tom’s door. It was opened just a crack, but he thought better of looking inside. Edd slipped into his own bedroom, hid his costume under the bed, and passed out before he could even cover himself up.

Not long after, Matt woke up, already energized and ready for the day, “Good morning beautiful,” he flirted with himself in the mirror, “Aren’t you the epitome of beaut- AHH!” He was cut off by Tom, who came in without him noticing somehow.

Tom was covered head to toe in twigs and mud. This was the second set of pajamas he destroyed. His old ASDFLand shirt had more holes than Swiss cheese, and his sleep pants were practically shorts. 

“What happened to you?!” Matt shouted.

“…Long night,” Tom muttered, rubbing his eyes, “Woke up in the backyard this time.”

“You and your furry friends need to calm down with the partying. You look awful” Matt commented, grabbing a hairbrush off his desk to comb out the twigs from Tom’s hair.

Tom was too tired to tell Matt to get off, so he just stood still and let it happen, “Gee, thanks.”

Matt chimed, “You know what, I need to make an update on my channel.” He gestured over at his desk. A webcam sat among several different bottles and tools that Tom was pretty sure were for torture despite Matt telling him they were for taking care of the skin, “How about I give you a makeover?”

“Polite pass.” Tom grumbled, pausing to think for a minute before speaking up,“There’s uh… there’s actually something else I was wondering about. Do you know any ways to keep calm?”

Matt’s face lit up in excitement, “Oh, that’s easy! You could do meditation, that’s a good go to. If you’re not into that you can use lavender incense or hemp oil. There’s also something I do as a quick fix. Just try saying the alphabet backwards. You’ll forget all about what’s stressing you out because you’re busy trying to say it.”

Tom nodded, surprised that what Matt said sounded actually helpful for what he was trying to do, “What about staying awake?”

“Like fighting off drowsiness? Usually just drink some coffee and energy drinks-” Matt chirped before interrupting his own train of thought, “Wait, does this have something to do with what’s been going on with you?”

“Sort of.” Tom yawned, rubbing his “eyes”, “Thanks for the tips, Matt” He walked off with a small wave.

“Wait, at least tell me what you’re doing!” Matt called him. He dropped off the hairbrush on his dresser and poked his head out of his room.

Tom shouted at him from the bottom of the stairs, “Nah!" 

Matt just sighed with a shake of his head. He slipped out of his room and went downstairs. Ringo weaved under his legs, almost tripping Matt on the last few steps.

"Whoa, watch where you’re going kitty,” Matt chuckled, reaching down to cradle Ringo in his arms, “What? Did Edd not feed you this morning?”

Ringo mewled as if saying yes, reaching little paws up to bop Matt on the nose.

“Alright, let’s go get you some food.” Matt chuckled, tickling Ringo’s soft belly. He waltzed into the kitchen holding the cat like his baby and froze. He felt a breeze brush past his face. He looked over and noticed that the backdoor was hanging wide open and letting the chilly fall air in,  “Oh Tom, you left the back door open.”

Tom shook his head as he tried to figure out how to fix the coffee maker, “Nope.”

“Wh- oh,” Matt rounded the counter and saw what he was talking about. The back door was technically still closed and locked, but someone busted in the glass to the point there was nothing but a pile of shards right in front of it. A single claw mark was scratched into the metal frame, “Huh…Edd’s not going to like that.”

Tom kept quiet as to how it broke, but he just shrugged and said, “Blame the neighbors?”

Matt nodded, “Blame the neighbors.”

A few hours later, Edd sat at his desk, looking over the fur he found at the scene. It was short and covered in a sticky substance that made it stay together in a spike. As far as he could tell, it was some sort of hair gel. 

Grabbing up his notepad, he took a quick sketch and made a list of what he found so far. 

“Weirdest animal I ever seen,” he muttered, doodling his best guess of what it was in the corner. It looked something like a spiky haired dog.

Just as he got done, he looked back at the fur and froze. The clump was changing color. Somehow it went from a deep, almost black shade of purple to a soft brown. “What in the-” Edd gasped, quickly grabbing his phone and recording the change, “That’s so cool.”

Suddenly he heard footsteps coming toward his room. In a panic he shoved the fur into a desk drawer and flipped his notebook to an empty page. Matt poked his head in without knocking and smiled, “Oh hey, you’re awake! For a second there I thought you were going to sleep all day,” he paused, noticing the nervous expression on Edd’s face, “Please don’t tell me you’re acting weird too.”

Edd shook his head, “No, no, you just surprised me, that’s all.” He hopped up from his desk, grabbed his bag from under the bed, and headed for the door, “Look at the time, I should’ve been up by now. I need to go do some errands. Think you can hold down the fort while I’m gone?”

Matt nodded, “Yeah, should be easy enough. Tom and I were talking about relaxation stuff, so I think he’s planning a spa day for us.”

“At least it isn’t vodka.” Edd commented, “Alright, I’m heading out.” He headed out the front door, grabbing the handles of his bag just to make sure it was still there.

He walked halfway to the police station, stopping in an alley to change and hide his normal clothes. Pocketing his phone, he flew over and stopped right at the door.

The police station was a small concrete building painted bright white. Small hedges lined the front, and around the side were all the squad cars. Poweredd stepped in, immediately greeted by a guard.

“Hello,” He greeted, “I’m here to talk to the police chief.”

The guard looked him over and wordlessly unlocked the main doors leading into the lobby, “Talk to the secretary for an appointment.” The guard stated flatly, waiting to lock the doors behind him.

Poweredd made his appointment, then awkwardly sat around in the waiting room for a bit. Everyone stared at him because of his costume, so he just looked down at his feet and tried to ignore them. He was still a very obscure hero, so except for the select few people that knew him, he was just some weird grown man in a halloween costume.

“Well, well, well, bit early to see you,” The police chief soon arrived, sipping on a cup of coffee, “Come with me.”

The chief led Poweredd into his office, motioning for him to sit in the chair in front of his desk, “Donut?” He offered, holding out the mostly empty box for Poweredd.

Poweredd shook his head, commenting as the chief set the box aside, “Bit stereotypical for a cop to have donuts, don’t you think?”

The chief chuckled, “If I had a dollar for every time I heard that. But aside from that, what made you poke your head out before dark?” 

Poweredd pulled out his phone and loaded up the video from before, “I think I found something important from last night. Here, look at this,” He handed the chief the phone and continued explaining, “I found this on the scene. It’s fur from something, definitely not an ordinary animal though. It’s color changing. Probably why we didn’t find any evidence or even catch the thing. It’s changing itself to blend in.”

The chief put down the phone and stroked his chin, “Well, that does explain quite a few things. But while we’re here exchanging clues, I found a little something while cleaning through the older files.” He reached down into his desk drawer and pulled out a thin file folder, “Call it a hunch, but I don’t think this is the first time that thing showed up.”

Poweredd opened up the folder to find several clippings of newspapers along with a single photo from a traffic cam. Suddenly it clicked as to why he was getting deja vu. Each piece showed the same thing; a large, hulking beast with a single empty socket in its head, two purple horns, and the same short spiky purple fur that he found at the scene, “Wait, that can’t be possible. Edu- I mean Numero Uno defeated that thing.”

The police chief shrugged, “From what I gathered, it disappeared that night without a trace. That thing was probably hiding under our noses this whole time. Why now of all times for it to come back, I don’t know, but it isn’t going to stop until someone stops it.” 

Poweredd nodded, tucking everything back into the folder before handing it back to the police chief, “So what should I do then?”

“Well obviously keep doing your normal work at night, but I think it may also be of benefit to go undercover. Investigate around during the day for any sort of suspicious behavior.” The chief scribbled down his phone number on a spare napkin and handed it to Poweredd, “Report back to me the minute you find anything.”

Poweredd nodded, “Thank you sir. I won’t let you down!”

#eddsworld #ew edd #ew tom #ew matt #ew poweredd #ew monster tom #eddsworld fanfic #secrets no more chapter 3 #this is a bit of a filler chapter #don't worry good stuff is coming next chapter

[monchikyun]

27. boys will be boys

Connor doesn’t want to go home today, not when he’s sporting yet another black eye on his pallid face. His dad is going to play cops with him by interrogating him until he has no choice but to spill the truth and admit that he’s nothing but a weak coward who can’t fight for himself. Perhaps it’s because the old man has a lot of experience in that field, being an actual lieutenant and all that. Connor tries to sometimes use that fact as a trump card when he wants to look cool and feel like he’s accepted among his peers, not that it’s ever worked. You see, being a twelve-year-old boy is not an easy job. It’s quite demanding to make sure he doesn’t get fired. He gave up on wearing all the right clothes or pretending that he likes sports when in reality all he ever wants to do is to draw. He’d like to repaint the world around him to his liking so that he could feel like it’s a place he belongs to. Like it’s been made just for him and the people he likes.

The sad truth is he doesn’t really have any friends, only people who don’t hurt him, who don’t participate in the frequent bullying he’s been enduring ever since starting the sixth grade. The rascals that take it out on him is a twisted bunch, nothing that significant about them, but there’ this one boy who despite being mean to him, despite inflicting as much pain as the others, gives him a look that could maybe convey a hidden understanding or sympathy, if he stretches his wishful thinking. Because it’s nothing else but that, in the end. The need to have someone on his side, a person who would acknowledge that he’s not being treated fairly. Just one friend to confide in, other than his father who is too busy as is to concern himself with Connor’s childish problems.

Today he was surrounded by three kids who really hated the fact that his drawings look way better than any of theirs. So they made their best effort to seize them and torn them apart like they deserved nothing but condemnation. He couldn’t bear to watch the only thing that meant something to him getting destroyed right before his eyes and so he stupidly tried to defend them, scraping at the little courage at the bottom of his gut. In the end, only one drawing was sparred the ruthless treatment, which couldn’t be said about Connor. He tried to be brave for once, which had to be dutifully punished. Maybe trying isn’t enough, for cowards have a way of staying safely within the boundaries of their fears. Maybe he should change who he is if he wants to survive in this world.

He’s about to turn the last corner before reaching the street on which he lives, but someone shouts his name and he doesn’t feel threatened by it. It’s like someone is glad to catch him here, like the caller’s intentions aren’t the ones that will hurt him.

 It’s Gavin, the small feral child with stormy eyes that display that kind of pain Connor recognizes. He watches the boy wave him over, and he thinks he imagines it but there is a grin on Gavin’s face, and that’s the main thing that makes him decide not to run home and hide under a blanket.

His steps are slow, careful, because a part of him warns that this is a ruse, that he’s stupid for falling for it so willingly.

But when he’s so close that he can mark the scar on Gavin’s nose, even the most skeptical part of himself is convinced that he’s not being a victim of a vicious prank, not this time.

“Hey. You lost this.” There is a piece of paper in the boy’s extended hand, one that is full of small scribbles of dogs and the characters he’s invented when the people belonging to the real world let him down.

He really wants to thank him for being so considerate, for not treating him like a punching bag for once, but the words get stuck in his throat, the lump that has formed there preventing them to escape the confines of his mind. There are tears in his eyes ready to embarrass him, and so he pushes them down, needing to keep some of his dignity intact. And the picture is still in Gavin’s hand.

“It’s cool… but a bit weird.” The boy brings the doodle filled paper in front of his face, squinting his eyes to study it with a great concentration.

“Why did you draw me like that when I’ve been treating you like shit?”

Before he gets the chance to argue, Gavin points out one figure that he remembers absent-mindedly scribbling during maths when he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention. Looking at it now, the angry boy in the picture really does resembles his favourite bully. It’s a mystery of how he hasn’t noticed that earlier. But then again, he quite enjoys observing Gavin when no one else can note is actions, so it’s not all that shocking that his image would be imprinted onto Connor’s subconsciousness.

He shrugs instead of replying properly, for he’s still a bit afraid to let anyone hear he uncertainty his voice would betray. The slightly crumpled paper is still being observed by Gavin, like he’s trying to find some secret code in the incoherent doodles. It makes him feel a little proud of himself, for the first time in a long while.

“You can keep it if you want.”

It’s said before he can activate his filter, and he finds that he doesn’t regret that sentence. Connor really wants for Gavin to have it, for a reason he can’t nail down.

“Thanks, I guess.”

All at once, he forgets about the scars on his face, about the tension in his stomach. Because Gavin looks like he’s genuinely happy about receiving this not all that outstanding collection of small drawings, despite his efforts to conceal it behind his faked indifference.

“What- what about the others, do they know you’re here?”

Connor doesn’t fear for Gavin’s safety, no, he’s just curious.

“Don’t care. I’m not friends with them anymore.” He watches the paper being tucked in Gavin’s jeans pocket.

“Why?”

“They suck. It was fun hanging out with them, but… they crossed the line. They… they plan on doing some really messed up shit to you, Connor.”

Somehow he isn’t all that disconcerted by that information. It’s just a natural development of events, or that’s what he figures.

“Oh… that’s..”

“We won’t let them, though.”

The fierce green eyes pierce him through, making his heart beat a little faster.

“We?” It’s very strange that Gavin acts like the two of them doing anything together is all but ordinary.

“I have some neat ideas we can use. You afraid of spiders?”

Agreeing to Gavin’s nefarious schemes is one of the easiest decision he’s ever made. Connor never thought he would possess such creativity, but somehow he senses that there is so much more for him to discover about the boy who might just care enough to make a difference in his bleak life.

Maybe it’s just his desperate need for attention or the loneliness that keeps him spacing out during lunch breaks, but he thinks, he wishes that the two of them could become real friends sometimes in the future yet unwritten.

@convinseptember children can be especially mean if you think about it xD but not all of them!

#convinseptember #convin #sixth grade au xD #i like writing about children it's easier somehow #maybe it's because I'm still six inside xD #nothing inappropriate in this story! just the same ol gavin being a redeemable asshole and con a soft misunderstood bean

[smokeyloki]

“Why do you hate me” Dev and Cecilia or Das and Oko :)

I’m going to assume you meant Dev and Cecile. Though Cecilia and Dev would probably get along, too ~

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

“Why do you hate me?” Cecile murmurs, tugging on a black glove.  The only one listening in on the conversation is her reflection in the bathroom mirror, and she stares back with a dull, judging look as Cecile examines her makeup.  A bit of blush has added color to her cheeks, which are as pale as the rest of her skin.  Watery irises squint so she can better apply the red lipstick and mascara.  Once this minimal bit of face care is done, Cecile  exits the bathroom, coming to the main room of her little apartment.  

“Why can’t we just have a normal dinner? By ourselves?” 

She grabs a cloak, pulling it on over her deep purple dress.  The comfy, silky fabric entirely hides what little of her bare arms still show through the dress sleeves and elbow-length black gloves.  

“Why do we have to visit with this family?  What are they going to think?  Why does it matter so much that they know?”

As a finishing touch, Cecile adjusts a black, wide-brimmed hat atop her black, chin-length hair.  Then she adds a pair of black shades.  They will hide her eyes’ unnatural, faded blue.

Just as she steps back into the bathroom to examine herself a final time, there’s a knock on the door, and she trips across the room in high heels to answer it. 

She takes in the young man in the doorway.  He’s holding a bunch of flowers, some wilting, and his kurta has a whitish spot or two at the bottom hem.  Of course, he does run an orphanage, so she’s somewhat surprised his curled hair isn’t entirely shaved off or that his face doesn’t have little doodles all over it.

“..Cecile,” he greets in his usual kind of tone.  It’s rather no-nonsense, as he’s used to talking to many people who are smaller and younger than himself on a daily basis. 

She inclines her head, extending a gloved hand for him to take.  A tiny smile graces her features; it’s just as stiff and cool as the rest of herself. 

“Dev Khanna.”

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

The drive is rather quiet, though not in a hostile way.  Dev talks about the latest escapades at the orphanage..who got what in someone else’s hair, who lost a toy, what new power decided to manifest itself among the few powered children he housed.  Cecile deigns to comment every now and again, mostly keeping her gaze fixed on the window.  The sun is setting, giving way to a dusty, dark bluish twilight.  Soon she’ll be able to see the first few stars. 

“...-and that’s all their names.  Don’t worry. There won’t be a quiz.”  Dev is chuckling quietly and Cecile drags her attention back to him.

“What?”

Dev laughs again.  It’s a warm, gentle noise. 

“I was just reminding you the names of the family we’re visiting.  Jonothan.  Who are the twins..?”

Cecile waves a hand.  “I know them.  We’ve met, remember?  Just a bit..and they don’t like me.”

Dev steals a glance at her when they pull to a stop sign. His brows crinkle together and he shakes his head. 

“..That’s when you were terrorizing other Mavericks and setting off their powers with your ability.  And now you’re not doing that.  Now, you’re my girlfriend and I know that they’ll respect you.”

Cecile huffs, letting out a sound like a scoff. 

“They don’t trust me. They have every right not to trust-”

“-They trust me,” Dev interjects as he turns the car into a parking lot.  “At the very least, they trust me.  And so they’ll trust you because of me.”  He puts the car into park and slides out, jogging around the car to pull open her door and take her gloved hand.

“And after tonight, they’ll trust you because you're trustworthy.”

Which..is a stupidly cliche thing for Dev Khanna to say, maybe, but he’s doing that little smile and offering his hand, so instead of a snarky response, Cecile will smile back.

And maybe she’ll believe his mushy words, tonight. 

#dev khanna #cecile derosa #Maverick #writing #my writing #shared character #shared characters #shared story #answered ask #straight from inbox

[mostweakhamlets]

Fic prompt: Warlock tracks down Aziraphale’s bookshop and swings by.

Thank you so much! This was much longer than I expected it to be, and it took a turn I wasn’t expecting. 

Warlock was always curious about what happened to his nanny and the family’s gardener. They had left only a week apart--first, the gardener and then Nanny Ashtoreth--and had always seemed… close. 

It took a year after they left for him to realize that they were weird. It took a year’s worth of odd looks by his parents when he mentioned “sister slug” or when he casually brought up nanny’s lullaby. It took a year’s worth of therapist appointments his mother made him go to. 

They were weird. 

But he still remembered them fondly. 

By the time he was 15, he was too curious to not do anything about it anymore. He searched high and low for Nanny Ashtoreth’s presence anywhere online. There was no resume, no LinkedIn, no business number, not even any social media. He moved on to sneaking into his father’s office in the middle of the night, rifling through drawers and filing cabinets to try to find any shred of evidence that Nanny Ashtoreth or Brother Francis even worked there. But there was nothing. No contracts, no business cards, nothing. 

Warlock had began to wonder if he had hallucinated the entire thing. But how could he make up Nanny rocking him to sleep and tucking him into bed? Or Brother Francis showing him a deer that had wandered into the garden early one morning, both of them holding their breath so as not to startle it? 

How could he make up the morning Nanny left? When she hugged him and told him to be whomever he wanted to be? She had wiped his tears by the front door because he cried so hard. She was never necessarily tender, but that morning she was cupping his face and whispering to him. She had also promised, though it turned out to be a lie as far as he knew, that she would see him again.

Warlock grew from being curious to bitter. His teenage angst increased with the mystery and the feeling of abandonment. 

Most of his childhood, he realized after more thought, was weird. His eleventh birthday was weird, though he enjoyed it. And not long after that there was the weird weather and news stories coming from England while his family was abroad. And what was with that weird guy that smelled like poo? No one talked about the summer of 2018 often. It was something that most people wanted to put behind them because it was… weird. 

Warlock decided to start embracing weird to find weird and fell down a deep rabbit hole. 

There was a magazine. New Aquarian. It had gone out of business for a few years but began publishing new issues online in 2018. Warlock read through the conspiracy theories of the 2018 apocalypse, the reports of people seeing aliens, the articles detailing the M25’s fire. There were interviews from people who claimed that their homes had been destroyed but suddenly repaired themselves when they woke up one Sunday morning. Everyone talked about that one Sunday morning. 

There were two interviews from Soho that Warlock poured over. The first was of a woman who seemed fairly normal for being in that magazine, but Warlock thought that maybe the reporters were the only ones who would listen to her. 

She worked across from an old bookshop--a very old bookshop, she specified. It had caught on fire, which was a tragedy since it had been there for over two hundred years, and she had watched as it burned down. The owner wasn’t there, fortunately. But then a man appeared in sunglasses (which didn’t appear out of the ordinary at first) and walked right in despite the firemen telling him to stay out. When he came back out, she swore his eyes were different. She swore they were yellow with slits instead of pupils. No one else seemed to notice but her. He drove away so fast there was no time for anyone to. Maybe it was contacts, she had pointed out, maybe it was part of a costume. 

The next day, the bookshop was fine. It looked just as it had for the past two centuries. She watched the owner stop outside in the street, looking up at it. She had described him as a polite man that always wore a pale suit with white hair, though he didn’t seem to be quite old enough to have such white hair. She had met him only a few times. She had wanted to see him that Sunday. She almost walked out to meet him in the street, but she thought better of it. 

“This poor man lost his entire shop--his entire home--and then it was there again with no explanation. I thought maybe he needed some time alone. Heavens know I would.” 

She said that everything went back to normal after that. The bookshop returned to its normal hours (as normal as they had been, she supposed). Business went on as usual. 

The second interview was about the same bookshop. The interviewee seemed more appropriate for the magazine. He talked about how he had been in the shop before, how the owner was polite but somehow not pleasant, how he seemed old and had worked there for years but never seemed to age past his mid-to-late 40s. 

The man fixated on the 0wner for a while. Warlock didn’t care. A lot of people aged well. A lot of people were eccentric. Then, he fixated on this man that was always in the shop. He always wore sunglasses. Looked the same age as the owner and didn’t age, either. Dressed equally eccentrically but in black with flaming red hair. 

But the man started talking about the fire as well. How he came by after the fire was out, looked at the charred sign that had read “A.Z Fell & Co.,” stood by the crowd who shook their heads in sympathy. The owner wasn’t anywhere to be found. Rumors were beginning to go around. There were other fires through London that no one could explain, but some people wondered if the owner had burned the shop himself for the insurance money. Since the owner came back the next day when it was magically repaired, the interviewee doubted it was an insurance scheme. 

He blamed supernatural beings. Warlock ignored that part. 

Warlock printed out the articles. He felt like a conspiracy theorist himself, underlining and highlighting anything that he thought looked important. He made notes and found the address and phone number of the shop. This was, to be fair, done mostly out of procrastination. He had a mountain of homework to do that weekend, but his research was more fun. And he supposed that any research would lead him somewhere--maybe not to find his nanny, but to put together some sort of logic for what happened four years ago. 

It was approaching early morning. His eyes itched. He thought about calling it a night and curling into bed. There wasn’t much left for him to do besides hang up his notes on the wall and connect them with red string. 

He used blue highlighter for the descriptions of the shop owner and his friend. He circled the line about yellow eyes and made a note: “what does this mean?” Were his irises yellow? Did he just have jaundice? Maybe he had light eyes, and the flames were just reflecting off of them. Maybe he had green eyes and the lady was colorblind. And the slits could be anything. Warlock had a friend who had a pupil that dipped into her iris. David Bowie had one large pupil. 

Warlock used his colored pencils to doodle in the margins of the paper after he listed every possibility. He drew eyes with pupils that slipped down to the bottom of the iris. He drew irises that were pale green, very light hazel, and green with flecks of hazel. He drew little martians in the corner that were beaming cows up into the spaceships. 

After his martian break, he went back to his laptop. He closed out the directions to the bookshop and pulled up a new window for fresh research. He typed in: “slit pupils.” There had to be a medical condition for it. 

Warlock scrolled through a page of pictures of cats and the burst pupils he had seen in his friend. Then, he froze. 

Among the pictures from medical websites and cat blogs, there was one of a snake with a bright yellow eye and a long, thin pupil. 

He had seen snakes before. Obviously. But none with yellow eyes (snakes at the zoo always had muddy brown or red eyes) and not when he was trying to imagine them on a person. 

He leaned back in his chair. He could perfectly imagine the snake’s eyes on a human face, framed by red hair. Red curls, specifically. It seemed almost familiar. 

Whatever. He was just tired. 

Turning off the lights and shutting his laptop, he crawled into bed. It was silly. The interviewees probably just missed renovations. The fire probably wasn’t as bad as they thought. If it was an old shop, it must have some sort of recognition and protection by the city. They probably had people come by as soon it was over to start replacing the sign and windows and door. The inside could still be burned for all anyone knew. Maybe that was why the owner came back the very next day. 

The familiarity of the eyes had to have a logical explanation as well. There was probably a movie with an actor with red hair that had snake eyes. A horror movie or something. That had to be it because the more Warlock thought about it as he began to fall asleep, the more he could make out a woman’s face. Her jaw was square. Her cheekbones were sharp. Her hair was styled and perfect, curls resting across her forehead. She was middle-aged, and Warlock could only imagine her in a modest black outfit. 

Warlock’s chest tightened. He sat up, turned the lights back on, sat back down at his desk. 

He could remember, somewhere deep in the farthest reaches of his memory, being five and sitting on Nanny’s lap in the garden. They were roughhousing, as they often did. He had squirmed too much as she grabbed him in a ticklish spot. He was laughing when she fell back into the grass, taking him with her. Her hat fell off. And so did her sunglasses. They slid down her nose and one stem fell off her ear. 

He had stared at her eyes for the brief few seconds she was too flustered to compose herself. They were yellow and here pupils belonged to an animal, not a human. She quickly closed her eyes and righted her glasses. 

“Nanny--”

“I think it’s time to go inside now.” 

He had never brought it up again. He had forgotten about it by that evening, his childish mind moving on to something more exciting. 

Warlock wrote a note to his parents: “Ground me when I get back. I’m going to Soho.”

He called an Uber and ate a couple handfuls of cereal as the sun was rising, too shaken (and perhaps excited) to be tired at 7 am. He gave the driver the address and five stars 20 minutes later when he stepped out of the car. 

He read the sign on the front door, shaking his head at the absurd description of hours. It seemed the only way to know if they were open was to check if the door was locked. 

“Young man, I’m terribly sorry, but we’re not quite ready for customers yet--”

The owner stood behind the front counter. He was everything the articles described him as. White hair, maybe in his 40s, pale suit. But he stared at Warlock, then, he smiled. 

“Actually, I suppose it might be time to open,” he said. “How can I help you?” 

Warlock walked forward, running a nervous hand through his long hair. “I don’t know.”

He looked so familiar. 

“I think I’m looking for someone,” Warlock said. “Or maybe a couple people.”

The owner wrung his hands together and looked ready to speak before a voice cut him off. 

“Is someone actually here at 8 in the bloody morning?” 

The man in sunglasses stepped out from the back room. His hands were shoved in his black jacket--not the only black item of his ensemble. When he looked at Warlock, he didn’t react for a few seconds. Then, he stopped and stared just as the owner had. 

“He’s looking for someone,” the owner said with a tight smile. “He appears to be lost.” 

The man in the sunglasses didn’t say anything. The owner recovered. 

“We can call your parents, young man,” he said, picking up the receiver of vintage phone. “Tell them they can meet you here.”

“I’m not looking for my parents,” Warlock said. He made eye contact with the sunglasses. He nearly shivered thinking about what could be behind the dark lenses. “I’m actually looking for… my nanny.”

“Well, we can call her. It makes no difference.”

Warlock didn’t say anything. The owner sighed and put the receiver down. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Sunglasses asked. 

“Warlock Dowling.” 

The owner shook his head at Sunglasses. 

Sunglasses took a few more steps forward. He was tall, but Warlock had grown to reach his chin--his square chin that was a painful giveaway with the sharp cheekbones. 

“I can’t imagine your parents are happy that you’re here on your own,” he said. “Soho isn’t the place for kids to run around by themselves.”

That wasn’t true by any means. The parents part, maybe. But Soho was perfectly safe. 

Warlock stood his ground. “I’m just looking for my nanny. Their name is Ashtoreth. Or that was at least their name.”

Sunglasses smirked. He looked back to the owner who gave him a disapproving look. 

Warlock’s heart pounded. 

“I heard weird things have happened here a few years ago,” he said, trying to soldier on. 

“Weird things happened everywhere a few years ago,” Sunglasses said. 

“But… weirder things happened here. And I had a weird nanny.” Warlock took a deep breath. “And I read this article that there was a man here that some lady saw with yellow eyes.”

Sunglasses paled. The owner stepped out from behind the counter. 

“And I think that my nanny also had yellow eyes,” Warlock said. “And I think you might have been my nanny. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“I really think it might be time to call someone to collect you,” the owner said. 

“Stop it, Aziraphale,” Sunglasses snapped. 

Sunglasses took Warlock by the shoulder and lead him to the back room. Aziraphale trailed behind them. 

“Have a seat,” Sunglasses said. 

Warlock sat on the only sofa there. Sunglasses paced. 

“Alright,” Sunglasses said. He turned to Aziraphale. “Can we wipe his memories?” 

“Wipe his memories, Crowley?”

“Yeah.”

“No! Not from 10 years ago! You should have distracted him when it happened. And who is this other person?” 

“Look, I won’t tell anyone,” Warlock said, beginning to think that he had made a mistake because maybe people with snake eyes and snake face tattoos that went by Crowley weren’t the nicest. “You don’t have to fight about it. It’s not a big deal.”

“We’re not fighting, my dear,” Crowley said. 

My dear. Warlock hadn’t heard that since he was a kid. 

“And this is a big deal,” Aziraphale said. 

Crowley sat next to Warlock. 

“Here’s the deal.” He made a face. “I was your nanny when you were a boy--”

“Crowley.”

“And I was there when you turned 11. It’s a very, very long story. We dragged you into something you didn’t need to be involved in, and as soon as we could we got you out. You wouldn’t understand any of it.” 

“But I can try.” 

Crowley sighed. “There are things that you shouldn’t be involved with. It’s better to not know anything.”

Warlock shook his head. “I want to know. Something happened when I was a kid and something happened in 2018. I think I deserve to know about it all.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. Warlock crossed his arms. 

“I know that this shop burned down one day, and I know that you were here, and I know that someone saw that you have snake eyes, and I know that the next day everything was fine. I also know that when I was five, I saw you without your dumb sunglasses on and you--”

Crowley pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. Warlock felt like ice water had been dumped over him. 

“We can talk,” Crowley said, “as long as you swear none of this gets repeated.”

Warlock nodded. 

“And as long as you don’t call my sunglasses dumb again.”

#i hope this is good #good omens #warlock #my fics #this was way way longer than i thought it would be holy fuck #frenchrev0luti0n