#The passionate battle. Extreme sport

[uniquexusposts]

I love you - L. Sargeant

Summary: Y/n when she finds out about the dismissal of Logan.

Y/n stepped out of the office building, the evening air brushing against her skin as she slipped her hand into her purse to pull out her phone. The screen flickered to life, exposing a photo that never failed to warm her heart—a snapshot of Logan, captured in a moment of pure, unguarded joy. He was laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, staring straight at her through the camera with that infectious smile that made everything else in the world seem distant and insignificant. Her own smile crept across her lips, soft and instinctive.

With a small sigh of contentment, she placed her AirPods in her ears, the familiar opening chords of her favourite song easing her out of the moment and back into the present. The city around her was alive with its usual chaos—cars honking, people chattering, the distant roar of a plane overhead—but the music created a barrier, a comforting bubble that made the world feel a little less hectic, a little more bearable.

She put her phone back into her coat purse as she set off towards the tube station. The streets, though bustling with the typical rush-hour crowd, had become second nature to her; she moved through them with a kind of unconscious grace, weaving in and out of the throng with ease. The cobblestones beneath her feet were wet from a recent drizzle, reflecting the orange glow of the streetlights as dusk slowly folded into night.

Her thoughts began to drift, as they often did on these solitary walks, from the mundane details of the day’s work to the warmth waiting for her at home. The stark contrast between the bustling heart of the city, with its relentless pace and constant noise, and the quiet sanctuary they had carved out for themselves in their little corner of London, always brought her a sense of relief. It was the difference between holding her breath and finally exhaling, a sigh of contentment at the thought of their peaceful neighbourhood.

The tube station loomed ahead, its entrance a yawning mouth that swallowed the constant stream of commuters. Y/n descended the stairs, the music in her ears blending with the rhythmic clatter of trains and the murmur of voices. The train arrived with a gust of wind, the doors sliding open to reveal the usual mix of strangers packed inside. She squeezed in, finding a spot to stand near the door, one hand gripping the pole for balance as the train jolted forward. Her thoughts drifted back to Logan, to the look in his eyes when he’d kissed her goodbye that morning—a look that had seemed almost distant, like something was weighing on him, something he hadn’t quite found the words to share. 

This F1 season had been extremely difficult for Logan. The pressure, the endless travel, the scrutiny from fans and media alike—it was all beginning to take its toll on him, and she could see it in the way he carried himself, in the way his shoulders slumped when he thought no one was looking. He had always been passionate about racing, had always thrived on the adrenaline and the challenge, but this season was different. With each race, it seemed like the weight of it all was pushing him closer to the edge.

She had seen him at his best—confident, focused, driven—but lately, those moments had been few and far between. Instead, there was a weariness in his eyes, a sense of doubt that had crept in and taken root. She had tried to be there for him, to support him in every way she could, but she knew that some battles had to be fought alone. Still, it pained her to see him struggle, to see the sport he loved so much slowly drain the life out of him.

Her stop came quicker than expected. She quickly exited the tube and the station and made a quick stop at a local store, to pick up a parcel. When at the shop, her eyes spotted Kinder Bueno. Without hesitation, she bought one. Kinder Bueno was a thing in Logan and Y/n’s life. They always shared one. And Y/n felt like sharing a Kinder Bueno. The parcel safely tucked under her arm and the Kinder Bueno in her purse, she left the shop and began the walk home. The streets were quiet, the orange glow of the streetlights casting long shadows that danced across the pavement. She found herself appreciating the stillness, the way the city seemed to pause here, allowing her a moment of peace before she reached their flat.

The front door creaked slightly as she pushed it open, stepping into the dark hallway. The hallway was always dimly lit when someone was home, so it made her wonder if Logan was home. She closed the door behind her, took off her shoes and walked to the living area. 

“Hey,” she said slightly surprised when she saw Logan sitting in one of the chairs of the dining table. He was facing the windows, looking outside. Y/n put her purse, bag and parcel on the table and took out her AirPods. She got no answer from her boyfriend. 

There was something off in the way he sat, a stiffness in his posture that sent a ripple of unease through her. 

“Hey,” she said again, trying to get in contact with Logan. 

He looked over his shoulder, surprised to see Y/n standing at the other side of the table. “Hey,” he murmured, forcing a smile that barely touched his lips and never reached his eyes.

The smile was wrong—flat, almost hollow. It lacked the warmth she was used to, the easy way his eyes would crinkle at the corners when he saw her, as if just her presence was enough to make everything right in the world. But tonight, that spark was missing, replaced by something cold and distant.

What a welcome after a week apart from each other, Y/n thought, a pang of sadness settling in her chest. She had been looking forward to this moment all day, to seeing him, to feeling his arms around her after what felt like an eternity of being apart. But now, standing there with him just a few feet away, she felt a chasm between them that hadn’t been there before.

“Are you okay?” Y/n asked and stepped towards him. “What is wrong?” 

For a moment, he said nothing, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of the world was pulling him down. Then, slowly, he shook his head, a tremor running through him. He took a deep breath that seemed to shudder through his entire body, he looked back at her, his expression crumbling into one of raw vulnerability.

“I’m gone,” he blurted out, the words tumbling from his lips in a single, desperate breath. His voice cracked, the bravado he would tried to maintain splintering into pieces as the reality of his situation overwhelmed him. And just like that, he burst into tears, the sobs tearing through him with a force that startled them both. His body shook with the intensity of it, the weight of all he had been holding back crashing down on him at once. He tried to speak, to say something, anything that could make sense of what he was feeling, but the words wouldn’t come. All he could do was cry, releasing the anguish that had been building inside him for far too long.

He broke. 

“Fuck,” was Y/n’s first reaction. She stepped to him, closing the distance between them in an instant. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t think twice—she just wrapped her arms around him, holding him as tightly as she could, trying to offer him some semblance of comfort, of safety. He buried his face in her shoulder, his tears soaking through her shirt as he clung to her, as if she were the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling with her own emotions as she stroked his back, her hand moving in slow, soothing circles. “It’s going to be okay. I’m here. I’m right here.”

But she knew that right now, those words might feel empty to him. Nothing she said could change what he was going through, could make the pain disappear. All she could do was be there, hold him, and let him know that he wasn’t alone in this, no matter how lost he felt.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Y/n whispered. 

It broke her heart to see him like this. Racing was his everything. It was the fire that fuelled him, the passion that had driven him for as long as she had known him. It was more than just a job—it was his identity, his purpose. And now, that part of him had been ripped away so brutally, that he was left floundering in its absence, lost in a darkness that seemed impenetrable.

She had never seen him like this before. Even in the worst of times, he had always managed to find some glimmer of hope, some reason to keep pushing forward. But now, that strength, that resilience, seemed to have deserted him, leaving only the raw, unfiltered agony of his loss.

He couldn’t stop crying, the sobs tearing through him with a force that made her heart ache. It was as if every tear carried with it a piece of his shattered dream, a fragment of the life he had built around his love for racing. She held him tighter, her own tears falling silently as she pressed her lips to his temple, trying to convey through touch what words could not. She ignored the tension in her muscles as she sat in an uncomfortable way. It didn’t matter now. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered again, her voice barely audible over the sound of his weeping. She wished she could take his pain away, bear the burden for him, if only for a moment. But all she could do was be there, anchoring him in the storm that raged within him, holding him as he cried out the grief that had taken root in his soul.

Minutes passed, though they felt like hours, and slowly, painfully, his sobs began to subside, his body gradually relaxing in her arms. But the tears didn’t stop, and she knew that this was just the beginning—that the road ahead would be long and difficult, filled with moments like this one where the weight of his loss would threaten to crush him.

Logan shifted slightly, his head moving away from her shoulder, creating a small distance between them. His eyes, red and swollen, searched hers, a silent plea lingering in the depths of his gaze. As their eyes met, the vulnerability there was almost unbearable to witness. He blinked, and a few quiet tears slipped free, tracing slow paths down his cheeks. The sight of them, so small yet so heavy with meaning, sent a fresh wave of sorrow through Y/n’s chest.

Without thinking, she raised her hand and gently ran her fingers through his hair, the familiar motion meant to soothe, to comfort. Logan closed his eyes at the touch, leaning into it ever so slightly, as if that simple act could shield him from the harsh reality they were facing.

For a moment, they just sat there, the world outside their little bubble distant and irrelevant. The warmth of her hand in his hair, the soft rise and fall of their breaths, the silent exchange of emotions that words could never quite capture—it all felt like a fragile lifeline, something to hold onto as the storm continued to rage around them.

When Logan finally opened his eyes again, the tears still lingered, but there was something else there too—a glimmer of gratitude, of understanding. It was as if, in that small gesture, Y/n had reminded him that he wasn’t alone in this, that no matter how lost he felt, she would be there, steadfast and unwavering, ready to catch him whenever he stumbled.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he whispered, his voice rough and broken, each word carrying the weight of his fear, his uncertainty.

“That’s okay,” she whispered. “You will figure it out.”

Logan’s gaze softened, and though the sadness in his eyes didn’t disappear, it seemed just a little less overwhelming, as if the burden had lightened, if only by a fraction. He nodded slowly, as if trying to absorb the truth of her words, to let them sink in deep enough to hold onto when the darkness returned.

Y/n leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, letting her lips linger there for a moment, a silent promise that she would be his anchor, his strength, whatever he needed her to be.

“I love you,” she whispered, her voice tender, carrying the weight of everything she felt for him, everything she couldn’t put into words.

Logan’s eyes became blurry again, the tears welling up as the depth of her love, her unwavering support, threatened to overwhelm him. He could feel her lips press softly against his cheekbone, a gentle reminder of her presence, of her unwavering commitment to stand by him no matter how dark the days ahead might be.

He closed his eyes, letting the tears fall freely, but this time there was something different in them—something less rooted in despair and more in the profound sense of being loved, of not having to carry this burden alone. The sensation of her lips against his skin, her breath warm and steady, was an anchor in the storm, grounding him in the here and now, pulling him back from the abyss.

“I love you too,” he managed to whisper, his voice thick with emotion, his heart aching with both the pain of his loss and the overwhelming gratitude he felt for her. He turned his head slightly, just enough to press his own lips to her temple, a quiet gesture of thanks, of love, of everything he couldn’t find the words to express.

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos@crashingwavesofeuphoria@maryvibess @chocolatefartstrawberry @snzleclerc @ironmaiden1313@blodwyn4u

[rainydayathogwarts]

Hi there! I absolutely love the short write-up you did for Oliver Wood. <3

Would it be possible to request a short fic of Oliver Wood x Reader (other House) reuniting during the Battle of Hogwarts when they went back to fight, after having previously dated for a short time while they were schooling but broke up probably due to differences in priorities? Like they haven’t seen each other much since the break up and then graduating but seeing each other again made them want to give it another try. Thank you!!

So sorry I'm getting to this late, hope you like it!

Oliver Wood was a Hogwarts prodigy. Everyone knew his name alongside James Potter and Charlie Weasley's; they were the Quidditch Gods of the magical school. The names Regulus Black, Lily Evans and Y/N L/N were also quite famous, but for different reasons. The geniuses, students who soon after their time at Hogwarts became published witches and wizards for their incredible discoveries and talent.

That was one of the main reasons your relationship with Oliver Wood was so short-lived. You both had extreme talents, but they led you in opposite directions, only tugging you both further and further away from each other. Whilst you worked on magical discoveries that went beyond your education at Hogwarts, becoming known as one of the greatest witches of your time, Oliver worked relentlessly to fuel his passion for his sport which would build his career, his future. It only made the few months you spent together during your last year at Hogwarts unpleasant, the love you held for each other being over-powered by ambition, which led to the inevitable break up that shook all your friends, for they thought you would remain together forever, carrying out the legacy of being the one couple that would make it past their Hogwarts days.

Alas, that did not happen.

Instead, your magical discoveries were written and taught in the few years you had developed them and were the main source of protection for all the students who had decided not to fight the war, seeking shelter in the dungeons of the castle. Finally, what feels like days later, you're muttering the counter active spell, the hand holding your wand shaking with the trauma of the war you had just endured. When the protective force field finally breaks apart, you whisper the password to the Slytherin Common room. The portrait swings open and immediately the room falls silent. You announce that Voldemort's dead and spin around, heading into the direction you had just come from. You didn't want the reactions; The good, the bad or the dirty.

You wipe some blood from the side of your face, only to notice that the fabric of your long sleeved top doesn't soak up the liquid fast enough, and that you're bleeding quite heavily. Despite trying to stay calm, you begin to pant, tears blurring your vision, but you don't let them spill, not when you're so close to the Great Hall, where someone will have time to clean you up. Unfortunately, the way you immediately collapse onto a bench alerts more than just one person, and you suddenly have what feels like an audience crowding you. "Hey, hey, give her some space." The voice is familiar to you, but you just can't put your finger on who it is. "Y/N? Can you tell me your date of birth?"

The hand holding your face is gentle, and you can barely feel the tingle of the healing spell against the side of your face, which you take as a good sign. "You know my name." You recognise, slowly blinking. "Hey Y/N try keeping your eyes open for me, okay? Get me someone with skills here!" The demand goes to someone else, but it seems that those are the only words you're able to process. "So I take it I don't look so good?" Your words come out slurred and you feel your body slumping against something, or rather someone.

Oliver has resorted to being your own personal pillow. He didn't want you to look like one of the dead bodies, laying down still on the benches of the Great Hall, which has now become both a morgue and an infirmary. The spell he did on your wound worked, but he had one of the 7th Years going into healing fix you up and get some more blood into you to make up for what you lost. He felt your body sway against his and was immediately alert, even as you gathered balance to sit up on your own. He gave you time to process your surroundings, looking down at his feet instead. It was only when you cried "Oliver!" That he averted his gaze back to you.

"Y/N" He smiled, relieved that there was some colour in your face. You seemed confused yet surprised, putting together what had happened. "I haven't seen you in... A long time. How- are you hurt?" He laughed at your maternal instincts kicking in and shook his head at you. "No, Y/N, you got hurt. You were bleeding from your head and I just barely fixed you up." A look of realisation dawned on your face. "That was you? I... Well I feel bad now."

Oliver shook his head again, an awkward silence settling over the conversation. It was you to break the silence, stating "Well, I hear you're doing well now. I watched one of your games recently, you played nice." Oliver's eyes widened and he grinned, cocking his head to the side. "I can say the same about you, Ms. Published three books. And since when did you get into Quidditch?" It was your turn to act surprised now, retorting with "I've always liked Quidditch, I just didn't used to be into it. And you know, I wanted to see what was so special about Mr. Wood's Keeper skills here." Your eyes scanned the Hall around you, and the smile on your face slowly drops. As Oliver followed your eye-line, his did too.

"You didn't? You know, lose anyone important, did you?" You ask, now sounding a lot more empathetic. "Well I almost lost you for a second there." You glance over at Oliver and smile genuinely, matching the softness in his eyes. "Let me get you home safely. Everyone's already left." You nod at his words, using his arm as a support system for you to stand. You feel his muscles contract underneath you and look back up at him.

Despite the dirt and blood that freckles his face, he looks peaceful. He looks like someone you could find peace in.

[moltengoldveins]

hm yes emduo and bedrock bros and the eggs in Space. Phil is one of the last surviving members of a fragile but technically immortal species of elytrians that is now only whispered about in fairy tales. He’s a private investigator and enforcer (space pirate and muscle) for his beloved wife’s galaxy-wide uhhh….. Independent illegal group of people dedicated to protecting order and monitoring corruption? Gang of space pirates who steal from rich people? League of assassins but with morals? Unclear what the Syndicate Is Exactly but it sure do Be. He’s the pilot for the SBI Boreas, a light cruiser with a frankly Absurd munitions outfit. (Tubbo’s his mechanic) 

Techno is a member of the only recognized sentient deathworlder species, an odd mix of orc, elf, and pig features, and is by all accounts a living legend, or a living nightmare. He’s solidly twice the size of most other species, capable of surviving injuries what most would deem a death sentence, and a highly trained warrior to boot. Now, by all human accounts the texts of his people are pretty self-explanatory, (the Art of War is 89% Common Sense by volume) but in a galaxy of peaceful races on peaceful planets, it’s complex and brutal enough to be nigh-incomprehensible. He’s on a Lot of watchlists, but he’s also the like… platonic third partner in Phil and Madam Kristin, The Lady Of Death TM’s marriage??? So not a lot can be Done about him. 

Tommy is a younger avian teen (distant relation to the elytrians, definitely Not Immortal) who Techno found breaking into the Boreas and decided to keep (Phil took one look and his Dad Instincts kicked in) and his life is going swimmingly until he gets Yoinked for leverage against his dads and mum. The organization who gets him runs a blood sport colosseum, and while in transit his cage was stuck next to this weird hairless thing?? Chained with like Heavy Duty restraints. Tommy doesn’t have a ton of time to bond with this Strange Thing before the hostage negotiations happen, but they do manage to exchange names and Tommy decides with his classic impulsive passion that This Thing And He Are Brothers For Life Now. then the negotiations immediately go south, there’s a bit of a standoff, and Techno ends up trading himself for Tommy, which is what the organization wanted in the first place. They run a Reeeeally expensive exotic show for super Rich Jerks in an undisclosed location and Techno is their latest attraction. They’re also painfully cocky, and will be dying with extreme prejudice the moment Mumza gets her claws in them. 

So Techno gets Got and shoved in a high-security cell once they reach the colosseum, along with, surprise! This strange hairless creature with four limbs. It’s Chayanne, who is A Very Human Teenager who Did Not Want To Be Abducted By Aliens, Thank You. They’re both deathworlders, which Techno Does Not Realize until they get assigned to the same team a few weeks into the battles and watches Chay rip a bug man’s limbs off (Chay is Not having a good day. His dad (Missa) taught him self defense and was a martial artist, a butcher, and a rather morbid man, so some Relevant Knowledge and some general chillness around death is to be expected, but Not a chillness around KILLING PEOPLE FOR SPORT) Techno thinks this must be a fully grown adult whatever-it-is all the way until Chay breaks down crying and sounds Just Like a shoat (baby pig) and Techno feels the Dad Instinct rising again. 

Meanwhile, Halfway Across The Galaxy: the government has been developing space flight, but are really only at the borders of our solar system when they catch some aliens in the act of Yoinking another kid, this time from an orphanage (Tallula) they don’t manage to save her, but Holy Crap ALIENS???? Missa, who saw a bit of his son’s abduction but not enough to know exactly what happened, sees the news broadcast, puts two and two together and gets plot advancement. He starts pulling strings, asking about old connections in the space force (Cosmonaut Fit Emsi, godfather to Chayanne and Missa’s college best friend, may or may not be involved in the Turning Of Blind Eyes) and manages to get access to a hanger bay with a captured alien ship in it a few months after the incident in what might be the coolest heist sequence ever not-actually-written. (It’s very cool in my head, think Oceans 11 but the majority of the qsmp cast, trust me I swear.) He launches himself right into space and proceeds to systematically work his way through spaceport after waystation after colony planet in search of The Aliens Who Steal Human Kids (Specifically My Son) 

Techno is at this point playing the long game. He knows Kristin and Phil aren’t about to leave him hanging, and that they have enough firepower to burn this place to the ground, but he’s not sure when that’s gonna happen or how he’s gonna get Chay out. Meanwhile, Chay has No Idea what this strange Exceedingly Chill Pig Man has going on, but as far as he’s concerned, this is his life now. Forever. And making allies is important. They start trading languages and Techno starts teaching Chay katas (modified for the drastically different joint structure) in their free “big open space enrichment time.” (Side note: what aliens consider almost horrific cruel and unusual punishment is at worst severely unpleasant for humans. They just can’t take psychologically what humans can, so they kinda Have to treat their slaves better than we would. Doesn’t mean it’s good treatment, but it does mean Chay and Techno are both doing significantly better than they could be.)

Finally, Phil and Kristen rock up to the party incognito, dressed to the nines and attending a Big Event To Show Off Our New Deathworlders. They see Techno in the ring and have to Play It Cool, but he seems to be doing ok actually, so that’s good. Eventually the Head Honcho Man gets into a discussion with Phil right by the viewing window, so Phil has to pretend he’s fine when he sees a door open in the arena and A @:&;!ING HUMAN STEP OUT AND SQUARE OFF WITH HIS BEST FRIEND. (Shockingly, being immortal tends to inform you of such things like Secret Deathworlds and their Scary Inhabitants) Kristin is of course Immediately On The Move, but it turns out to be not necessary: Chay just kinda strolls up to Techno and gives him a side hug (bLEASE, you want me to fight my Roommate? Get out) and while Phil is laughing to himself, the Head Honcho gets maaaaad. He pulls it around though, announcing that he “already knew the two monsters had bonded the way only such vicious creatures could, and will be giving them a challenge only they could hope to face!!” And releases, like, four of the heccin Dune sand worms into the arena. Techno and Chay proceed to fight like demons while Phil and his squad take out the party and Kristen and her squad sweep the lower levels of the colosseum in an effort to keep More Worms out of the arena. Slavers die horribly. The end. 

Meanwhile, halfway across the galaxy: Missa returns!! Now with Even More Rage! His ship has broken down and because he ain’t got no Space Green Card, he’s got to get it repaired at a place that’ll take anyone. Enter Tubbo Underscore, Syndicate Member and Tinkerer Extraordinaire. Tubbo takes one look at this guy and goes “yeah that’s not a normal guy there’s something Wrong here” and through a series of pointed questions (and aggressive preening by Benson, a rather horrifying eldritch duck-dog thing the size of a small horse) Missa eventually explains why he’s in space. Tubbo, having just recently repaired Philza H Minecraft’s ship on its way to wipe out a gladiator ring, puts two and two together to make more plot, explains his Theory, and decides to accompany Missa, getting them into the next Syndicate raid on this organization. They, along with an undercover agent by the code name of Boo (It’s a word in Old Enderian that means ‘Eldritch’ or ‘Unknowable.’ Missa has to choke to keep from laughing) storm a freighter and rescue a bunch of valuable slaves and also!! Sunny and Tallulah! They have different first languages, Sunny was treated Significantly Cushier by the slavers than Lulah bc she was younger and viewed a bit more like a pet than a fighter, and they haven’t really spoken to one another before the rescue, so their rough start happens at this point. Cue Missa and Tubbo # Struggling to keep these two feral children from each others throats while they keep searching (‘Chay was literally never this bloodthirsty, the heck???’ -Missa, holding two backpack leashes apart while the girls are trying to strangle each other) 

Meanwhile on the Boreas: CHAY AND TOMMY REUNION POG???? Techno formally adopts Chay according to his culture (think Mandalorian, but to the left) and Chay has enough language to understand, but not enough to inquire about, yknow, whether Going Back To Earth is an option. As far as the Boreas crew know, it isn’t: Earth is a no-fly zone and Chay’s been out here for nearly a year and a half. They have no idea how they’d begin to get him home. 

Then finally, on a Syndicate-owned spaceport in the middle of nowhere, Missa finds the Boreas and sees his kid across a crowded bazaar. They hug, it’s super dramatic, very tearful, (Phil and Kristen are already planning his room on the ship: if they’re gonna coparent, they’re gonna do it Right) and after a bit of waffling, both Chay and Missa decide it’s for the best if they spend some time in space before heading back to earth, what with the whole “definitely stole a star fighter and wanted by the government, the entire world knows about aliens now” bit. There is fluff. There is cultural sharing. There is hair braiding. It’s amazing. 

Then comes my literal favorite space au trope Ever: a few days into the new and improved Boreas gang’s voyage, their ship is boarded by (shock, horror) a group of Human Pirates and the crew is Immediately captured. Turns out: it’s kinda hard to keep the existence of an entire galactic community from Everyone on Earth, and these are guys who, similar to Missa, yoinked a spaceship from their military and went rogue. (I’m putting Quackity here, cause I love charismatic villain Quackity and I think it works) they pirates are very VERY “humans are gonna expand to cover the universe” “might makes right” “come, join us, and together we can rule the galaxy” about it when they realiz Missa and Chay are aboard, and the Boreas crew honestly expects Missa and Chay to join them. They’re human! They speak the same language! They value the same things! Obviously they’re gonna take that way out, we wouldn’t even blame them! (Techno feels pretty betrayed but Phil/Kristen/Tommy just look resigned) Missa and Chay play along, pretend to hate their ‘alien captors,’ and arm themselves “to help them secure the ship.”

What follows is a rather emotionally charged but Very Very Cool sequence in which Missa and Chayanne use the skills they gained in their unfortunate struggles across the galaxy to Clean House, clearing their home the ship room by room until they’ve got a pile of bloodied and unconscious or dead humans and a very very shocked new family. There might be a bit more plot after this as the family settles, perhaps a sequel made of short stories, but this is generally the end.

The epilogue is five years later, when Fit Emsi, head of the new Intergalactic Human Intergalactic Relations Organization and Expansion Section (HIROES) has his monthly checkup call with Missa and Chay, who’re having a blast with Techno and Phil and Tommy traveling the universe. Fit calls them in to consult in cultural stuff during the negotiations with, yknow, the Actual Galactic Government, the one that views the Syndicate as a crime organization, but it’s pretty well known at this point that Mumza is In Charge Of Things on the Downlow, and Fit’s still Chay’s godfather for heavens sake: there’s simply nothing the government can Do about it. Tubbo has adopted Sunny and Chay took one look at Talulah and decided “Thats My Little Sister.” Phil apparently has had a crisis recently related to some kind of ancient evil ex long thought dead, but is on the road to recovery. Everyone lives happily ever after, the end. 

[bluelocksource]

Kiyora Jin’s trivia

☆ Character color: Peacock blue.

☆ Birthday: 31st August.

☆ Current age: 17 (2nd year high schooler).

☆ Zodiac: Virgo.

☆ Birthplace: Fukuoka Prefecture.

☆ Family structure: Father, mother, older brother, himself, younger brother.

☆ Current height: 165 cm.

☆ Foot size: 26 cm.

☆ Dominant foot: Right foot.

☆ Blood type: A.

☆ Visual acuity: 1.2

☆ Grip strength: 55kg.

☆ Nickname: "Dance Battle Footballer"

☆ Motto: "Sharpen your blade, prepare for battle."

☆ Starts playing football: At age 2. “Before I knew it, I was playing soccer with my big brother.”

☆ Team before joining BLUE LOCK: Murasame High School Soccer Club.

村雨 (Murasame) means "village rain".

☆ Hobby: Breakdancing. "Come breakdancing with me".

☆ Favorite food: Candied grapes (budō ame). "I got addicted to its crunchy texture and juiciness."

☆ Food he dislike: Mizuna (Japanese mustard greens). “Isn't that just a leaf?”

☆ What goes best with rice: One stick of mentaiko. "Beware of overeating!"

☆ Favorite animal: Peacocks. "The difference between the moment they closes and opens their feathers are amazing."

☆ Favorite season: Summer. “It ignites my fighting spirit.”

☆ Favorite football player: Yuki Soma.

☆ Favorite song: "NIGHT DANCER" by imase.

☆ Favorite manga: Vagabond.

☆ Favorite movie: Fight Club. "Passionate film directing. Clever composition."

☆ Mushroom shoots vs Bamboo shoots: Mushroom. "I feel like bamboo shoots always win, so I’ll side with mushrooms."

☆ What makes him happy: Provocation "The thought of me crushing someone gets me excited."

☆ What makes him upset: Atrophy. "This is what makes me lose strength. Don't freak out, you pigs."

☆ What he thinks his strength is: Extremely competitive.

☆ What he thinks his weakness is: Tends to think everything is a fight. "Sorry, I can't change that"

☆ What made him cry recently: “I hit my head during breakdancing practice. I got 3 stitches.”

☆ Favorite/best subject: P.E. "I like competitive sports. You can really engage!"

☆ Weak/least favorite subject: Overall studying. "I aim for the borderline of failing grades."

☆ Ideal type: Someone who likes sports. Good at making up after fights.

☆ Number of chocolates received from previous Valentine: 7.

☆ At what age he experiences first love: 10 years old.

☆ The first time he got confessed to: “In the second year of middle school, I was confessed to by both of my twin classmates. I got confused about who was who, so I turned both of them down.”

☆ Fixation: Sweats. "I like people who are sweating."

☆ Average sleeping time: 8 hours (6.5 hours + 1.5 hours nap)

☆ How he spend his holiday: “I participate in dance battle events. Of course, I aim to win.”

☆ When taking a bath, which part he washes first: "My bottom. I loosen up while washing."

☆ What he usually buy from the convenience store: Red Bull. "I feel energized after drinking it."

☆ What will he do if he received 100 million yen: "I would return it. I want to earn it with my own hands. Money earned with blood and sweat is not just paper."

☆ At what age he stops receiving presents from Santa: 11 years old.

☆ What was his last wish from Santa: Weight training equipment. "To win fights against my older brother and younger brother."

☆ What will he do during his last day on Earth: Dance and play soccer. "I’d probably do it while crying, thinking it might be the last time."

☆ Favorite historical figure: Sasaki Kojirō.

☆ If he hadn’t encountered soccer, what will he be doing: “Breakdancing. I’d probably have won a gold medal”

☆ If he could only take one thing to a deserted island, what would it be: A sleeping bag. “I can't stand being cold.”

☆ If he had a time machine, would he go to the past or the future: The future. “I have no interest in the past. Living for the future is what it means to be human.”

note: i want to apologize in advance for any mistake made in the translation!

source: twt & vol. 26 & Egoist Bible 2.

Last updated: 28/10/2024

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Toshinori Yagi General Profile

Yandere! Toshinori Yagi x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, manipulation, mentions of assault (not by Toshinori), very, very slight infantilization, Toshinori has a thing for your pubic hair, this actually came out quite sad because Toshinori has some confidence issues, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

DARLING PROFILE:

Caring 

All of Toshinori’s life, he’s been the one wanting to save others, putting his life on the line just constantly in order to save a life. He’s used to quite literally being the hero, the one caring for and making sure others around him are safe, healthy, out of harm’s way.

And while he chose to be a hero, chose to live that life, there’s a certain amount of charm that the idea of a partner who wants to care for him has. 

He doesn’t need to be coddled or treated like a toddler, but he can’t deny the way his heart melts when his darling asks him how he’s feeling, when they press their hand again his forehead to check if he’s running a temperature, when he sees them fret over making him dinner or preparing a bath for him. 

It’s undeniably cute, and Toshinori lives for the domesticity of it - having someone looking out for him is such a new concept, something that makes his entire chest tight as a blush stains his cheeks, and he honestly feels his love only deepen when his darling showcases this side of their personality. 

He loves it, and although he can’t protect his beloved as much as he used to be able to, he’ll still do everything in his power to return the sentiment.

Open Minded  

While being a pro hero isn’t the most unconventional profession, it’s still something that a lot of civilians see as other, something completely different from themselves. 

Heroes are similar to gods in society, and while Toshinori has most definitely lived up to the meaning of the name, he can’t deny the wish to be treated as someone completely normal, to just be seen as himself, the human who still struggles with getting his washing machine to thoroughly distribute the soap.

Having a darling who is able to understand that Toshinori isn’t just some buff, strong and constantly smiling mass of a man would be extremely attractive to him - he wants his darling to love him for who he is off the battlefield as well. 

He wants his darling to be someone he can use as a refuge, to tie him back to civilian life, to understand the real Toshinori Yagi. 

A darling who is more open minded about hero culture and realistic about who heroes are is something that he absolutely needs - he doesn’t want someone who only likes him because of his persona in battles. 

Just as he loves his darling for every part of who they are, he’d love to be given the same treatment.

Passionate 

Even from a young age Toshinori knew what he wanted to be. He’s understood that his calling is for heroism, that saving people will be his future, and he’s worked hard to live his dream, to become who he’s always wanted to be. 

As a result, he tends to gravitate towards those who have a similar love in their life - of course, he doesn’t expect everyone to know what they want to be, what they want to get out of life, and who they want to be, but a darling that has a hobby or two that they really truly love is something that Toshinori adores. 

The hobby itself doesn’t matter - it could be cooking, playing an instrument, a sport, even studying some outlandish subject that only a few people know of; it doesn’t matter because his darling loves it, and therefore he loves it as well.

Once he realizes that his beloved has something they truly care about, Toshinori will go out of his way to learn about said hobby, to hone skills and try to understand what exactly about it that draws in his partner, that catches their attention so wholly and completely. 

And really, as he watches his beloved devote their precious time to it, he can only dream of the day when they’re devoted that much effort and attention to him, just as he does. 

Because really, his darling may have a hobby as a passion, Toshinori has something much different - his beloved.

Friendly 

Despite his larger than life persona within the public eye, Toshinori himself is actually quite shy. Of course, he still talks to others, regularly puts himself into social situations, but he doesn’t feel especially confident in his abilities to charm others, to talk to people he doesn’t know especially well. 

And while he’s had time to master those skills, a darling who is naturally more friendly and willing to start conversations with others is incredibly inspiring to him.

Toshinori genuinely believes that his darling is someone who he should admire, should be inspired by, should strive to be more like, and their ability to simply strike up a conversation is endlessly amazing to him. 

Not only does he admire this about his darling, but there is also a certain relief that comes with this trait - while he isn’t a bad conversationalist per se, it’s a massive weight off of his shoulders to know that the brunt of the work won’t fall onto him, that he won’t have to carry the conversation or keep it running. He likes knowing that his darling wants to talk to him, that they want to spend time with him and get to know him.

It makes his heart melt and his throat feel dry, but with every question that slips from his darling’s lips that he’d give anything to feel against his own, he only falls deeper and deeper in love.

GENERAL YANDERE TRAITS:

Clingy 

Toshinori has always found his identity through his status as a hero, as a protector of the people and symbol of peace. And now that he’s essentially ended all his relevance as a hero, he’s lost - what is his purpose? 

He’s just a regular man now, unable to help those who need it, unable to do really anything with that frail body he’s left with. He’s angry, really, and finds himself lost in the sense of knowing who he is - but you, sweet little you, give him purpose. 

Being around you makes him feel important, like he has a purpose, like there’s a reason for him to still be living and breathing even if he can’t be a hero anymore. 

Toshinori craves you, the way that you fill a strange void in his heart he wasn’t even aware existed through all the years of stress and being a hero, and he’s found that being around you and seeing you is the only way to help quell some of the intensity burning in his chest, the overwhelming urge to be with you becoming too much to bear much too often. 

However, despite the intensity and depth of his feelings for you, approaching you is an entirely different story. In general, Toshinori doesn’t have a whole lot of romantic experience to fall back on when it comes to approaching you. He is, in a sense, as awkward as a love struck teenage boy – he has no idea how to flirt, how to woo you and make you flustered and embarrassed and smiling up at him, looking up through those lashes with those eyes he could spend hours gazing into. 

In all honesty, he has a tendency to freeze up when he’s talking to you, spouting nonsense with a stutter and shoving the words out of his mouth before he can really think of what he’s saying, leading him to realize mid-way through that what was originally supposed to be a smooth, sweet compliment of you look very beautiful today, the strong color of your shirt really brings out your eyes has turned into a stuttered mess of your eyes are so strong, do you wear them like your shirt? 

It is, in a sense, absolutely mortifying for Toshinori to be around you, because without fail he ends up looking like a fool, and yet he can’t bring himself to pull away from you no matter how hard he tries. Toshinori quickly realizes that having your attention and smile directed at him are all he really needs, that he’s completely content with simply being by your side, spending time with you and showering you in every ounce of his love possible, even if it comes out a bit differently than he’s originally intended it to. 

And so, as time passes he slowly begins inserting himself into more of your plans, wanting to meet up and hang out, chat, have coffee or see a movie, go out for dinner or even spend a night at his place, because he wants you to see him as someone you can be comfortable around, that you’re willing to let into your life. 

And yet, as desperate as he is to have you in his grasp, to be with you every moment of the day, he knows it’s not possible – yet, but he needs to be patient. He knows you aren’t ready to let him hold and kiss you, to wake up in his bed in his arms every morning, to wear that pretty golden ring on your finger, to let him grasp onto you and moan in your ear while he fucks you gently, slowly, purposefully. 

He comes up with other ways to help try to fill the lonely hole in his heart; collections of candid photos of you, taken from outside the various windows of your home, each and every photograph making his heart warm, a soft smile playing on his lips as he traces the outline of your face, your body, imagining being there with you while you cook, clean or just lay around on the couch. 

He has a few small Ziploc bags full of your hair, taken from the walls of your shower or your hairbrush, which he’ll often idly hold in his pocket and mess with when he’s feeling lonely, but by far his favorite way of pretending you’re by his side is through the many, many recordings of your voice he’s collected. 

He loves to hear you speaking – your voice sends pleasurable little shivers down his spine, making his entire body relax as he places the headphones over his ears, your lovely words lulling him into a sense of tranquility. 

He’d felt a bit guilty at first, wondering if recording you without your knowledge was a violation of your privacy, but after the first time, he gives up on my conscience and decides that it’s okay because it’s him, the former hero, and he’d never do anything with ill intent towards you. 

And so, after that first very choppy recording taken from the pocket of his jeans while he talked to you, he shyly asks Izuku to teach him how to edit videos and audios, and his pupil, ever eager to help out, shows him all kinds of fancy settings and graphics on Toshinori’s laptop, even if it takes the older man a good while to get the hang of it. 

His favorite recordings are the ones of you saying his name, or complimenting him. Because you know him as Toshinori rather than All Might, the way your voice whispers to him that he’s so cool, your dad jokes are top notch Toshi, never fails to make him blush and clutch the clump of your hair tighter to his chest, cuddling with his pillow and feeling himself become even more desperate for your touch, to be with you and get to love you. 

When he can’t sleep, he’s listening to your voice talk about your day, how you saw the cutest puppy on the way to work, making Toshinori’s eyes flutter shut and dream of the both of you with your own puppy running around your future home. He wants your attention all the time, and while he’s too awkward and nervous around you to really ask for it, he’ll latch onto any ounce you give him, greedily begging for more and more until you find yourself giving absolutely everything to him. 

But don’t worry – after all, Toshinori will absolutely return the favor; you get his everything, too. 

Protective

Years of seeing the horrible atrocities that humankind are capable of has molded Toshinori into a sort of paranoid mess when it comes to the safety of those close to him. 

He loves you, so much so that it hurts, and the idea of you having to come face to face with any of the horrible, disgusting people he’s fought over the years is enough to have him blindly reaching for you, clutching you tightly with your face buried into his chest and his arms wrapped around you, hoping that another layer of physical protection will be enough to keep you safe. 

He’s answered too many calls that ended with death, pain, injury, disaster that he can’t not imagine what might happen to you, the paranoia slowly beginning to eat him alive as the months roll by, fear pushing him into crossing boundaries he never would have all in the name of your safety. 

With the retirement of his hero career, Toshinori honestly feels a bit useless – he’s no longer able to be in his muscle form, only the lanky, skinny man he’s always disliked, and while you’ve never make any sort of comment about him being less-than when he’s in his natural state, it doesn’t stop him from being hyper aware that he isn’t nearly as powerful now, that if push came to shove, he likely wouldn’t be able to stop any villain from hurting you. 

The idea is fucking terrifying – capable of sending him into a panic attack, his palms growing sweaty and tears forming in his eyes as his mind floods with images of you bloody and broken, crying and screaming, dying in his arms.

And so, Toshinori does the only thing he can; buying everything he can to make sure that you’re safe, healthy, and that you’ll never have so much as a paper cut. He’s investing in the latest, cutting-edge security cameras and systems, rigging the entire house with booby traps for any outsiders. (And traps that, inadvertently, keep you inside.) Floodlights that are hyper sensitive line the property, along with at least ten different styles of locks on each door (yes, even some of the ones between rooms on the inside of the house have them as well, if only because there’s really just no reason for you to venture into the basement, or for you to venture into the second bathroom where he keeps all the shaving razors and medications and things that could hurt you). 

There are passcodes at every step of the way, and all of the windows are made of bullet proof glass. He has a lot of money left laying around from being the number one for so many years, and Toshinori has absolutely no problem spending it this way, spending it on keeping you safe and sound. 

He doesn’t mean to, but quickly you’ll begin to feel like you’re incompetent once you’re under his rule; you can’t have anything smaller than a walnut, out of fear that you’ll choke. You aren’t allowed to shower alone, because he’s scared that you’ll somehow hurt yourself or slip and fall on the tile.

(He’ll never force you to let him actually into the shower with you, but he’ll always be standing in the doorway or sitting on the closed toilet seat, twiddling his thumbs and talking softly to you, so quietly you can barely hear him over the sound of rushing water.) 

You aren’t allowed to sleep unless he’s knocked on your door and heard you respond, his voice calling through the wood and wishing you pleasant dreams (oftentimes he’ll stare longingly at the painted white wood, pressing a soft kiss against it and whispering something about you being so beautiful, I’m so lucky aren’t I that makes you frown and sink into your blankets on the other side, guilt slowly eating away at you).

It comes from a good place, honestly – he wants to spoil you and make you happy beyond belief, and he genuinely believes that by showing you how much he cares and investing in your safety to such an intense degree, that he’s showcasing his dedication to you, his devotion to making sure that you’re his sweet little girlfriend (he wishes wife someday, though he won’t push you)l, his lovely partner that he’d do absolutely anything for. 

And really, while the knee pads and helmet he makes you wear when you’ve been particularly clumsy are demeaning and something you hate at first, slowly you’ll come to be okay with it, to maybe even enjoy it; after all, no matter how loving – or lack thereof – your friends and family were, they’re nothing compared to Toshinori, when compared to how he pampers you, how he treats you like a queen. 

He buys you anything and everything you want, all with that blush sporting his cheeks while he shyly hugs you from behind, and isn’t it the least you could do to just let him take care of you? 

Would it really be so wrong to just give in?

Lucid

Again, despite his lackluster romantic life, Toshinori is aware that there’s something amiss about his feelings for you. He knows something is wrong with the way he grows to slowly depend on you, how his every thought begins revolving around you, how he only starts to feel good and happy when you’re near him. 

It’s wrong, and at first he does genuinely try to fight it - it’s not fair to you or him to develop such overbearing, scary feelings. It’s wrong and, dare he say it, even a bit villainous - except, he’s not doing anything that bad, right? 

He’s not planning on hurting you (the thought makes him physically ill), or kidnapping you (he does, eventually, but only because he’s pushed into a corner and he has no choice - he hopes you’ll understand, one day), or anything else he’s had to read case files of for so many years. 

He’s not a monster - you’ll never be touched without your consent, or treated as subhuman, or neglected. And so, while he is initially ashamed of the way he feels for you, eventually he grows less embarrassed and disgusted with himself, eventually even managing to convince himself that he’s just doing what’s best for you. 

He’s accepted the fact that his love for you isn’t going away, and as such you’re essentially just a big, red, walking target for any of his enemies to exploit, and isn’t it better for him to embrace every instinct he has to protect you? 

Isn’t it better for him to allow the obsessive, disturbing feelings to bloom and grow? 

He still feels a bit guilty about it, but slowly habits begin slipping through the cracks; occasionally driving by your house or apartment, blue eyes appraising the property to make sure everything is normal - your windows are closed, blinds drawn, front door shut, good. 

Then, once that isn’t enough, he’s trailing you on his days off, acting as your shadow just to make sure you get from one place to another safely, without any danger befalling you. 

He’s careful to stay out of your sight, making sure you never spot him, so that you never get the idea that he’s stalking you, so that you don’t grow scared of him. 

Once that isn’t enough, he’s actually entering your home, making sure to leave no trace of his presence, making sure he doesn’t touch anything or leave it askew for you to notice. 

He doesn’t want you to be paranoid or suspect that someone’s been in your home, and he only ever enters when you’re not home - he absolutely cannot have you catching him in the act, accusing him of all kinds of perverted, disgusting things (which aren’t that far from the truth, but he still doesn’t think he could take hearing it from you). 

He’s slowly indulging himself, allowing himself a bit more leeway, slowly loosening up the leash he’d kept himself tightly on. It’s hard, at first, to allow himself to take just a bit more, to give into his less savory side, but as time passes he grows less and less worried, more and more desperate to fulfill his role as your protector, and hopefully someday your lover.

He likes to think of himself as having a decent amount of self control, but where you’re concerned, he’s utterly lost - he’s a slave to his own desires, and while he tries to control it and tame it, eventually it gets the better of him. But, fortunately for him, you don’t know until it’s much, much too late. 

To you, he’s just Toshinori, the awkward, sweet man you’ve come to know as a friend, as someone who always leaves you thoughtful gifts and insists on letting him pay for your meals, for your favorite flowers, even for jewelry you’ve been keeping an eye on. You’re not quite sure whether he’s just bad at making friends, or if he’s interested in you (the nervous eye contact and shying away from your touch makes you think he’s just a friend, and while the thought disappoints you, you’ve accepted it), but regardless, you’re happy that he’s in your life. 

(Really, the only reason he shies away from your touch is because any unwanted touching is the one hard and fast line he will draw - he absolutely will not touch you without your consent, and even if you were to reach out and grab his hand, he still automatically jerks away, if only because he’s scared that once he touches you, he’ll never stop.) 

He hides his true intentions very well, but eventually that facade will shatter - when danger comes knocking, or something happens that forces Toshinori to abduct you in order to protect you. Only then will you realize the depth of his feelings for you, the raw desperation he holds for you. 

It’s scary and overwhelming and you’ll hate him for as long as you can manage, but eventually Toshinori will win you over, if only because he knows what he’s done is wrong. He knows, and the apologies that tumble from his lips while a few tears roll down his cheeks will make it hard to stay truly mad at him, and eventually you’ll crumble, too. 

Eventually, Toshinori will get what he’s always wanted - you, by his side, safe and sound and in love with him. Even if he is a monster.

DEALING WITH RIVALS:

Because Toshinori’s romantic feelings for you form in full once he’s retired from hero work, jealousy is something that he deals with very, very frequently. 

He’s painfully aware that in his normal form, there’s nothing that he deems especially attractive or unique about himself – he’s lanky, tall, angular, someone that he knows wouldn’t get a passing glance on the street. He knows that he’s not especially charming with women, that he isn’t some romance god, someone that makes relationships and dating and love look like a piece of cake, that he’s just bad at being the dreamy suitor. 

He knows he’s not a young prince charming, that his age and looks and the trauma he’s suffered from so many years of pressure and violence make him damaged goods. And because of his hyper-awareness about his physical and mental ‘shortcomings’, Toshinori is constantly plagued by thoughts about you finding someone else, someone better, cooler, more handsome, more secure, not a disgraced hero, as he can’t help but see himself. 

He’s already prone to poor self confidence, but once you’re thrown into the mix? You, who is so pretty, smart, kind, wonderful, amazing, a dream come true, so out of his league… 

His insecurities and worries about not being good enough for you only amplify, made that much stronger as he loses more and more of his One for All abilities. 

And so, the minute that he sees you show even remote interest in another man, he’s immediately deciding that maybe you’d be better off with this person, that you could thrive and do so much better with them – they won’t hold you back like he would, they wouldn’t force you to settle so heavily like he would. It’s an unhealthy mindset and Toshinori knows this, but he just can’t help himself. 

He’s so in love with you, so sure that you’re something perfect and something that he doesn’t deserve in the slightest, and yet you’re something that he wants so fucking bad. 

It’s a constant mental battle between letting you find someone better for you, or giving into the selfish desires constantly eating away at him, and in all honesty it’s agonizing, the realization that he’s never wanted something as desperately as he’s wanted you. You’re like his last life line; his hero career is over, having been ripped away from him, and yet you’re still here, someone who likes Toshirnori for Toshinori, not because he’s All Might.

Which is why, as he internally flounders, he ultimately decides to not interfere – you’re your own person, a person he loves with every fiber of his being, but a person nonetheless. And besides, how heroic could he really be if he was limiting your romantic potential and your happiness by not letting you find someone better? How can he pretend to even entertain the notion of him being more than just a creepy, desperate freak if he doesn’t let you live your own life, even if watching tears him to pieces?

And so, as he spots you talking to the man with brown hair and eyes, an easy smile on his face as he looks at you, Toshinori’s heart is immediately breaking. 

You’re so pretty; hair rustling in the breeze of the afternoon air, your eyes sparkling as you laugh at the man’s joke, the bags of groceries in your arms looking so domestic and cute and oversized for you.

You’re perfection, utterly and purely, and as the man continues to speak with you, Toshinori’s confidence fades by the second, pushing what little there was to begin with to essentially nothing. He’s nervously tapping his fingers against his leg, gnawing at his lip and mentally listing all the things about this stranger that are better than him - he’s more muscular, his hair is more tamed and styled, his voice isn’t as raspy. 

Toshinori frowns, biting his lip as he watches the interaction. It’s not long, a few more remarks passed between the two of you that get both of you laughing, but every second feels like agony to him. It’s not until you walk away from the man with a smile on your face that he exhales sharply, realizing he hadn’t even been breathing. 

His fist is balled up so tightly that crescent shapes sit on his palms, the pressure of his nails against his skin nearly drawing blood. He’s quick to follow you home, slinking behind you, his mind whirring with possibilities. 

Were you interested in that man? Toshinori doesn’t make you laugh as much as that man had, maybe you found funny men more attractive. 

Had you gotten the man’s number, or had you given yours? Just the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth, worry eating away at him.

He’ll do some research later into the man’s identity, checking his criminal record and seeing if anything sinister appears in his files. When you reach your apartment, Toshinori reluctantly peels away, watching with longing in his eyes as you step into the building, heavy grocery bags juggling in your arms as you open the door. 

That night, he sits in front of his computer, the blue light washing over his face as he pours through hero databases, running the man’s description through and finding him, scouring through every single government document just to make sure there’s nothing incriminating in them. (He can’t tell if he’s disappointed or relieved when nothing raises a red flag - the man seems like an upstanding citizen.) 

The thought sticks in his head, replaying the memory of you laughing so freely up until a few days later, when your weekly coffee date with Toshinori rolls around. 

He’s noticeably quiet, just kind of looking at you and absentmindedly nodding along or giving one word answers, until you eventually confront him. He winces and tells you it’s nothing to worry about, only that he’d seen reports of rates of assault going up lately. It’s not technically a lie, just a very exaggerated version of the truth. 

But it does the trick - you stiffen up, worry evident on your expression as you tell him you’d met a man the other day that was very friendly - too friendly, you admit, and something in Toshinori perks up. The disdain in your voice gets him feeling dangerously hopeful, and as you sigh and slump slightly in your chair, telling him that you think you might want to hold off on meeting anyone until this area of the city gets a bit safer, he can’t help but bounce his leg slightly in anticipation. 

Thank god, you obviously weren’t considering seeing this stranger again - his chest feels light, airy, as if a sudden weight were lifted off his heart. He feels bad, truly, as he watches you switch topics to talk about your job, but he can’t help it - he’d been obsessing over whether you were seriously considering the man as a potential partner, something that made his gut churn and his head feel dizzy. 

He’s happy that you’ll remain single for the time being; you may not be interested in Toshinori, but at least you’re not interested in anyone else. 

That’s all he can ask for, really. It would be selfish to wish for anything more - no matter how desperately he does.

TAKING HIS DARLING AWAY:

He really, really doesn’t want to resort to kidnapping you. He’s already on the cuff about everything else he’s doing to you, and to steal you away without your consent would present a line he desperately doesn’t want to cross. 

Besides, you would hate him - you’d think he was a monster, a horrible, disgusting pervert, a villain. Kidnapping you would label him as the very thing he’s dedicated his life to eradicating, and although he loves you dearly, overwhelmingly, pathetically, the crushing guilt and weight of how you would see him would be too much. 

And so, Toshinori holds out on relocating you for as long as he possibly can, and god is it difficult. Every morning that he wakes up with an aching back, chest pain centered around his scar, or even just fatigue, he wonders if he’d be able to protect you today. 

He’ll stand in front of the mirror with a towel around his face, hair wet from the shower he just finished, eyes appraising his form.

He’s not as strong as he used to be; two fingers come up to poke at the muscles of his biceps, and a frown sits on his lips.

If someone were to attack you, could he stop them? If you were taken by a villain, could he really save you? 

He grimaces but sighs, knowing the answer is no, but still thoroughly unwilling to take action and keep you in the nice little room he’s got prepared just in case. He holds himself off, always rationalizing it to himself that yes, you could fall victim to some heinous crime, but if he were to kidnap you, he’d be that heinous crime. 

And this logic works for quite some time - enough time to let his paranoia grow, the fear and anticipation in his chest slowly reaching up into his throat and strangling him, making it hard to eat or sleep or even breath. 

He’s watching news reports on recent villains attacks with shaking fingers and his lip between his teeth, worry eating away at every inch of his body until one day he finally snaps - it’s a minor accident, really, one that could’ve happened to anybody. 

Someone was mugged, and you’d been in the area, running some errands. They’d stolen the woman’s purse, and as they were running away, they’d looked over their gilder and managed to run right into you. You both fell to the ground, and Toshinori - from his spot twenty feet behind you, trailing you in what he hoped was an inconspicuous manner - watched as the thief barked out an apology and pushed against you to push himself forward, continuing his mad scramble away from the woman now chasing him. 

You’d stumbled down again, landing with a slightly pained noise, and something in that moment had Toshinori gasping, a hand clutched to his chest. 

You were hurt. 

Nothing serious, just a scrape or two on your knee and adrenaline in your veins, but still. He’d let you get hurt, while he was standing by, not doing a single fucking thing to stop it. 

And so, as he rushed forward to help you up, gently smiling at you while you asked what had just happened, he decides he’s waited long enough. You may think of him as the villain, deciding he’s a poor excuse of a man and an even worse hero, but he just can’t see you hurt again. 

He can’t fail you.

In general, two sides of Toshinori war once he’s got you under his rule. He’s clingy, yes, his dependence on you only growing tenfold once he’s got you under his care. He wants to be with you always, constantly, to not let a moment go by where you aren’t at least within his sight. 

And yet, Toshinori tries to give you space once he’s stolen you away. He knows what he’s done is wrong, and while he desperately hopes it isn’t the case, he would understand if you hate him for the rest of your life. He tries to stay away from you, only invading your personal space when absolutely necessary, and leaving you to your own devices in your own separate bedroom within the confines of his modest home. 

However, in his heart, he wants nothing more than absolute domestic bliss with you. Because of his tumultuous childhood once receiving One for All, he never really got to experience anything resembling first love or even romance in general, and he’s always harbored this desire to have own partner, a woman to come home to and cuddle and fall asleep next to. It’s a thought that’s always been in the back of his mind, drifting into his thoughts often throughout his career but always getting pushed back down - though never forgotten. 

And so, while he doesn’t force you into anything you don’t want to do (aside from staying inside his home), Toshinori secretly yearns for the point in time where he can wrap his arms around you, when he can feel your soft lips press a welcome home kiss against his cheek at the front doorway. 

He’s anxiously dreaming of the day when you’ll gently grab his hand and lead him to bed (the bed you now share, you having decided it was high time to get rid of the lonely, cold mattress you’d been sleeping on and join him), snuggling up into his side and letting his palm press into your stomach and pull you back closer to him. 

He wants you to help him cook, playing soft crooning love songs in the background while you stir and he chops, occasionally glancing at each other and smiling. 

He just wants your love, so very much, but he understands that he has to be patient and let you grow to love him first. 

And it’s painful, staying away from you, but he does it - though he’s always hovering near your door (you always keep it closed, not wanting him to come into the only room you can partially call your own), eyes darting to the stagnant wood every few minutes. He’s keeping his ears open to hear for any sounds, always ready to rush in and aid you if necessary, aching to be seen as a hero in your eyes. 

He takes good care of you, all things considered - there’s a steaming tray of your favorite breakfast foods waiting outside your door after he hears you rustling about in the mornings, a rapt knock on the wood and a soft good morning darling, your food is ready accompanying it. He’ll let you eat in your room, not forcing you to join him at the dining table, content to see your head quickly appear in the crack between the door and the frame, hands grabbing the tray while you glance at him and then away. 

Honestly, that interaction (and the same routine with dinner) is probably all he’ll see of you the whole day - you spend all your time in your room, and while it’s not ideal for Toshinori, it’s better than you ignoring him while you’re in his presence, fighting him or yelling hurtful things at him. 

He’s making sure the bathroom adjoining your room is stocked full of the nicest smelling shampoos and soaps (all your favorite scents - coincidentally, now his favorite scents, too) and all the items necessary for your skin and hair care. 

(He doesn’t keep anything sharp in there, however; he trusts you, but not enough to know you won’t try something with a razor, or that you won’t just trim your nails with the nail clippers. Besides, he’ll never, ever tell you, but he sort of likes your body hair - in his fantasies, the first time you two get intimate, you’d ideally not have shaved in quite some time, the tufts of hair making that wonderful mound between your legs look so womanly and inviting and primal.)

He won’t force affection onto you, but eventually you will come around, whether you want to or not. 

You will become lonely, fighting the urge to venture past your room and interact even just a bit with your captor. After all, in order to even catch Toshinori’s attention in the first place you had to have been friends - and fairly close ones, at that. 

Somewhere in your heart you know he’s a good man, and even though he’d managed to hide his hero persona from you for an impressively long time, you’d trusted him with your life - so what’s changed? Yes, he’s shown yet another side of him that you hadn’t expected, but was he really so bad? After all, he knows much better than you all the danger in the world - maybe he really is doing you a favor by keeping you locked up, safe and sound from the scum that rot society. 

Maybe he really does love you - which is why, one morning, you emerge from your room, tapping him on the shoulder and asking if he’d like any coffee, because you’re making some for yourself and you remember how much he loves vanilla lattes…Toshinori can only gape at you, his jaw physically dropped, before quickly composing himself, eyes darting around your face as if he were committing the details to memory, a slow nod of his head and a stuttered y-yes, thank you making you pad off to the coffee pot by the sink. 

Eventually, you will cave, and although he still treats you with too much care and protectiveness, you’ll probably end up happy with him - after all, he’d do anything to see you smile, even if it meant destroying himself. 

PUNISHMENTS:

Punishing you is absolutely out of the question. There is no possible situation that could push Toshinori to discipline you, much less hurt you - god no, just the thought has him feeling sick enough to vomit, the pit in his stomach only sinking deeper and deeper as flashes of you bloody, crying and bruised swim through his mind. 

You’ll never be running the risk of getting in trouble with him, and frankly it’s incredibly difficult to even get him mad at you. He seems to have unlimited patience when it comes to you; you could attempt to escape every day for months and he’d only tiredly sigh, gently grabbing your waist and pulling you back from the front door, telling you to stop clawing at the door, look at how your nails are bleeding. 

You could yell at him every time you see him, calling him horrible names and demeaning him and he’d only softly frown, nodding his head and telling you that you’re right, I am a monster, but your food will get cold if you don’t eat soon. You could punch him, kick him, slap him and he’d only dodge out of your way, knowing that although he may be slower and weaker in this form, he’s still got fighting instincts, and he will outlast you, so he’ll just let you keep going until you get your fill. 

Honestly, you’ll be the one getting mad when you act out; he just doesn’t ever seem to be affected by anything you do, never lashing out at you or hurting you or doing really anything. He just takes everything, his face carefully neutral or definitively sad, making you uncomfortable to look at him. It’s infuriating, if only because you want to get a rise out of him, to establish him as a monster, a freak, a creep for all the things he’s done to you. 

You want him to be worse than he is for having stalked you, kidnapped you, photographed you without your knowledge, for spending months dreaming of you and wringing himself dry to the thought of you. It’ll fuck with your head that he’s not locked you in some dingy basement, that he isn’t touching you or hurting you or anything even remotely as sinister.

 It’ll anger you that he’s being kind, caring, taking better care of you than you yourself ever did - he’s being good, and while it doesn’t erase the fact that he did all those things to you before stealing you away, the image you’ve created of him being an unhinged bastard will slowly crack. The cracks will be small, growing in number until the entire image shatters, breaking apart and showing you that Toshinori really just wants you. 

The cracks are little favors he does for you here and there that you never asked for; buying your favorite snacks and leaving them outside your door, even though you’re sure you didn’t ask for them nor tell him your favorites. It’s scary that he knows your favorite chip and ice cream flavors, but it’s a small comfort to have them, nonetheless.

He’s doing all your laundry, cycling through clean clothing that’s soft and smells like lemons and rosemary and leaving them folded neatly outside your door, all so that you don’t spend your time in the same stinking set of clothing.

(It’s a bit scary that he knows your size for everything from sock to shirts to panties, but you’re grateful enough for clean clothing that you can’t complain.) He’s treating you well, and you hate it - why can’t he be the freak you’ve convinced yourself he is? It’s wrong, and you wish it weren’t the case, but it’s who Toshinori is, and the longer you’re with him the more you’ll realize that. 

Yes, he’s a monster, but only for you. 

Toshinori is awoken by low, thudding sounds, uneven and coming from outside his bedroom. Immediately he’s sitting up in bed, wild eyes glancing all around to locate the source of the sound, and soon he’s scrambling up, the sheets nearly getting tangled in his haste to exit. 

He’s not wearing a shirt, only a pair of navy blue boxers sitting low on his hips as he yanks open the door and rushes through his home, following the noise with a sinking feeling in his heart. Where are you? 

Soon he’s answering that question, seeing you by the windows in the living room, nightclothes hanging haphazardly on your frame as you ram your side into the glass again, hissing under your breath at the sting. No cracks have formed, and your eyes are all red and teary, as if you’re about to cry in frustration.

Toshinori gulps, rushing forward until he’s about two feet away from you. His hands are outstretched as if to grab you, but his fingers twitch as he stops himself, fighting the instinct because he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. His chest is burning, because it’s obvious what you’re trying to do. 

You’re trying to escape, hoping to break the window and jump out - nevermind that it’s a three story drop, his condo not ground floor, and you’d most definitely break something on the way down. It’s also obvious that you aren’t going to be successful; who knows how long you’ve been going at this, and not a single blemish taints the glass. You’ll end up hurting yourself before you hurt the glass. 

You’ve frozen now that he’s here, and you slowly back away from him, your chest rising and falling so quickly that it makes him nervous, eyes darting between his wildly. Darling, please, stop.

He begs, his voice strained, and you only shake your head. No, no I have - I have to, I have to leave, please Toshinori! 

He can’t help the shiver that rolls through him at the sound of his name on your tongue, but you only back up further, until you run into the wall, looking at him like he’s crazy. You’ll hurt yourself, he tells you, taking a deep breath. Look at your elbow, there’s bruises. Please, darling, it’s not working, please. 

He’s pleading with you, but you won’t listen - you want to, the dull throbbing in your elbow is begging you to, but you can’t. You can’t, not if you want to hold onto the last scraps of your sanity, the part of you that’s urging you to fight this whole situation refusing to be silenced. And so you shake your head again, sliding down the wall until you’re sitting on the floor, hands clutching at your arms. 

No, please, I need to leave. You’re whispering, and Toshinori has to strain his ears just to hear you. 

He comes closer, cautiously, crouching down in front of you to be eye level and not intimidate you. Please darling, it’s safe here. It’s not, out there. I know you’re not happy here, and I wish that weren’t the case, but you have to stay. I know you hate it, I know you hate me, but please, let me keep you safe. 

You’re shaking your head again, mind spinning, totally unsure of how you’re feeling. No, you mumble, your lips moving before you can think. I don’t hate you. 

Both your eyes and his go wide at your words, and one of your hands comes up to smack over your mouth, complete shock making your legs tremble. You weren’t sure why you said that, but Toshinori could only stare at you, lips parted and his fingers twitching. 

I - I don’t, you start, unsure of what you’re about to say. You don’t know how you feel, where this is coming from, or why it feels like the truth, like you really don’t hate him. You should, you know you should, and yet you can’t find it in yourself to conjure up any hate, no harmful words popping into your mind. 

Toshinori swallows, hard, and slowly shuffles forward, placing his palm on your arm. You jerk, and for a moment he considers pulling his hand away, but then you’re covering his hand with your own, still not meeting his gaze. 

Why don’t I hate you? It’s all you can whisper out, tears forming in your eyes, but Toshinori slowly moves forward, wrapping his arms around you, nearly sobbing from happiness as you hesitantly return the hug. 

He stays with you for a long time, letting you cry into his shoulder, letting your grip grow tighter and tighter around him, until he’s eventually helping you up, leading you to the kitchen and fixing you a warm bowl of noodles, not saying anything or pushing you to speak either. He can’t, not when he’s practically brimming with excitement - you’ve never let him hug you like that before, and he can’t stop replaying the way you felt in his arms, how soft and warm you were, even if you were crying. 

He won’t push you to explain anything to him, but as you slowly open up to him the next few days, not flinching away from his touch or ignoring his words, he can only sigh and bite his lip, ecstatic that he’s finally, finally making progress with you. 

Maybe all those domestic dreams are closer than he thought - maybe you’d let him hold your hand now, or let him tuck your hair behind your ear, or let him press a soft, chaste kiss against your cheek. 

Maybe you even love him now.

OVERALL DANGER:

4/10

Honestly, the only way that Toshinori presents any danger to you is by kidnapping you. Otherwise, he’s less than harmful - sure, he’s obsessed with you, hopelessly devoted to seeing you smile and making you happy, but is that really such a crime? 

Is it evil to want to spend time with you, to crave your presence, to live for the small, fleeting touches you give his shoulders or hands? 

Toshinori feels immense guilt for his feelings towards you, viewing himself as a monster, a freak, a poor excuse for a man for being so hyper fixated on you and crossing all sorts of boundaries that are there for a reason, but he can only deny himself for so long. 

He’s a hero, but not perfect; everyone has their limit, and Toshinori will slowly creep towards his through a photograph here, a picked lock there, until he’s eventually got you unconscious on the bed of his spare room, panic sitting heavy in his chest because oh god, you’re going to hate him and never, ever want him in the way he wants you. 

It’s a slow crawl into obsession for him, but he’s in too deep, his feelings for you simply too strong for him to pull away - so he compromises and tries to make the best of the situation, hoping that the sincerity of his feelings and his devotion to your happiness and care will make up for the stalking, the watching you sleep, the knocking you out with the chloroform soaked rag. 

He’s hoping, perhaps naively, that one day you’ll forgive him - and really, you will. Whether you want to or not. Because while Toshinori has in fact betrayed you in more ways than one, he’ll manage to worm his way into your heart, his awkward charm and genuine yearning for you eventually winning you over. 

After all, how can you say no to the only person who really seems to care for you? How can you deny him when he’s got that hopeful look in his eye, those clammy, nervous palms and his stuttered murmur of your name? 

You just can’t, so really it’s in your best interest to give up trying. It’s easier for both of you that way.

[doekimakura]

Can we learn a bit more about Alvius and Charles?

Charles and Alvius were my old WF OCs I made at the peak of my Warframe fanboy moment. They were... vastly different characters than who they are now.

Also!! Note that I played Warframe last before Railjack so... idk shit abt new lore.

(Note: more info in alt text)

Charles LeClair

Currently, Charles is mostly-a-spy mercenary who works alone. He is extremely anxious and distrustful of everyone and seemed very feeble and weak-minded. He always acted like he doesn't want to do this whole warframe job (he really doesn't) but he is too broke to actually stop (he is.)

Apparently, some people are hunting him down. An operator and his Warframe... but he has no idea why they are hunting him down.

Charles' true passion lies in mathematics. Numbers and codes calms him down, which is why he would rather go on spy missions and/or hack consoles and steal credits from the enemy side. He is a huge number nerd to a point he is able to calculate in his head freely, enhancing control over his limbo ability (where he shifted between reality and Rift, etc.)

He doesn't tell people much about himself. The best person who knows him for who he is is Alvius, and even then the poor Nidus doesn't know much about him either. (That leads to their breakup.)

Alvius Ilidius

Alvius (he prefers to be called 'Alan' because it's shorter) is a lot of things. He is a CEO, (a nidus pretending to be) an Excalibur, and is the charming leader of the dojo 'Tera Fals.'

Alan himself is very laid back. Unlike Charles, he has a very calm and confident temperament with a sprinkle of humor. Probably passes as a himbo, but has amazing battle instincts. Likes kids! (Most Tenno are '''kids''' after all.) Don't be fooled by his human face. It's a) plastic surgery, he did it to mimic Charles and b) he's actually roughly the same age than as Charles (Like, what, ~300+ years old?) He's an old man. He probably got that face from some old earth playboy magazine, idk.

Despite his positive attitude and virtuous appearance, Alan was an experimental type of Nidus. TL;DR, an experiment where one Tenno can control 10 warframes at the same time. While he is able to walk around freely without an Operator, he was unfortunately plagued with urges of bloodlust and violence. He staves these urges by going out on extreme sports activities, missions, and using suppression medication.

Unfortunately, there are times that fearsome urge wasn't suppressed and well... let's say it caused casualties once.

...

Ok I'll tell you this, they are still in love. But with the massive baggage they're carrying that they haven't solved? That's why they aren't together at the moment.

Anyway that's all about two of my favorite characters and also one of my favorite couples.

[invisibleicewands]

Welsh should stand up to attack on culture - Sheen

Actor Michael Sheen says the Welsh public must rise up and defend its cultural institutions to prevent an "unthinkable" end to the Welsh arts sector.

He listed funding cuts at Welsh National Opera, National Theatre Wales and Museum Wales as examples of "an attack on culture" in Wales.

His comments came ahead of the Welsh debut of the play Nye, in which Sheen portrays Welsh politician Aneurin Bevan, the architect of the NHS.

The Welsh government said it has had to take “extremely difficult decisions” to focus funding on core public services, including the NHS.

Sheen, from Port Talbot, said it would "an outrage... terrible" if a continuation of funding cuts meant an end for the Welsh arts sector and insisted the public would not let that happen.

“We are not going to let our country die, are we. We are not going to let it culturally die and wither on the vine," he said.

"We have to do something about it. We’re not going to sit here and let people take everything away from us.”

On taking on the role of Aneurin - or Nye - Bevan, Sheen said he felt an "emotional and passionate connection" to the Tredegar politician, but said it was also "a lot to live up to".

The play was written by Welsh playwright Time Price and is a co-production between Wales Millennium Theatre and the National Theatre in London, where it premiered in April - it will play in Cardiff from 18 May to 1 June.

It tells the story of Nye in a series of flashbacks as a morphine-induced Bevan lies in a hospital bed battling terminal stomach cancer in 1960.

Sheen said it is now time for Wales to tell its own stories - despite the squeeze on public funding.

"Walking in here yesterday, walking onto the stage I got a real excitement about the potential for this space, for plays telling Welsh stories, the story of Wales," he said.

"No one else is doing it. Where is the great play about the Chartists, the Miner’s Strike, our cultural life and history?

"We have to make sure our voices are heard. Even if the opportunities for those voices to be heard are being shut down, then we have to shout louder don't we."

The Welsh government said: “Wales’ culture, art and sports institutions are an integral part of our society and well-being, enriching our communities and inspiring future generations.

"We have acted to mitigate the full scale of the budget pressures on these sectors.

"However, we have been clear our budget is up to £700m less in real terms than when it was set in 2021.

"We have had to take extremely difficult decisions to focus funding on core public services, including the NHS.

"Based on [the UK government's] plans our budget will be lower per person in real terms in 2028/29 than it was in 2022/23.”

[masterjedilenawrites]

On this here February 1st, I'll be showing some love for the 21st Nova Corps, a unit lead by Marshal Commander Bacara and Jedi General Ki-Adi-Mundi. I couldn't find any other named clones from this unit outside of Bacara, and I haven't written for this guy before, so I'll do some headcanons just for him :)

The 21st Nova Corps

I did a quick dive on Wookiepedia first, and here were some things that stood out to me from what's apparently already been canonized:

The 21st Nova Corps has a reputation for being relentless and exceptionally conditioned/disciplined.

This is in large part due to Bacara having super high expectations, he will kick anyone who doesn't meet them out of the squad, even without Ki-Adi-Mundi's approval.

Actually described as being "at odds with" Mundi, though in another section was said to have a grudging respect for him.

Bacara utilizes aggressive tactics and is extremely strict. He ignores the recommended GAR practice for commanders to remain inconspicuous in battle, and instead chooses to lead his troops from the front.

He's described as a loner and stern. I saw somewhere he was besties with Neyo, too, and they developed combat techniques together.

With that foundation, here are some headcanons I have for him:

Doesn't talk much, but not because he's shy or emotionally constipated. He really only cares about war and rarely meets people who are interested in discussing the topic with as much passion.

Like seriously, he has no other hobbies or interests. Music? Never heard of it. Sports? Boring. Holo-films? Food? Knitting? Yeah no, he's already walking away from this conversation.

If he is comfortable with someone though, he can talk about battle strategies for daaaays.

Fucking hates milk.

Has a mind for improvement. Not quite a perfectionist, he just won't ever settle for "good enough" when something better is still achievable.

Thus, he's constantly working angles in his head, coming up with possible solutions, thinking outside the box. Even for common, everyday situations like getting out of traffic or folding the laundry.

Jason Bourne vibes.

Has one small tattoo on his foot, will never say what it is.

Natural at picking up languages. Fluent in Mando'a but can carry simple conversations in plenty of others. 

Spends his R&Rs pouring over wartime history/strategy books in the archives, with a beer.

If someone asked him on a date, he would straight-up say "why?" So confused.

He would be a pretty good partner, though, if he ever opened himself up romantically.

And if he could ever find someone who meets his high standards...

I also read that he was featured on a GAR campaign poster, and I firmly believe he secretly has a massive print of it taped to the back of his closet door.

Can not roll his tongue. Every other clone can and it pisses him off.

Has the best laugh you've ever heard in your life. He does use it occasionally, but very randomly. Not even his squad has been able to work out what exactly his sense of humor is.

His squad... All are just as intense and passionate as their commander. When they're not fighting, they're training to fight. There's no room for shenanigans or relaxing.

Other clones keep a respectful distance. They know the Nova Corps get sent to some pretty hardcore places.

Most of them have never set foot in 79s, or any bar for that matter.

Bacara goes every once in a while, because he does like a good beer, but he's very out of place. Just... kinda sits there... not doing anything...

He gets hit on a lot because he's smoking hot but has never taken anyone home. Not opposed to the idea of getting laid, but it would take a lot to catch his eye.

Eeeevery once in a while, when life gets a little too still and his thoughts wander past all the combat tactics and weapon factoids that are usually in the way, a deep and vulnerable feeling makes its way to the surface and almost cripples him: loneliness.

He has no idea what to do about it, so rather than face it like he would a charging battalion of droids, he instead pushes it right back down and moves on.

Okay but now I'm imagining Queer Eye showing up to help Bacara find some hobbies and a girlfriend 😂

Every Character Tag: @dangerousstrawberrypie, @justanothersadperson93, @arctrooper69, @sleepycreativewriter, @techie-bear, @theroguesully, @cw80831

Other Clones Tag: @kaijusplotch, @lucyysthings, @marvel-starwars-nerd, @severalseashellsbytheseashore (it won't let me tag you), @lackofhonor, @flowered-bicycles, @foodmoneyandcats, @mishakoon

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🌟 2024 Clone Battalion Series Master List | 🌙 Master List of Master Lists

[shalomniscient]

Here are my Equestrian Cinnabar headcanons; hope you enjoy them!

I think Cinnabar grew up around either a ranch or stables, which cultivated an ardent adoration of horseback riding in her. She started out riding ponies when she was young and moved on over to riding horses as she got older.

While not exactly naturally talented, I do think Cinnabar had an easier time becoming more skilled and better at horseback riding over the years than most others would. She definitely had to work hard to get to where she's at currently in terms of riding ability, but it wasn't a bumpy path or uphill battle, more like a smooth path upward with the occasional bump in the road. It helped that she has support from her family & the other ranch workers / stablehands, so she wasn't alone.

Cinnabar is 100% an excellent stablehand/ranch worker, might even be better at it than riding horses. She takes extremely great care of the horses (including her own steeds) and treats all of them with an equal amount of gentleness and compassion and doesn't single out any one of them for special treatment. Some horses do act more affectionate towards her more than others.

In terms of equestrian sports/disciplines, I would say that Cinnabar would be really good in just about nearly all of them. She does have preferences towards certain ones, mainly of the English riding style. She started out playing Polo and Horseball, before moving on to Racing and Endurance for a bit and then going on to do Show-Jumping, leading into Eventing before finally settling on performing Dressage. She still plays Horseball and Polo time-to-time. She spent the shortest amount of time on both Endurance and Racing and has spent the most amount of time on performing Dressage.

Cinnabar's horse that she used to ride was a Grey Arabian stallion named Chevalier. He is an immensely proudful stallion with a haughty demeanor, but he is never disobedient towards her rider (except when it came to performing Dressage) and deeply cares for her. Cinnabar met him while she was still in her adolescence and bonded slowly with each other as they went on to compete in various equestrian disciplines / sports. Cinnabar & Chevalier were always in-tune with each other, always knowing what to do next. Chevalier enjoyed doing Eventing the most, but Cinnabar was growing wearier due to never settling on a sport / discipline and always moving onward to a new one. She was losing her passion for horseback riding. Not helping matters is that Chevalier's age was catching up on him and the Arabian stallion wouldn't be able to be ridden any longer soon. So, Cinnabar decided to take a break from horseback riding in order to respark her passion of it. Chevalier is currently living out his best retirement out on the ranch, with Cinnabar caring for him all the same.

Cinnabar's new horse (which she is still riding currently) is a black Friesian stallion named Cocytus. Cocytus is a massive sweetheart, always extremely affectionate towards everyone he meets, especially Cinnabar. Cinnabar met the clingy Friesian while she was still riding her Arabian stallion Chevalier and doing Eventing. They bonded almost immediately, with Cocytus always greeting Cinnabar by nuzzling his snout against her shoulders / neck & face. Cinnabar, in return, always made sure to give the horse a sugar cube whenever she saw him in his stall. Whenever the Friesian is off lead, Cocytus always follows Cinnabar around.

Although she took a hiatus from riding, she still worked at the stables/ranch, mucking stalls, mixing feed, and taking care of the horses there. including Cocytus. While grooming Cocotus's mane, Cinnabar ponder about her Eventing days. She enjoyed doing the cross-country portion the most of the three, but Cinnabar always had a deep appreciation for Dressage. Maybe the Dressage portion would have been her favorite to perform if Chevalier actually behaved during it. Chevalier always hated performing Dressage and the only times he ever disobeyed her was while during doing Dressage, sometimes resulting in them not winning. In fact, doing the Dressage portion of Eventing were the only times that Cinnabar ever felt out-of-sync with her Arabian stallion. So, she thought why not try to train Cocytus to perform Dressage. Friesians are known for their prowess in Dressage and Cocytus would really enjoy spending more time with her.

Doing Dressage with her Friesian stallion was just what Cinnabar needed to get out of her funk. Cocytus always responded to her cues and he was quite eager to learn and practice. The Friesian initially wasn't decent at doing Dressage, but slowly and over time, Cocytus became a star at performing Dressage, with him beginning to learn new techniques & movements more easily, all thanks to his rider's training.

Soon, Cinnabar & her Friesian Cocytus began entering local Dressage competitions & tournaments, winning one after another, all thanks to practicing. Spectators often say that the duo make performing Dressage seem more like an artform. Cinnabar even started to teach Cocytus classical dressage techniques, such as air above the grounds, to further acclaim from spectators.

While Cinnabar was already well-known for her Eventing, she really rose up as a local celebrity, with legions of fangirls coming to Dressage tournaments & competitions to watch Cinnabar perform, with her being nicknamed the "Handsome Dressage Prince". Cinnabar is both simultaneously flattered and confused, wondering if they have mistaken her for someone else.

Cinnabar is thinking of taking Cocytus to national championships (of which she would most likely win).

Chevalier & Cocytus are besties, often times playing together with each other.

My apologies for the sheer length of this, I wanted to write down everything that I could think of. It was also inspired by your headcanons too. Thank You Sev!

-🏇

AAAAAAAAAA 🏇 ANON THIS IS SO GOOD ?? the growth from chevalier to cocytus (INCREDIBLE names, might i add) is so interesting !! love loev love these hcs and CINNA BECOMING HANDSOME DRESSAGE PRINCE LMAOO nah but it suits her well !! i don't think i've ever seen a more prince-coded non-prince character before in my life

chevalier and cocytus being besties is SAUR cute dhfkjdhfkdj prim & proper arabian and lovable goofball friesian..... would truly be such a sight to see them running around in the fields 🥺🥺🥺 GHSGJDSJHD i love these so much anonnie..............

also don't apologise for sending long asks !! i would let y'all send in whole essays frfr so no need for apologies !!

[hplrules]

Neverwinter's Protector's Enclave, a place of law and order compared to the docks or river district: our story begins with a local Mob All player, the monk Zen Cobain, strolling to his morning meditation at the beach the day after his Golden Griffins won the tournament.

Enter the Griffin, Zen Cobain thinks back to his winning play as he travels the quiet morning streets to the dock. He reached the goal because he follows the Way of the Fist, but he used his Chi power to score, and a little heroic inspiration.

He always enjoys peace, wishing well upon all folks, but playing and winning for the Golden Griffins has make him unpopular with their rival, the Sea Wyverns. The new local competition is a civilized move away from arena fighting, but moving an oblong leather ball between goals turned out to be as violent as any other sport, and that's just during the game.

Zen travels through the Dock district, Sea Wyvern territory. His own team is made up of the city's crafters, and his woodworking trade puts him solidly in their company. His rivals are the dockworkers, sailors, and salty rogues of the harbor. There are some military and a few other trades that take up with them, but none of those are fine folks. Being a hero is always a matter of perspective, and to this angry rummy lout, the monk isn't at all welcome.

Zen drops his pulse with slow breaths, listening to the quiet dawn at the Broken Anchor Inn, which was almost silent but for this mugger. The rough man steps up with bravado and sneers, "A Griffin in the Wyvern docks", he taunts as recognition comes to his blazing eyes, "Are ye mad? That's yer last mistake, Sonny Jim!"

Zen bows his head and salutes, slowly lowering his staff out of sight, "I wish you peace." It was the only response to aggression that his sect, the Sun Temple, allowed to be spoken. He actually meant it, but this blighter paid no mind to his chance to walk away. With the threat still heavy in his voice, he chides, "You're a monk, eh? What's the style you'll be losing with today?"

After a moment of silence, the Griffin champion answers with a hint of good humor, "It's the art of fighting without fighting." The Wyvern player cackles derisively, "ah ha ha haaa...that just sounds like yer afraid t' fight meee!

Holding his salute in place, Zen Cobain affirms his blessing, "Peace to you."

Mohag the Wanderer, a solitary barbarian, feasts at the Broken Anchor Inn on Neverwinter's Dock District. On this fine morn, his plans are to sign on for work at the Porthaven Adventurer's Guild for a wagon escort job supplying Phandalin, a modest mining town forty miles south and east down the High Road to Leilon.

While stronger than most, faster than many, and tough as a bag of hammers, Mohag is a troubled soul driven mad with the loathing of his racial enemies, which are many and varied, but chiefly goblinoids, orcs, and giants. He attacks with the abandon and fury of a berserker, and then his strength matches his passion. Mohag is a Battle Rager, the unhinged type of spike-wearing wildman that only dwarves are capable of. This tavern is the last in this rough part of Neverwinter that serves him, his last chance to not use the furnishings as weapons, and he's gotten extremely primal of that as late. He just needs an excuse to go, and he'll go big enough for all of the Verbeeg giant-kin that leveled his village while he was delivering ore for his forge, dooming him to a life of mayhem and lust.

Mohag notices the mugging outside his window at the Broken Anchor, and picks a champion in it. He grumbles to himself, "Tha skinny lad is gonna get 'is arse handed to 'im by tha rummy mobber. He may shoulda slept in t'day, or stayed in bed all t'gether. Either way, I get a match wit' me meal, so it's lookin' a fine day." But even as he says as much against the wimp, there's something about him that compels Mohag to back him, an odd coolness that he's never witnessed and doesn't understand.

Nyx Ningle and Vanaer Larium are nightowl adventurers at the Broken Anchor Inn, closing down a long night of celebration of red wine and dark ale, a half-eaten spiced goose and baked yams on the platter between them. They're keeping watch on the burly mountain dwarf near the entrance who's made to sit apart from others for his rowdiness. The gnome rogue and half-elf ranger/cleric have travelled together locally for a couple seasons, and their team is about to expand.

Nyx casts her Mage Hand cantrip and leaves it visible, a "Mad Science" green, to get Vanaer's attention. Taking the cue, he quickly removes his cowl before she starts goofing with it. She admits in the influence of her cups, "My mentor left me last night when I told him about your Umbral Vision ability. Now he's off to be a Gloom Stalker and become unseen in darkness, and to gain Dark Vision himself." She took a last bit of dark meat and fed herself with the hand before raising it high.

Vanaer lifts his holy symbol as Nyx tests her balance without regret, and heartily exclaims "Selune's mystical glow, that's amazing! Aye, being a halfling, Hatchwork doesn't have that naturally, and there's very few creatures in the world that can see us by other means... Say, have you considered branching out to something a little more academic? You'd be a fine mage, and then we'd have it all covered: my bow and healing, your skills and arcane!" The half-elf knew his plan was the only one for his brilliant friend, as Nyx was running wild with the powers she'd been gaining since he'd met her.

"Aye," Nyx answers candidly, "it's something I've always been drawn to, but there's another path to magic that suits me. It's much closer to what I already do, right in line with my style. And there's no better time for it than now, while I'm still young and beautiful." She watches her partner blush at her closing, knowing that her sharp sylvan features had captured his interest.

Vanaer relaxes as her mischievous spell cancels, then wonders how dangerous she'll become with a full spell book in hand. It had been a wild theater of cardsharping for their expenses through the autumn festivals these last couple tendays of Lowsun, and he'd enjoyed the chance to protect his darling fey muse each night.

Just then, out on the street, the Wyvern mobber takes a swing at Zen Cobain, "I'll have a piece of you!" As the thug steps in, the monk channels his Chi power into a Flurry of Blows, gaining an extra attack, and swings his staff up and forward in a smooth arc as he steps to the left and away from the punch. He catches his attacker in the groin with the staff and punches his face in a vertical long fist. Wasting no time, the interception continues.

Zen spins his staff down and to the left, checking the man's right arm at the elbow and pulling him forward unbalanced as the monk switches his stance to the right, palm striking with his left to his opponent's jaw with the start of an energy vocalization, "KI..."

"YAH!!!" Stepping in with a crescent motion, Zen brings his left hand to his weapon and whips the back of it over in a fast arc, crashing down on the man's head, knocking him prone and pained.

The Griffin collects himself as the Wyvern sprawls on the cobblestones. "Without fighting?" he groans low, "you fought."

"Yes... but you didn't", Zen replies calmly as his opponent blacks out.

Zen is quickly surrounded by Wyvern players, one coming across from the butchery with his cleaver in hand! With him is a pirate, certainly no surprise to this fel and motley crew. A drunken rake finishes his bottle and breaks it, and a huge squire in a gambeson coat draws his sword. The Griffin considers the serious techniques he'll need to stop them all as he steps clear of his first opponent's body with flowing cranelike movements, surveying the threat of this deadly dual.

Inside the Broken Anchor, Mohag watches from his table, and his ire is stirred by the wicked mobbing.

Seeing the crowd mobbing the lone monk enrages the barbarian, who keeps a strong code of honor despite his wildness. Downing his ale horn in two heartbeats, he rushes outside to join the fight armed with a fat drumstick.

Mohag bursts out of the entry, swinging with all his raging might at the rake, smashing the meaty leg across his face! It doesn't break, luckily enough, but the bone is the only part left as the meat flies away to some lucky wharf rat.

Zen hears a rapier being drawn behind him and the crunch of heavy boots just past that. As the big squire advances and steps awkwardly onto the arm of his fellow, the monk spins backward to the two opponents behind him.

Mohag takes no notice of the condition of his weapon as he pummels his opponent, ending his wind and a couple of ribs with a punch to the belly, his arm spikes doing further damage as he follows up with a savaging rip.

The squire stumbles forward over the thug's arm, too late and well out of range as Zen spins away, and the pirate misses as well with his backstabbing lunge. The monk catches the butcher with a staff strike to his neck, stunning him, and the man falls to his knees.

Mohag hooks the rake's arm with his drumstick bone and grabs his belt buckle with his left, then steps into a throw and the man is flung at the squire. The big man turns in time for the impact, but is clobbered by it anyway.

Zen kicks the butcher to the curb, and he tumbles away as the monk also strikes at the pirate. That opponent is a better match, and deftly parries the staff with his rapier.

Nyx and Vanaer rouse to their feet as Mohag shouts and storms outside. The trickster sets her empty goblet down with a hop to the floor, and draws her crossbow from over her back. With the normal use of her Mage Hand Legedermain cantrip, a bolt flies into place from her quarrel by the unseen force, nocks itself, and the weapon draws ready. The ranger stows his holy symbol while replacing his hood. They hear a melee now, the distinctive knock and ring of wood on steel and the loud thumping of big fists.

Mohag the Wanderer assaults the big squire with berserk fury, clubbing his jaw with the bone. The melee becomes a fist fight as the squire drops his sword and they exchange a few mighty blows, but nothing slows the raging dwarf who lives for battle.

Zen Cobain finds a greater challenge with the pirate than he's known in a long while, and the cutthroat's blade commands respect as his footwork keeps him in the duel. They dance to a deadly tune.

Nyx and Vanaer enter the scene as the melee closes with Mohag crushing the squire as he insults the big man, his hot fury now a growling temper. Zen has out-dueled and disarmed his opponent. The pirate runs off to get help.

The rogue is shocked by how quickly the fight resolved as she and the ranger rushed outside, and speaks quickly without an introduction, "Well fought, fellows, but you mustn't overstay this. I can help you get away before they return with too many more. Shall we fly before the rest of them show?"

Having no options, the new party takes Nyx's lead through backstreets and allies that the others have never used, avoiding attention by anyone but a few homeless tramps, waifs, and urchins. Nyx pays each a copper for their silence, should they be questioned later, but she's also popular here.

The four travel together, giving brief respects. "I'm Nyx Ningle, a finder of wondrous antiquities, and this quiet fellow is Vanaer Larium, a gob hunter and priest of Selune, the Moon Goddess," she reports, starting their conservation.

"Well met, all," the half-elf gives the common greeting.

"I am Zen Cobain of the Sun Soul Temple," the monk replies with a respectful nod to them.

"Call me Mohag," the barbarian offers gruffly, recovering himself from his battle fury.

They save any more talk until they arrive at a rustic inn on the outskirts of Neverwinter, far to the east of the waking metropolis.

The party winds through nearly all of Neverwinter until they reach a welcoming business, the wind bringing pine and the clang of a dropped teapot from the kitchen. "This is it, lads," Nyx reports happily, "sounds like the cook is hung over again." She laughs merrily, adding to the charm of this rural sanctuary. "I think you'll like the Woodsman Lodge, my favorite escape, far from the bothers and cares that found us today. We'll cool our heels a bit and have some tea, though half of you will want their..."

"Red ale!" shouts Vanaer, giving a thumbs up as he interrupts from behind them. Mohag chuckles and turns back to wink his agreement. They laugh with the start of their brotherhood, feeling that a great connection is at hand.

Zen listens to every creature, drinking in the rural morning tranquility as a smile overtakes him. This is his kind of day shaping up.

The four adventurers go inside and greet the cook, who's up before the innkeeper. He's baking bread, and the smell of it finishing fills the place with a natural magic. Only the tea is ready now, and Zen and Nyx each get a cup, hers with fresh cream and honey.

The monk politely insists on using an old wooden bowl from his pack, and the trickster wonders what is so special about it. Could it be enchanted with purification properties? Her eyes note the chip in its brim, damage that doesn't usually happen to most enhanced items. Maybe it's an heirloom... She concentrates on sensing its magic.

While they're waiting for their ales, Vanaer follows Mohag to the hearth where a crackling fire is blazing. He draws forth his holy symbol to Selune, and shows it to his slightly battered companion. It's a black field with the white outline of mystical eyes orbited by seven stars, which begin to glow with a pale silvery blue light as the clerical healing spell is cast by a short prayer to the Moon Goddess.

The divine illumination dances across dwarven chainmail, healing the bruised ribs underneath, and Mohag exhales loudly with relief. He's only had divine healing a few times, and so long ago that he'd forgotten the wonder of it.

Zen watches it with total approval, his soul warmed by the goodwill of such a healing without any charge of payment. This is a good and humble fellow, he realizes.

The ale arrives with a cold drumstick, as requested, and Mohag wastes no time in getting the first couple of bites. "Thanks to you and your moon mistress, Van Ear," he misses on the half-elf's tricky name. "Any dwarf will take a healing, but no other magics, if ye get me."

Vanaer, pronounced Van-air, gracefully responds in Dwarvish, "I've little else and none of it arcane, so no worries, my friend."

Mohag's eyes fly open wide with shock, "you speak me people's tongue, a rare thing indeed! We'll travel well together. It'll be a treat to have me best insults understood." He raises his tankard in salute and takes a large swallow before continuing. "There's a wagon escort job south to a mining town I'm signing onto today, could use yer help. I've worn out me welcome 'ere anyway." He sets into his meal intent on finishing this one, which is far better without the fishy smell of the harbor ruining his day.

Vanaer also feels at ease being in the outlands, and slaps his bow to his cloak in a ranger's salute of agreement to the offer. "You might call me Van Lar, if you like."

"Vanlar, aye," the barbarian agrees through a mouthful of roasted meat, crunching the names together.

Zen and Nyx overhear the job offer and nod an agreement to it. The shaggy monk takes the initiative, "I'll return to my order to collect my trade gear and give my farewells. I have little in the world, but I shouldn't leave without notice."

Nyx's response comes almost as a fencing riposte, "I'm just the reverse, keep my gear with me and never owe any goodbyes." Her eyes light up with mischief in this idle moment. It's time to test this man and see if she can beat him at her game.

Nyx deftly lifts the monk sash from his belt while he drinks, then holds it waiting as he quickly notices, alarmed that she got past his keen alertness.

[thewritetofreespeech]

I've been seeing a lot of OG gotei 13 stories lately on Tumblr, so I'm here to ask! can you make a headcanon about them (Chika, Obana, Furuoki, Chikiri, Katori, and Unohana) with S/O reader??

The Original 13 Headcanons + S/O

Chika Shihōin

Chika is a horrible flirt

Being from a noble family, he was given an arranged married at an early age. But there is no love between them

He has several male & female lovers he goes to outside of his wife

S/O is just one of his many play things. But he always makes them feel special

Danjirō Obana

Unlike his above teammate, Danjiro is extremely loyal

His first priority is his S/O. When not on duty he is constantly with them, and takes an interest in their day-to-day life

A bit possessive as he doesn’t want them to loose interest in or leave him.

His main reason for joining the Gotei 13 was to keep them safe.

Furuoki Ōtogawa

Also from a noble house, but less ‘bucking against convention’ like Chika.

He chooses to honor his wife but is not that affectionate. This is also of just a general rule.

His method of companionship is more distant than most would like, as he has issues with physical touch.

Furuoki does speak very highly of his S/O when asked. Finding their consistent presence and routine comforting.

Chigiri Shijima

Not use to being affectionate with people as his appearance & poor attitude has often left him an outsider.

It still boggles his mind that S/O would want to spend time with him. Much less be his lover.

Abysmal at showing affection. Which often leads to miscommunication or ‘I heard you liked fried squid. I brought you this live one to make for dinner. It wriggles.’

Any slight or remark on their character is met harshly. Mostly with a blade.

Batsu'unsai Katori

Though confident in battle, Katori is painfully shy with people.

Her S/O would have to be patient with her as she often gets flustered, or cold feet after they make plans.

Like her future glasses wearing, Shinigami counterparts, Katori is also an avid reader of literature erotica.

It’s hard for her to find someone she can match with, as they never meet the expectation of her books, but tries to overlook it.

Retsu Unohana

They would have to be with her since the beginning. Since her roaming bandit days.

Unohana, as she is in the past, doesn’t trust anyone to get close. That’s how they get a knife to your back.

She is hopelessly romantic. In her own way.

Like commenting on how beautiful they look bathed in moonlight & blood. Or how their blade looks like dancing when they cut down for sport.

+  Furōfushi Saitō

Saito is a lesbian. She has no interest or use for men. (She honestly finds most of the men of the 13 useless).

Her preferred type is soft, delicate women. If Katori wasn’t so prickly, Saito would snap her up in a heartbeat.

As it is Saito picked S/O at a bar one night and they have been inseparable ever since. For now.

Her passions tend to run wild & hot before she gets bored and dumps them.

[softeninglooks]

i finally watched "haikyuu!: the dumpster battle" today, and it really felt like falling in love with the series all over again 🥹🥹

in the beginning i was a little worried that the cuts would make it somewhat less meaningful, but everything ended up being extremely well balanced. the fast-paced volleyball scenes were absolutely exhilarating, it felt like watching a real volleyball game and reminded me of how captivating the sports is!! and the emotional scenes and flashbacks were at all the right places, they tug at the heartstrings in this wonderful way hq always does.

whenever i rewatch or read hq i'm so deeply moved by how much love was put into this series, how the relationships between the characters are so strong and significant, how furudate and all the people who've participated in the making of hq gave it their all and created such a beautiful, inspiring, and heartwarming story, and i left the cinema with the same feeling. i got really overwhelmed towards the end, when the fun of volleyball and the strength of friendships and the sheer love and passion that permeates hq shine to the fullest as the game is about to come to an end. this movie captured the lessons that hq teaches us so well, and the funny bits were so heartwarming too! <3

my friends who had never watched hq before (though i have talked their ears off many times) really enjoyed it as well and loved both the characters' backstories and the cat/crow symbolism. the music was also extraordinary, it enhanced the whole experience, and made the game all the more thrilling and poignant.

"orange" playing as the credits rolled really had the tears flowing. even though hq ended, the fact that we have this movie, and another one coming, and new one shots and illustrations, resonates with the song itself. "hoping that it will last one more second, just one more second" - i know that in my heart, haikyuu! will last forever. 🧡

[hunterontheedge]

Heya! Can you tell me more about Princeton? (I just find him cool don't judge me dhjdjdjdjdn)

If anything I'm more than flattered people take interest in my characters... so! Some information about Princeton coming right up!

Princeton was born via magic alongside his twin sibling Lake. However, Princeton came out with a rather... interesting structure.

He's really just a head and hands, and he ended up being much more compact internally than his sibling that was lucky enough to be born with a torso. This later becomes a blessing in disguise, but I'll focus on his childhood a bit more for now!

Princeton Buttercream Hattington (full name right here) had a very rich environment right off the bat. Hatty and Puzzleman, having chosen to live out in the woods after their showhosting era, would frequently let their kids play outside and explore the area as long as they didn't stray too far. And, with a father like Hatty to fuel that imagination- Princeton turned up to be a very loud, bold, assertive kid that would seek adventure. Listening to the stories Hatty would tell truly kicked off his want to be the best he can be! He even picked up some Hatty-isms, e.g. "Oh Noes" when he drops something or fumbles, making his own sound effects ("WHOOSH! WWHSHHSHSKSSHSHS! SHABAM!"), or needlessly explaining the origins of yarn if it somehow crops up in conversation.

I'd say a good defining feature of his silhouette is his dress. Princeton absolutely refuses to wear anything that isn't some flavor of gown and he never really explains why. I can't even explain why, it's just a personal preference, but his parents were very supportive and respected his tastes. And, funnily enough, his dresses through the years were actually designed by Mettaton! Pretty nifty of those blockheads to have kept in contact, yeah?

There came a point in Princeton's life where he'd realized he wanted to do something big, much like the others in his family. Him and his brother would be playing out in the woods when this revelation hit, as Lake slipped in the mud near a riverbank and took a tumble that managed to break an arm, a beast would come to his rescue and man. Could you imagine your twin brother getting the privilege of being friends with a legendary creature that can purify the water it walks on whilst all you could do was watch and haul him home? It was such a massive blow that Princeton swore to go above and beyond after that.

He would attempt to pursue magic, but that didn't exactly work out. His magical abilities are extremely limited, if not completely absent spare for keeping himself afloat through inherited levitation. So, with little going for him, he picked up swordfighting (a horrible sport for someone born without opposable thumbs but he made it work) and took to it. Seeing this passion for the delivery of justice emerge, Hatty decided to introduce Princeton to some old friends of his: the knights.

Princeton would go on to battle alongside them and serve as an honorary crasher, having custom made armor, a custom blade, and multiple achievements to his name. He's whacked many'a thief upside the head, finely minced multiple demons-- the list goes on, and over the moons, he'd learned nearly every tactic in the book. He even managed to find the love of his life through this job! Being sent out with Pink Knight over and over led to them growing closer and closer, such is the natural progression of things.

There would eventually come a time he'd decide to settle with his partner and have kids (Pash, and later North) but he and his partner weren't entirely off duty. They simply wouldn't be sent out together. And nowadays, when not getting into scuffles with his younger sibling Poppyseed, he's either visiting his fathers or trying to pinpoint wherever Lake disappeared off to. His story hasn't ended; Princeton is currently investigating the desert borders over increasingly concerning reports of territorial eyeballs, but that's a story for some other time!

:3

[coinofsilver]

CHARACTER INFO SHEET .

name . harvey dent

name meaning . the name harvey means battle worthy or strong in battle ; a strong and determined person who is not afraid to stand up for what they believe in .

alias/es . harv, golden boy, pretty boy, gotham's white knight, gotham's hope, mr. crazy-eyes, two-face dent, [...]

ethnicity . caucasian .

one picture / icon you like the best of your character .

[img. 1] - harvey dent , happily holding a dolphin shaped balloon .

three headcanons you never told anyone .

> harvey dent is extremely critical of the city he grew up in but if any outsiders decide to share some criticism of their own , the DA can get quite defensive . despite everything , harv is very proud of where he's from and has a contagious hope in what gotham can become in the future ; that won't ever stop him from pointing a spotlight at the darkest shadiest corners of the city . he'll be damned if he'll let any of those big shot metropolis snobs speak ill of his home though . > he wears reading glasses . but because dent is a bit vain ( and already very self-aware when it comes to his mismatched eyes ) he'll avoid wearing them in certain social contexts , preferring instead to squint and struggle . only those who stick around long enough for harvey to build some mundane familiarity with ( and also who are invited to stay the night over enough times ) get to see harvey dent in the morning , wearing glasses while hunching over a newspaper and having a hot cup of coffee . > despite his fairness and sense of justice , harvey dent's break-ups were never peaceful affairs . rarely mutual , harvey has a hard time verbalising why so many of his relationships fail . the common denominator is harvey himself and , though it is not clear to him , he does not feel comfortable sharing himself completely with others . and , after a certain period of time , he becomes uncomfortable with the perspective of commitment . harvey dent usually is the one who takes the initiative of ending relationships , not because he does not wish to get hurt but because he's afraid that , if those he loves truly get to know him , they might get hurt .

three things your character likes doing in their free time .

> watching sports ; dent will shout at the tv and jump off his chair if he's passionate about the game , doesn't really matter if he has an audience or not . he genuinely enjoys all forms of competitive sport and doesn't really hold any loyalty to any of them specifically but rather has small spurts of intense interest which shifts every few months . he has currently become hyper-fixated in rugby . > going for a run ; harvey usually goes for a one hour jog every morning . it keeps him fit , it keeps him sharp but it also helps him avoid overthinking ( another hobby he practices religiously ) . a lot of times , dent might feel the need to go for an extra hour . a more observant person might deduce that he's literally running from his problems . > reading pulpy crime novels ; dent doesn't own that many fiction books but , the ones he does , are rarely a good read . harvey sees it as a guilty pleasure ( since he doesn't really talk about these books with anyone , like , ever ) but you'll find small soft back books , worn-out and yellow-paged , often with brightly illustrated covers hidden in the depths of his nightstand's drawer . there's something nostalgic about these reads .

people your character likes / loves.

> bruce wayne ; despite dent's tendency to dislike the rich and powerful , he genuinely enjoys wayne's company and believes the guy has hidden depths . he's still not quite sure why bruce is hiding his more serious and righteous side from the public since that is probably dent's favourite thing about the guy --- but he can empathise with the need of having a public and a private persona . actually he empathises with a lot of what gotham's prince has gone through ... it's kind of unexpected how much he has come to value the boy billionaire's friendship but this is one of the few people harv feels he can truly trust . > his mother ; the lady has passed a few years ago but harvey says he owes all of his good qualities to ms. dent . despite all the trauma both of them inherited from the horrible years spent living with his biological father , harvey feels as if his mom always carried herself with a lot of dignity . and , had it not been for her and he wouldn't have the strong sense of justice which has led him down this path . although harvey is perceived a man's man , he has a deep sensibility and empathy for those around him , both of which are gifts left by his late mother .

two things your character regrets.

> not killing his father not standing up to his father ; plenty of episodes of his childhood are plagued with regret . he stood by and witnessed a lot of fights and ugliness between his parents . though he was a child and though he has spoken about it during therapy , harvey is tortured by the thought that he didn't do more to protect his mother ( and himself ) . he eventually did become more confrontational --- earning himself twelve stitches across his skull and a permanently dilated pupil --- and both him and his mother left that situation ... but there's definitively regret there . > harvey once became engaged but got cold-feet a month before the wedding . vicki vale was a renowned journalist in gotham and he broke the whole thing off the only way he knew how : horribly . harvey regrets a lot of things he said during that phase of his life going to the extent of suggesting his better half had only gotten into a relationship with him in order to write an extensive biography on harvey . after they broke up they never spoke again...and vicki never wrote anything about harvey .

one phobia your character has.

> atychiphobia ; harvey has a deeply rooted fear of failure which even he might not be completely aware of . much of his anxiety and mood swings derive from his desperate desire to " save the city " . dent isn't kind to himself when it comes to delegating or taking breaks ... that allied with the corrupt environment he operates in which doesn't exactly help in relaxing generates a lot of emotional and psychological turmoil . harvey's biggest fear is of letting gotham down . of letting everyone down . his job is stretching him thin and , eventually , something must snap .

tagged by @flmed ( thank you friend this was pretty fun fhnjm ) tagging @dehrdevil , @loneheir , @toxisley , @ecopoison , @amygone , @absensia , @arcticrime , @4ger , god i feel like i'm missing a billion people but if you're reading this , please , do it

[gilathae]

About Elladan

Elladan is the firstborn twin though, due to their  twin status and shared begetting date, he is not considered to be the  elder.  As young elves in Rivendell the twins were overprotected and  kept close by their mother, Celebrian.  After all the happenings of the  second age, the Lady Celebrian was a very attentive and protective  parent.  It fostered a very close relationship between Elladan and  Celebrian from a very early age, but it also caused him to often feel  caged and restless.  It was due to this feeling of being suffocated that  Elladan began to follow Glorfindel through the wards so he could get  out of Imladris on occasion.

Elladan is  extremely close to his twin brother, though they are as different as  night and day once you get to know them both.  Where Elrohir is outgoing  and easy to laugh, Elladan is far more reserved.  Growing up it was  quickly very clear the difference between the twins.  Elrohir was  frequently the stronger physically, besting Elladan at the long sword  and hand to hand combat.  Yet Elladan found he was better skilled at the  shorter dual blades, which required more grace and less brute  strength.  Both twins are advanced marksmen with the bow.

The  twins were also quite different when it came to studies.  Elladan spent  much of his growing years displaying a passion for learning, where  Elrohir disliked endless hours at the books and would often sneak away  to rejoin the other elves in the training yard.  And so it was that  Elladan became more advanced in the academic levels.  Elladan speaks all  the languages of Middle Earth, including Quenya.  He also found a  passion for art, and spends his free time sitting on his balcony drawing  or sketching the sights of and people who visit Imladris.  If one was  to be invited into his chambers they would notice the abundance of books  on the deck and shelves and laying about.  Each page is likely to have a  picture drawn by Elladan of something or someone that had his attention  on that day.

When the Lady Celebrian was  attacked and wounded, Elladan felt as if he had lost a part of himself.   He and Elrohir had rode tirelessly to rescue her, and to this day  Elladan does not fully remember the account of that day.  He knows he  was filled with a rage and sadness that was not only his own, but a  reverberating echo of Elrohir.  He remembers riding to the cave where  they found her, and then he remembers riding home with her on the horse  before him wrapped in his cloak.  The only hint at what had happened was  the blood and gore that clung to both twins when they arrived back to  Rivendell.

After Celebrian sailed Elladan became  withdrawn and mostly silent, letting Elrohir be the face and voice for  them when they would appear places together, or in court. His only  outlet for the pain and sadness was to hunt and patrol the grounds of  Imladris, keeping their lands safe for all others.

As  time passed the physical difference between the twins grew.  Elrohir  used his anger and sadness to train and get better, and so he grew into  lean, hard muscle.  Elladan, often battling the demons of depression  over what had befallen his mother, and his inability to save her in  time, frequently forgets to eat.  He is leaner than Elrohir, his facial  features sharper.

It should also be noted that,  due to their mixed heritage, Elladan does sport some body hair.  It is  not as much as a man might, and he cannot grow a beard, but he has  enough that he notices it, and it bothers him.  He has always wished to  be fully elven.  And while everyone believes all of Elrond’s children  have delayed their choice, Elladan made his decision to be counted among  the elves long ago.

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Occult Paris (2-A)

In the spring of 1948, three sisters – Leah, Margaret and Kate Fox, living in a rural town near Rochester in the state of New-York – claimed to have communicated with the dead, thanks to a turning table. People became obsessed with this trio of mediums and their poltergeists, and this was the start of the “spiritism craze”. This passion for communicating with the spirits soon reached Europe – and nor France, nor its capital Paris escaped it. In the upper classes of the capital, or in the “avant-garde milieu”, everybody tried to invoke the souls of the deceased inside tables for a little chat. Turning tables became one of the main entertainments of the time – or rather, a “spiritual sport”. It was the “greatest phenomenon” of the century, for many. But for the Church of France, it was something quite different… To quote the Chevalier Gougenot des Mousseaux, in his “La magie au dix-neuvième siècle” (Magic in the 19th century), “Magic, magnetism, somnambulism, spiritism, hypnotism – they are all but Satanism!”. The situation was taken very seriously by the religious authorities, to the point that the abbot Mautain, vicar of the archdiocese of Paris and doctor in theology, published a text tiled “Avertissement aux Chrétiens sur les tables tournantes”, “Warning for Christians about turning tables”. In it he described his experience seeing one day a basket twist itself “like a snake” and flee by crawling in front of a Gospel. The abbot Chevrojon, vicar of Saint-Roch, rather confessed having to battle against a “possessed stool”. For all the men of God of the time, spiritism was the work of the devil. As for the scientists of the Académie des sciences, it was all just charlatanism. For these rational and rigorist scholars, these tables could only turn through magician tricks, or by the subconscious muscular impulsions of the participants. For them, it was all just collective hallucinations, or autosuggestions.

But despite all the condemnations, despite all the warnings, despite all the debunking, people never stopped being obsessed with spiritism. In 1856, the emperor Napoléon III himself received officially in the Tuileries the Scottish medium Daniel Dunglas Home. During the séance they organized, a tale, several chairs and several furniture pieces started to float, while a host of famous spirits were invoked: Hortense de Beauharnais, Napoléon Ier, Marie-Antoinette, Jean-Jacques Rousseau and Blaise Pascal! But Home wanted to impress his imperial hosts too much, and this was his downfall: he was proven a fake when the Imperial Court went with him to Biarritz. There, “ghost hands” caressed the face of the empress Eugénie – but it was revealed to be the foot of the medium, wearing a glove! As it turns out, Home wasn’t a medium but a talented illusionists and hypnotists. Home was asked to leave France immediately – but despite this disgrace at the highest level of the government, secret societies and occult organizations of all sorts kept flowering and multiplying throughout France: spiritualists, theosophists, martinists, Rosicrucians, kabbalists, gnostics, neo-pagans, luciferians, Satanists… But three men in particular became extremely famous.

1) Allan Kardec

Born in Lyon in 1804, Hippolyte Léon Rivail settled at a very young age in Paris, where he opened a school (35, rue de Sèvres) where he taught based on the modern methods of the Swiss pedagogue Jean-Henry Pestalozzi, himself a fervent follower of Rousseau’s theories. Unfortunately, Rivail’s schools barely hold for a few years before closing – Rivail switched to the writing of manuals of grammar, arithmetic, chemistry and biology. It is when he was writing a chapter about the magnetism of animals that a friend of his told him about his personal “table experience”. Rivail had reached his fifties when he first took part in a séance of turning tables. He soon regularly visited these mediumnic séances – one rue de la Grange-Batelière, another rue Tiquetonne, a third rue de Rochechouart… One medium claimed that Rivail was actually the reincarnation of an old Breton druid by the name of Allan Kardec – and so the former teacher took this pseudonym as his new name. In 1857, the “new” Allan Kardec published the first and the most famous of his books, “Le Livre des Esprits”, The Book of Spirits, that he claims to have written under the command of… spirits! On the first day of April 1858, he creates in his home (8, rue des Martyrs) la Société spirite de Paris (The Spiritualist Society of Paris), and a newspaper by the name of “La Revue spirite” (The Spiritualist Review). Since his apartment becomes too small to welcome his many friends and disciples, Allan Kardec starts hosting reunions at the Palais-Royal, first in the galerie de Valois, than in the galerie Montpensier, and finally at the rue Sainte-Anne. Kardec created a true religion, whose influenced reached all of Europe – and even Brazil! He wrote many, many books: Qu’est-ce que le spiritisme? (What is spiritism?), Instruction pratique sur les manifestations spirites (Pratical instructions about spiritualist manifestations), Le Livre des médiums (The Book of mediums), L’Evangile selon le spiritism (The Spiritism Gospel), Le Ciel et l’Enfer ou La Justice Divine (Heaven and Hell, or the Divin Justice), and finally, La Genèse, les Miracles et les Prédictions selon le spiritisme (The Genesis, the Miracles and the Predictions according to spiritualism). In 1869, Allan Kardec did not die – but rather was “disembodied”, and his empty body buried in the Père-Lachaise cemetery. His grave, in the shape of a dolmen, is still one of the most famous tombstones of the entire cemetery.

2) Éliphas Lévi

Eliphas Lévi was the man who invented in the French language the word “occultisme”, “occultism”. Born Alphonse-Louis Constant in 1810, in the Odéon neighborhood, son of a shoemaker, he soon enters the seminary of Saint-Sulpice and he could have become a priest… if only he could “keep it in his pants”, if you excuse the expression. Young Constant was sent to a young girl’s house to catechize her, only for him to seduce and flirt with her – which officially put an end to his possible priestly career. His mother, who was a very pious woman, was so despaired and heartbroken by this she killed herself. Gifted for drawing, the young Constant started to live and work in artists studios, while enjoying a very lustful and un-chaste life. He notably was the lover of Flora Tristan, a socialist and feminist activist who would later become famous for being the grandmother of Paul Gauguin. Constant then became part of the staff of the collège oratorien de Juilly – and it was during this time that he wrote his first book, La Bible de la liberté (The Bible of freedom).

As soon as it was published, the book was pulled out of libraries, forbidden from being published, and both the author and edtor were summoned in the assize court of Paris for “attack against the public and religious property and moral”. Constant was locked up in the Sainte-Pélagie prison for eleven months, and when he got out he married Marie-Noémie Cadiot, an eighteen year old woman (he was over thirty!). He wrote a pamphlet called “La Voix de la famine” (The Voice of famine), and he was once again condemned to one year of prison. He however only did half of his time in prison – which allowed him to participate in the revolution of February 1848. He was now a wanted man – in fact, a revolutionary who happened to look like him was shot dead rue Saint-Martin! A few years later, in the 120 boulevard du Montparnasse, he wrote the book that truly started his legend: Dogme et rituel de la haute magie (Dogma and ritual of the high magic). To publish this book he took the pseudonym of Éliphas Lévi, which was the Hebraic translation of Alphonse-Louis. In this book, the author created the portrait of a fantastical creature that was then copy-pasted and spread through the press: Baphomet, the so-called idol worshiped by the Templar Knights. Lévi described the creature as having the head of a goat, the breast of a woman, hooves, wings, and a pentagram on the forehead – sitting cross-legged while flames burn over its head. After this first success, Lévi kept producing best-sellers: Histoire de la magie (History of magic), La Clef des grands mystères (The Key of great mysteries), La Science des esprits (The Science of spirits), Le Grand Arcane (The Great Arcana)… Admired by the occultists of his time, he regularly gave tarot readings or chiromancy readings, and he started practicing alchemical experiments. He became friend with Alexandre Dumas, wrote several songs, became a guest in several literary salons, and he even was presented to Victor Hugo throughout the daughter of Théophile Gautier, Judith Gautier. He died in 1875 and was buried in the cemetery of Ivry.

3) Papus

Born in Spain of a French father and Spanish mother, Gérard Encausse was just a child when his parents settled in Montmartre. He had a pretty normal childhood at the Rollin school (today’s Jacques-Decour highschool), where he had already created an esoteric journal and a secret society with other teenagers. Becoming a medicine student, he actually spends most of his time studying divinatory arts, the tarot, the Kabbalah, and the arts of chiromancy, numerology and hypnosis. He takes the pseudonym of “Papus”, the name of a genius doctor of Antiquity. Papus was a “bon vivant”, as we say in France, a man who enjoyed all the pleasures of life and hanged out with the bohème of Montmartre – he notably spent a lot of time in Le Chat noir cabaret. Papus was for a time part of the Theosophical Society created in the United-States by Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, but he soon decided to stay independent and create his own organization. Or rather, re-crate, as he resurrected l’Ordre martiniste (The Martinist Order), inspired by the mage of the 18th century, Martinès de Pasqually. The first Martinist loge was in the 24, rue Pigalle. Papus had a clear sense of hierarchy and of mise en scène: as the leader of the Order, he goes by the title “The Unknown Philosopher”, while his right hands take titles such as “The Unknown Brother”, “The Initiated Brother”, “The Associated Brother”. During their ceremonies, the members of the Order wear a red dress, a black silk mask and Egyptian cloth-strips similar to the one wrapping up mummies, while holding a sword. In its peak, the Order had twenty thousand members spread across Europe, Russia and the United-States.

Papus worked however outside of his personal organization: he also worked to rebuild the ancient brotherhood of the Kabbalistic Rose Cross. In 1889, he participates to the first International Spiritualist Congress, that takes place in Paris, rue Cadet, while also founding the GIEE – the Groupe indépendant d’études ésotériques (The Independent Group of Esoteric Studies), which is opened by a conference at the 44, rue Turbigo, and which gathers all of the spiritualists of Paris. All the disciples participating to this opening conference notably obtain a diploma. The next yar, Papus creates with the poet Lucien Chamuel “la librairie du Merveilleux”, the book-shop of the Marvelous, 29 rue de Trévise. In the back-room, Papus and his friend work on creating their journal “L’Initiation”, that Rome itself blacklisted, their monthly publication L’Union occulte (The Occult Union), as well as their weekly “Le Voile d’Isis” (The Veil of Isis), and various almanacs. It was also in the backroom of the bookshop that you could find the seat of La Faculté libre des sciences hermétiques (The Free Faculty of Hermetic Sciences).

In 1902, Papus and Lucien Chamuel sell the book-shop of the Marvelous to open a new bookshop, this one called “librairie d’Hermétisme” (Bookshop of Hermetism), at the 3 and 5 rue de Savoie – plus an annex rue Séguier. By now, the personal office of the occult master looked like an Egyptian temple: he notably wrote there many of the 160 various texts that were attributed to him. In 1905, the tsar Nicolas II invites him to Saint-Petersburg for a spiritism séance: it was said that during this meeting, the French wizard managed to invoke the ghost of Alexandre III (which, according to the rumors, made Rasputin very jealous). In June of 1908, Papus gathers at Paris the Spiritualist Congress, gathering thirty thousand members from all of Europe – it took place in the salle des Sociétés savants, in the 8th of rue Danton. During the Great War, Papus was named chief-physician paramedic, but he did not survive the war, dying of tuberculosis before the end of the conflict. Some whispered that he might have been cursed by an envious Rasputin…

 Some additional notes, to understand the Papus article:

# Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, born in Russia, founded in New-York in 1875 the Theosophical Society, which soon spread world-wide. Her teachings were a syncretism of Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianism and esoteric thinking. In Paris, the theosophy received its first disciples in 1883. A journal, Le Lotus Bleu (The Blue Lotus) was founded. The seat of the French Theosophical Society was at the 4, square Rapp, in the seventh arrondissement.

# Jacques Martinès de Pasqually, a Portuguese Jew that converted himself to Catholicism, travelled in France in 1750 and founded there the society of the Order of the Mason Knights elected Cohen (Cohen, in Hebrew, meaning “priests”). Louis Claude de Saint-Martin, nicknamed “The Unknown Philosopher”, was his secretary. The Martinist Order, or Martinism, offered to its adepts to become “beings of God” by mixing spirituality and magic.

# The Rose Cross is a secret and mystic brotherhood created by Christian Rosenkreutz in Germany in the 17th century. Very soon, it became a phenomenon in Paris. The Rosicrucian Order preaches justice and truth.