#Your best trait is often simultaneously your worst.

[noctilu-uca]

MOTS DOUX D'UNE DÉFUNTE: Eva Love.

"My mother’s love is like a choke hold, and I wear it with the same shyness I wear my black eye."

"Forgive me for that. Oh, I’m getting ahead of myself! So..."

"she told me that I will know when I fall in love."

"I will know it because it is the strongest emotion I will ever experience."

"I have felt it. This is love. It must be."

"And these are my love letters."

[lillified]

Oh!! Btw! I'm a drag artist and I'm doing a drag cosplay of starscream for pride and tfnation 2023 and sometimes when I question if the look is too fem or cutesy shaped, I think about your starscream and I remind myself that I'm serving cunt actually. Thank you for your service

hi!! I absolutely love both of the asks you sent but I hope you don’t mind me responding to this one with a little bit of personal musing—specifically about Starscream and femininity, lol. (long post warning!!)

I cannot stress enough how generally positive and supportive reception to my changes has been, especially in the case of Starscream—that being said, I do think about the occasional pushback I get every so often, and how it feeds into why I make the choices I do

starscream has always been a feminine character, which I think is part of why a lot of people are drawn to it in the first place—even talking to older fans, who grew up with the original show, there seems to be this implicit understanding that Starscream is something “other” (“pretty poison” as a beta name should tell you quite a bit). this is something that has remained relatively consistent in the entirety of transformers—albeit in, I’d argue, the worst way possible.

there are a lot of character decisions I dislike on a thematic level that vary across continuity, but one extremely reliable element of any Starscream is the way femininity defines their villainy. you’re never supposed to like the “feminine” traits. they’re played for jokes and comically exaggerated at best; at worst, any and all Starscream redemption arcs are completely dependent on grappling with emasculation, and shedding the feminine. Even in continuities where other characters (a whole other ballpark) are murderous, abusive, and violent, Starscream is canonically regarded as morally lesser, specifically because their villainy manifests in the feminine. masculine, “active” displays of malice are more noble and admirable than the “passive” and “feminine” act of quiet scheming and deception.

I’m not saying that Starscream doesn’t do bad things, obviously, but this is such a constant theme that it has thoroughly leeched its way into fan spaces as well. I’m not really active in fan communities anymore, but I will always feel frustrated with how the character’s femininity is simultaneously misunderstood and exploited, because that is the natural reaction to femininity. it is inoffensive and clean and neat, and it fits into one of very few digestible archetypes, because it is not perceived as a natural form of expression, but an other. it is only allowed when it is attractive and easy to understand.

this is something that extends to women, as, obviously, in a performative binary womanhood is a shorthand for femininity. “woman” is an other, and feminine women exist in palatable, digestible archetypes. even with all the progress we have made it is really not common to see women or feminine characters in general treated with equal respect or interest, and, the more you pay attention, the more you’ll notice a total apathy for their feelings, struggles, and complexity.

I know this is all really dense, but I bring that all up to say that there is a reason I want to spotlight and elaborate on Starscream’s femininity. it’s a trait that is inherent to the character, but I’d argue that there hasn’t ever really been a moment where that femininity ever manifests as something positive. it’s a derogatory label, but never something the character owns.

I want to see a Starscream that is confidently feminine and “cutesy” because the character has never been afforded that luxury! moreover, I want to portray a fully femme Starscream because there is no reason that should change the character’s complexity or their queer association! (I once saw the argument that making Starscream a girl would be “erasing the character’s queer history” and that kind of sums up the casual effect of misogyny in these weird online spaces, lol. granted that doesn’t mean you can’t project or imagine any gender identity you want for the character—I think that’s very good, actually!!) even though I have never personally been a feminine person, I’ve always been really attached to Starscream’s femininity and the idea of a femme-presenting version because there was a sorely lacking character type I desperately wanted to see—a messy, bitter, and by all means “evil” person who was also feminine, without those things being linked via cause and effect. I hope that makes sense?? essentially, a very feminine girl whose femininity wasn’t the implicit or explicit cause of their moral failings, and was instead treated as. yknow, a neutral mode of expression

anyway, I am very sorry for saying so many words about something pretty trivial here. if you couldn’t tell transformers was the thing that first got me thinking about gender and themes and media critique as a child, so i have feelings like this, lol. none of the problems I listed here are ultimately all that serious and they certainly aren’t exclusive to the robots, but it’s something I really wanted to talk about!

TL;DR: Starscream’s gender is what you make of it and i think you shouldnt stop yourself because it is accurate to the character, actually! I hope that I can encourage people to think outside the box of what rigidly exists in writing and expand their horizons to what the art is trying to say, and how your experience is important :)

sorry again for the long post jeez!!

[rein-ette]

Okay I know its been a while but everytime I come back into hetalia I just fall in love with your England relationship chart every time!! Its so good!!! I love the little things like the same time he's married and deeply in love with Portugal he's getting his back blown out by Spain his husbands brother like wgrgshegqgsy sorry 😭 its just a great chart I love it!! But I was wondering if you can would you be able to tell us your own hc for his relationship with people like China, Russia, the nordics? Its okay if not!! Again I love all your England hc!! :^)

OKAY i was going through (one of my many) hetalia withdrawal phases and being crushed by work but now that im on break I just had to answer this ;-; thank you so much for loving my content enough to send an ask even though I've been dead for so long ;;-;; <3

I cant guarantee the quality of these hcs (when could I ever) but here are some of my thoughts on England and China:

I must say to start off that being ethnically Chinese and having grown up in Tianjin, I deeply disagree with Himas portrayal of China, so lets just forget that ever happened~ :,)

So what do I think China’s actually like? Its impossible to summarise in a couple words, but my overall impression has always been that he is simultaneously a very warm and very cold person. In fact, perhaps its best to say hes a reverse tsun? In this sense he is in some ways the opposite of England — with acquaintances and colleagues he is courteous and good-humoured, with friends he is generous and lively, with family he is fussy and scolding — but with almost no one is he truly honest or vulnerable. This trait means everyone who have known China can be generally split into two groups — those who are completely comfortable with his mode of interaction and either aren’t interested in his inner thoughts or don’t mind not knowing everything, and those who are made distinctly uncomfortable by his inscrutability.

I would say England belongs more to the second group. As pointed out, this is because in this sense they are opposites. Arthur prefers to come across as respectable, serious, even cold when it suits him, but is actually a warm-hearted and deeply passionate man. Even as he puts on his front, he hopes to be understood. China, on the other hand, is not at all interested in being seen through. Perhaps people will understand if I say he is much like France in this sense — for them, good humour is both a basic and essential form a respect towards others and a shield, which obscures that which is truly important to them. England, despite all his scheming, has little patience this kind of emotional obfuscation. When it comes down to it, England would much rather get to the point and either reach a mutually beneficial agreement or come to blows, so the fact that he feels China is often not being entirely straight with him is at best unsettling and at worst infuriating. When he was younger (and brasher), this sometimes led to loud declarations and privateer-style chair-kicking (think Opium War era, where Arthur thought he was absolute shit + a healthy dash of racism), which was always met with either disdainful silence or barbed comments. As he has matured, he has grown to respect both China’s grace as a host as a virtue in and of itself, and his emotional reservedness as a sound political/diplomatic strategy, though he has not gotten over his personal discomfort.

For his part, China views England very objectively, with no particular positive or negative emotional attachments. One might think that because the Opium Wars and general Western arm-twisting brought to an end China’s monarchy and to some extent its glory age as a world power, he might harbour resentment towards Arthur. But — and here is where I draw from actual personal experience for my hcs — most Chinese dont have any particular feelings of anger towards Europe or America, as opposed to the way they might feel towards Japan, for example. In fact, China admires and acknowledges Europe and England has having become very “refined,” artistically and technologically innovative, and generally sophisticated. Personally, I don’t like thinking of human development as being linear and of any culture as reaching a higher level of sophistication than any other, but there is definitely this feeling in China that Western culture has “become” something worthy of respect. While he once might have been angry, and he certainly found many of England’s methods in the 18/1900s boorish and distasteful, overall for China the strong dominating the weak is a political reality, and in the 1800s he was weak.

I want to emphasize here that just because I characterise China this way, does not mean that I personally approve or disapprove of these worldviews. I have always hesitated to write about him, a country that I love and am arguably more familiar with than Europe, because of the imminently political implications, but I’m answering this ask now because I think not doing so is also doing a magnificent and deeply complex country a disservice. Hetalia is eurocentric enough as it is. I want to do my part to correct that, and it makes me happy that there are people like OP who are interested enough to listen. Thanks again for the ask — I hope it met your expectations!

[ruki--mukami]

7, 8 & 12 💃✨ tell, tell—

CANON QUESTIONNAIRE.

What’s the best thing about the canon you are writing?

🧩 Call me biased but I love how 200 IQ Ruki is HAHAHA. It’s definitely fun to write characters who think outside the box, but it’s also challenging at times, in a good way of course. What better way to expand your thinking than through your comfort character amiright— Anyway, I see Ruki as one of those characters who almost never has a moment of stupidity, so it always keeps me on my toes. Thanks to this, I can practice using new vocabulary I learn through him and it won’t sound out of character at all. I also really adore how he has a certain nuance to his punishments/sadistic side, as in he doesn’t cut right to the chase but rather he uses deceit and psychological manipulation to get what he wants.

And don’t get me started on the snark, omg. When I first got into DL I think I was shocked by how sarcastic Ruki is in the games compared to the anime (where I first discovered him). The way he taunts the MC is just… like, I know I should feel offended or threatened by him, but instead I want to see how far he will go which leaks through my crazy, over-the-top torture scenes at this point. 💀 ✋ But, I also don’t like to write him brutally without reason. It’s fun to incorporate his lore into his answers as well, giving his actions a sense of purpose no matter how morally corrupt they may be. In other words, it’s a blast writing someone who is both an antagonist and a love interest simultaneously LMAO. 🧩

What’s the worst thing about the canon you are writing?

🧩 Redemption is the hardest thing to develop for me. I’ll make Ruki abuse someone one minute, and then try to act like he didn’t just give someone anemia. Although I suppose that’s just how DL boys are sometimes AHAHAHA. It’s also just a classic case of enemies to lovers, but I’ve learned that the best way to push these ships forward is to make them fight over things that were insignificant to begin with. Which is fine and all, but realistically speaking, it’s a wonder anyone would come back to Ruki after all the awful treatment he subjects them to. Like I’m digging my own grave deeper and deeper, then the redemption arc comes and I’m struggling to get out of the hole I dug for myself LMAO. Most of the time I try to keep a mix of both intimate biting scenes and more wholesome scenario-driven scenes then hope for the best, which doesn’t always work out for me but that’s just the way the cookie crumbles at times. Basically,

Me: It’d be nice if these two can work out. I hope they can have some wholesome moments.

Also me: Wow, Ruki has gone so long without biting someone, or just being a condescending bastard in general… Something isn’t right here. I guess it’s up to me to stir conflict again. 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️ 🧩

What would you say is the most unique trait about your character?

🧩 As the sole DL character who knows what it’s like to be both human and Vampire AND possess a big, wrinkly brain, this combination makes for some interesting interactions and response from Ruki. He’ll go on and on about how, since he’s a vampire, he won’t feel any love nor joy towards you and all that angsty nonsense, then he’ll do things that only turned vampires would do such as prepare human dinners and spend the daylight hours awake. I also adore his strong leadership and tragic human past. Out of all the Mukamis, I believe Ruki’s past reveals that he might’ve been sadistic from the very beginning and I try to show that in his personality. Hence the constant demon vs human arguments that often take place on my blog. I don’t think any other DL boy can quite hold these same kind of discussions as it just wouldn’t be relevant to them. Not to delve too deep into personality types such as MBTI, but another unique trait Ruki has out of all the canon characters is his “mastermind” way of thought that you can’t find anywhere else in the game, which I can really relate to as someone who shares the same type as him (I… I swear I’m not crazy 🏃‍♀️). 🧩

[butchcastiel]

I saw your comments about honey!Cas and if it's not too much trouble, I was wondering if you can elaborate (I felt uncomfortable with honey!Cas too so you aren't alone in that regard)

So I had to sit and think how to explain this because I haven't watched season 7 in several years, and I've only seen it the one time. So I was definitely not watching it and taking notes on how Cas was treated by the writers in that season so to speak, I was more pushing through to access that sweet sweet destiel content in s8.

That being said, my discomfort with Cas' writing, and the way other characters (primarily Dean) are written when interacting with him in season 7 stems from the fact that Cas was written and performed as autistic prior to that point in the show. Cas' unfamiliarity with human social norms, with pop culture, and Misha's delivery of his lines and certain acting choices come off as flat, or very purposeful, which makes it easy to read them as a surprisingly realistic portrayal of an autistic person. At the very least, Cas reads as neurodivergent, both to the human characters, some of the angel characters, and certainly to the audience. Simultaneously, Cas is a very capable strategist, and a powerful soldier who feels deeply for his comrades in arms and for the Winchesters. I have to admit that my issues with season 7 are therefore somewhat personal, because it is not often I see a character who reflects multiple traits commonly found in neurodivergent or autistic people who is also respected as competent and not infantilized, and that means something to me as an autistic viewer.

Season 7 starts off with a somewhat interesting portrayal of Sam's Hell trauma. He suffers from psychosis and post traumatic stress, and Dean cures him of both by asking Cas to take on Sam's memories of Hell*. It is at this point where I began to feel uncomfortable with Cas' writing. After taking on Sam's trauma, Cas becomes incredibly childish in nature. He seems to lack critical thinking skills, is entertained by children's games, and their humor, and becomes incredibly averse to violence. Dean reacts to this punitively, which upsets Cas and causes him to flee. Cas was transformed, from a nuanced portrayal of an autistic person to something far more stereotypical**. Worse still, much of this was framed as funny and played for laughs. Watching this was a deeply uncomfortable experience for me, as the character on the screen was hardly reminiscent of the Cas in previous seasons (or the one who would follow) and was supposed to be the comedic relief for the season.

*Sam's Hell trauma, in my opinion, should not have been something that the boys could "cure". At best that was unrealistic, and at worst it was also ableist. Psychosis and PTSD cannot be magically removed, or even cured through any kind of physical intervention most of the time. Instead, they are treated through therapy to address the past, and learning new coping strategies to address the present. Psychosis in particular is highly stigmatized and I was uncomfortable with the way it was handled.

**There ARE autistic people who behave similarly to honey Cas, and those people deserve respectful representation just like the rest of us. The portrayal of Cas in season 7 was far from respectful, however.

[hehosts-moved]

snapdragon & willow , for ren

❥     𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒    [   𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳 ����𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚂    ]   .

ACCEPTING! // * @illholy

snapdragon :   is your muse merciful ? why or why not ?

out of the cast, save for the hosts (who we will eventually see more of individually), ren is the most merciful. he is merciful for several reasons:

a) he has to be, any good leader knows mercy, so he knows this. “mercy” can be subjective as a whole, but ren is also a father, and he is overall a person that wants to be a good leader.

b) i would say he has wrath in him, but his wrath extends mostly to his hosts, and it’s not truly with any malice. to ren, he is trying to teach them respect. he wants them to be able to survive without him if they ever left. so his punishments are like ... work punishments. nothing too unusual. sometimes he will isolate a host for a while, but not under the pretense of wanting them to quit, which is a method used in japanese work culture. he just wants them to listen to him because he knows what is best. he’s done this longer than them, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t wrong sometimes, and sometimes he has to eat crow for it. his hosts aren’t legitimately scared of him, but they are “scared of” him or “his wrath.” at the same time, they jest and test him often, so there’s a fine line.

and c) while ren is very judgmental in his own way, he also tries to be understanding. as a father, this comes with time, and he adapted quickly. he would never excessively punish his son, but there is a firm love that needs to be placed to teach his son how to be a functioning, happy, and healthy human. no parent is perfect, but ren is far, far from cruel. he is just struggling, but mostly due to circumstances outside ( and self-made ) of his control. he doesn’t blame kyosuke, he feels that his son enhances his life, and the struggles are not because of kyosuke (it isn’t kyosuke’s fault his dad has monetary costs to consider). 

at the same time, just in the sense of some of ren’s narcissistic traits, he’ll be “most unmerciful” to figures in his life that are close to him like sho, his second host. however ... the feeling is pretty mutual, they’re just the types that really roast each other. i think sho has called ren bastard more than his name lmao ren can be a prick sometimes. 

there is the element of mercy as aligned to his job outside of being a host — escorting is a tricky business. he’s trying to fulfill fantasies, and often his clients are married and unhappy, or are generally just lonely, but he has had bad experiences, and early in ... he did steal from them. he didn’t hurt them, but he’d take more money out of their wallet when they were in the bathroom before leaving. he’s more “honest” now, and just charges higher rates with clients he know can afford it. mercy is a blurry topic in the red light district.

willow :   how does your muse handle sadness   &   depression ?

not well, admittedly, but also he tends to bottle up and bury. he hides most of his emotions through his work and alcohol use. i believe i’ve mentioned this, i just can’t find it for some reason, but pre-kyosuke, ren was into some drug use. he doesn’t stop smoking cigarettes, though he doesn’t smoke around his son, and he doesn’t stop drinking. there are occasional party favors, but he’s more cautious in that way, while simultaneously still risking his life on an almost subconscious level. 

for ren, it’s all about distraction, distraction, distraction. the only time he’s really, truly “happy” is being with his son and mother, and eventually the other connections he makes to his hosts, but kyosuke? kyosuke makes him the most happy he’s ever felt before in a way he didn’t know he could feel. being away from his son, either at work, eventually when he is in school, and the weekends that he sometimes goes to hina’s, are the worst times of ren’s life. when he was a toddler, ren would often go in the middle of the night to hina’s to pickup kyosuke early, basically crying that he “needs his baby.”

the biggest distractions, aside from the times he gets to be “yori”, are definitely: work, alcohol, and sexual experiences.

ren is not a happy man, but he has happy moments. 

[luxekook]

petal to the metal ✿ jjk

✿ pairing: jewelry-maker jungkook x florist reader

✿ genre: idiots to lovers, fluff, slight bits of crack and angst

✿ summary: every sunday, the farmers’ market took place in the center of town. vendors from near and far traveled to sell their crafts, their produce, their teas. as the local florist, you figured that running a booth each weekend would boost your business and bring in new clients. at least, those were your reasons in the beginning. but, now? now, you returned just for the handsome jewelry-maker whose booth was next to yours. 

✿ word count: 7k

✿ warnings: pg15, slight innuendo, mention of alcohol, noona!reader, mutual pining, memes, vmin as teen prom dates, chaotic 2seok + joon as jk’s bandmates, scheming yoongi as reader’s assistant, sweetheart jungkook tries his best but doesn't succeed, one (1) make out scene uwu

✿ beta’d by: the gracious phia @meowxyoong​

✿ banner by: the talented queen of banner-making maggie @kimtaehyunq​

People, to you, are not unlike bouquets of flowers - uniquely complex with traits grown and cultivated throughout the years and brought together to form meaning and personality. It is far too often that you assign flowers to the people you meet in passing. 

The boy running down the sidewalk chasing a butterfly is a blooming bunch of crocus (youthful gladness) and daisies (innocence).

The young woman storming out of the cafe after dumping her coffee on what you assume to be her ex is a flurry of peonies (anger) and black-eyed Susans (justice).

You find your flower assignments to be a fun way to pass the time when sitting alone in a coffee shop or walking along the beach.

They are decidedly not fun when you are caught staring unabashedly at a beautiful boy as imaginary petals of acacia (secret love) and daffodil (new beginnings) rain down upon him. 

The second his dark eyes flick up to meet yours, you whip around and pretend to be preoccupied with your display of forget-me-nots. The irony is not lost on you as you rearrange the already pristine pale-blue petals. You are more likely to forget your own name than to forget the image of the boy’s crinkly-eyed smile.

God, it’s only the first hour of the first Sunday of the Summer Farmer’s Market, and you are like this? Things are looking more and more dire by the minute. 

Your small beachside community holds the annual Summer Farmer’s Market every Sunday from the middle of May until the end of August. Not only does the market attract tourists, it boosts your own business and earns you year-round customers.

Founding Of Fern & Freesia Flower Co. has been one of your proudest achievements to date - perhaps second only to chugging a beer faster than a misogynist on a bar crawl. Now in your third year of business, you feel accomplished in the slow but steady growth of your shop. You have poured your heart and soul into your business, leaving little time for other endeavors.

Hence, you’re wary of your growing fascination with the owner of the neighboring stall. 

When you had rolled up earlier with your overflowing cart of flowers, you had set up shop next to a jewelry booth full of gleaming silver and vibrant stones. It hadn’t been until a clang and a muffled curse sounded from the neighboring stall that you noticed it’s owner.

The first thing you had noticed was his outfit - all black clothing with boots that looked like they could stomp through steel. The second had been his adorable pout as he fiddled with a couple bracelets he must have just dropped. And the third - the third had been his hands and the gentle but steady way they fashioned the jewelry back in order.

The opening rush had distracted you from your growing interest for a bit; but the early birds have all since scattered, leaving you alone in between an old woman selling honey and a cute boy selling handcrafted jewelry. Now that you have thoroughly embarrassed yourself by being caught staring, you figure you should at least attempt to busy yourself.

You flutter around your stall, checking on flowers and rearranging errant blossoms. 

“H-hey, do you have any tiger flowers?” A soft, sweet voice calls to you from one stall over. You pause in your movements. That can't be who you think it is... But when you turn your head to address the speaker, you find yourself face to face with your mystery boy.

Magically, you manage to blurt out a semi-coherent response, “Oh, hello! No, I don’t have any tiger flowers right now… I do have some tiger lilies?” You gesture to the orange be-speckled bunch in the corner of your stall. 

“Oh,” The boy deflates a bit, but then perks back up, “Well, I’m Jungkook. I make jewelry.” He gestures to his collection behind him. “It’s more of a hobby, actually. I’m a vocalist, but I really like working with my hands part-time.”

Your eyebrows raise, and Jungkook blushes profusely. “I didn’t mean it like that!” He whines, his bottom lip jutting out slightly.

You decide to take pity on the boy. Grinning slightly, you extend your hand across the buckets of flowers in between you both, “It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook. I’m (y/n), and I really like working with my hands full-time.”

Grabbing your hand in his, Jungkook returns your grin. “(Y/n),” He mutters almost absentmindedly as he keeps pumping your intertwined hands up and down. You don’t have it in you to stop him, especially when he keeps looking at you like you just told him the secret to eternal life.

A throat clearing jolts you both from your reveries. Two teenage boys stand there awkwardly. One fiddles with one of the cut stems you discarded in a hurry earlier. 

“Oh,” You reluctantly pull your hand away from Jungkook’s warm embrace. “Talk to you later?” You shoot him a wry grin before turning back to your customers. You don’t see the death glare that Jungkook sends the two boys as you greet them warmly.

They request matching boutonnieres for their prom, and your heart swells as they both argue over which flowers they think would fit the other best. One suggests yellow roses, and you can’t hold yourself back from interjecting, “Oh no. Not yellow roses.” 

The two of them glance over at you, almost looking shocked to find that you are still there. “Why not?” The taller boy asks.

“They represent infidelity,” You say with a shrug, “But that’s just semantics. You don’t have to read that deep into it if you don’t want to.” Just because you follow the language of flowers closely does not mean that everyone and their mother did as well. 

The shorter boy practically throws the yellow rose back in its bucket. “What are you trying to say, Tae?” He shakes his head in mock disappointment at his partner, “I trusted you.”

“Shut up, Jiminie,” The boy you now know as Tae rolls his eyes and turns to you, “Do you have anything that means, like, the opposite of that?”

“Yes,” You smile at the pair and bustle over to the flowers you have in mind, “If I may make a few suggestions…”

Ten minutes later, the two boys shuffle away from your stall with matching cosmos (joy in love and life), baby’s breath (everlasting love), and ivy (fidelity) boutonnieres and with matching grins. You gaze wistfully at their interlocking hands and the quintessential picture of young love they represented. 

“You’re good at that,” Jungkook comments, fiddling with one of the earrings dangling from his quickly reddening ears. 

“Hm?” You question, your eyes still lingering on the cute couple you had just assisted.

“You’re good at showing people exactly what they want – even if they hadn't known it yet.”

His words capture your attention. You know he’s referring to the two teens that you had just helped, but you can’t help but wish he had been referring to himself. However, before you can even respond, it is his turn to get pulled away by a prospective customer.

The rest of the day flies by. This isn’t a surprise to you as the newness of the market always tends to draw waves of people on the opening day. You and Jungkook only get to exchange some shy glances and small smiles with each other.

That is, until your floral assistant Min Yoongi arrives. 

You have a running joke that Yoongi is simultaneously your best and your worst employee. He is your only employee after all and a headstrong one at that. You used to drag him along with you to the early hours of preparing and setting up for the market, but you have long since learned your lesson that Yoongi is decidedly not a morning person. You shudder at the mere thought of it. Now, you only ask that he arrives in the late afternoon to help you close down.

Yoongi greets you with a typical head nod and a half-hearted wave. “Hey, boss lady.” 

You shoot him a half-hearted glare, “Hello, worst employee of the month.”

The sound of a gasp draws your attention back to Jungkook’s booth where he is openly gaping at you with wide eyes. 

“Oh, Jungkook! It’s just a joke. He’s my only employee,” You laugh nervously as Yoongi gives you a side-eyed look that says ‘you’re acting weird, dude, and I don’t like it’. 

“Ah,” Jungkook beams at you, his eyes sparkling adorably, “I see, (y/n). For a second I thought you might be one of those people that gets off on being mean.”

Yoongi spits out the sip of coffee he had just taken. Jungkook turns bright red for the second time that day as he blinks in confusion, “What? What did I say?”

“Nothing!” You pinch Yoongi’s side in an attempt to shut him up, but that boy never listens to anyone but himself.

Walking the short distance to Jungkook, Yoongi lazily extends his hand over the barrier of flowers, “Min Yoongi.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” The boy grasps Yoongi’s hand firmly and squints at him quizzically. “Have we met before?”

Yoongi shrugs in a typical Yoongi fashion, “Dunno, maybe? You do look a little familiar.”

Suddenly, Jungkook drops Yoongi’s hand and snaps his fingers, “You were at last year’s Battle of the Bands! Your rap was legendary! I remember talking to Joon about it all night…”

The two boys quickly descend into a musically driven conversation, leaving you to slowly pack up your flowers and intermittently stare as Jungkook passionately talks about his main craft. 

After the fourth time you look over at the pair, you catch Yoongi’s eye. He’s staring at you with a maniacal glint in his eye. Oh no. He slowly looks back and forth between you and Jungkook. No, no, no. An ominous grinch-like grin grows on Yoongi’s lips as you can practically see the light bulb go off above his head. You are done for.

And not a second after Jungkook packs up his trinkets and bids you both goodbye for the day, Yoongi rounds on you. “FBI! Open up!” He mock-yells, cupping his hands around his mouth.

You splutter out an indignant laugh and shove him playfully, “He’s at least 21, Yoongs! You have to be in order to rent a booth here.” 

Yoongi continues to playfully tease you for the rest of the time you spend together loading the flowers into your truck and then unloading them at your shop. You only hope your crush is not as obvious to Jungkook as it is to Yoongi...

You and Jungkook spend the next two Sundays observing each other, exchanging small greetings, and chatting in between customers. Slowly, you begin to learn bits and pieces about Jungkook.

You learn he’s the lead singer in a band with his friends, he boxes to stay active, and he loves to eat. In turn, he discovers that you’re two years older than him, your life basically consists of flowers, and you read crappy romance novels in your limited spare time.

And as the weather warms even further, you find out that he has a plethora of tattoos winding up his arm. Though you tease him about his love of black clothing despite the soaring temperatures, you cannot help but admire the way his tanned skin glows against the dark color and makes the tattoos pop. You swear you glimpsed a flower inked on his forearm but you couldn’t be certain. Perhaps it had just been the combination of your growing crush and your overactive imagination.

The weather burns even hotter still when he begins to call you ‘noona’.

“(Y/n)-noona, what do you think of this necklace?”

“Noona! Let me carry that bucket for you. It looks heavy.”

“Do you want to go out with me sometime, noona?” 

Okay, that last one had just been wishful thinking; but, a girl can dream.

Meanwhile, Yoongi continues to poke fun at you and your growing infatuation. He had even arrived early for the first time in his career just to get in some extra roasting time. God, you wish Jungkook had some embarrassing friends to help ease the amount of times you had to physically turn away from the boy because you were blushing too hard.

And, finally, on the second Sunday in June, you get your wish.

“Ayo, JK!” A booming voice sounds from halfway down the long row of booths. A smattering of uproarious laughter follows the exclamation.  

The boy in question sighs before shooting you a helpless look. “My hyungs are visiting today. I love them, but they’re…” He trails off, “They’re a lot.” Jungkook steps out in front of his booth to get ready to greet them.

The shouting gets closer and closer until three boys break out of the throng of the crowd and approach Jungkook with large smiles. You blink in awe at the sight of them. Do all good looking people really flock together? You’re beginning to think so as you try your best to subtly check out Jungkook’s friends. The loudest one playfully greets Jungkook by throwing fake punches at him. He’s tall and lean with broad shoulders and a face that looks like it could make anyone give him anything if he so much as glances at them. He reminds you of white hyacinth (beauty) and lemon (zest). 

The tallest boy shakes his head fondly at Jungkook as he greets him through the other’s antics. You barely stifle a sigh as he grins and shows off the cutest set of dimples you’ve ever seen. He practically screams pear blossom (comfort) and polyanthus (confidence).

The last boy has a smile that makes you almost have to squint because of its sunshine-like radiance. He also has on the most colorful and fashionable outfit you’ve ever seen, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s had design experience. He is so white jasmine (amiability) and lupine (imagination), you think. 

Before you can assess further, you’re pulled away by a long-time customer. As you prune and arrange their requested flowers, you can’t help but notice that the stall next door has grown suspiciously quieter. 

Hushed whispers carry in the wind. 

“That’s your noona?” 

“Shut up, hyung!”

You hastily wrap the bouquet for your customer and bid her farewell with a smile. You barely have time to take a breath before three boys appear before you with a fourth scowling behind them in distaste. 

“So you’re the flower noona that Jungkook always brings up,” The sunshine boy speaks first, tilting his head as he peers down at you.

“The flower noona, huh?” You shoot Jungkook an amused glance, only to find him with his face buried in his hands, “Maybe I should rebrand.” You grin and introduce yourself to the three boys who you discover to be Seokjin, Namjoon and Hoseok.

Soon you find yourself wrapped in a conversation with Namjoon while Hoseok and Seokjin gather flowers to make their own bouquets. 

“Yes,” You nod your head at Namjoon’s question, “Some flowers do have multiple meanings. Take geraniums for example. The pretty pink oak-leaf geranium symbolizes true friendship, while the just as pretty scarlet geranium signifies stupidity.”

“And what does baby’s breath represent?” Hoseok crinkles his nose in distaste as he fiddles with the flower, “You smell bad?”

You crack up and open your mouth to answer, but Jungkook cuts you off. “No, Hobi-hyung, they represent everlasting love.”

Blinking at him, you nod, “Yes, that’s right. How did you know that?”

Jungkook mumbles something incoherent as he scuffles his heavy boot across the pavement.

“What?” You furrow your eyebrows, ears straining to pick up the decibels. Why is he speaking so softly?

“He knows because JK eavesdrops on you all the time, (y/n),” Seokjin lets out a squeaky laugh, “He also downloaded a flower app on his phone to study. I even caught him making flashcards—”

Jungkook jumps on Seokjin’s back, slapping a hand over the older boy’s mouth. Meanwhile, your heart feels like it’s about to burst into a whirlwind of lilac (first emotions of love). Good god, your feelings have leveled up.

Namjoon and Hoseok pay for both their flowers and Jin’s, as the older boy is still preoccupied fighting off an embarrassed Jungkook.

“It was really nice meeting you, (y/n),” Namjoon smiles at you.

“Yes!” Hoseok beams, “Also, please tell your friend Yoongi that we want to collab. Kookie is too shy to ask him.”

You promise that you will and wave goodbye to the two of them as they drag a breathless Jin along with them. The older boy shoots you a wink as he is pulled along into the crowd and disappears. 

“Sorry about them, noona,” Jungkook mumbles, looking down at his feet, “They like to embarrass me.”

You melt at his cuteness. “No, don’t apologize. Your friends are a whole lot of fun.” You can’t help but tease him, continuing, “And they were very informative... Do you really pay that close attention to me, Jungkook?”

“Aish!” Jungkook yelps, grabbing a bucket of red roses and hiding his face behind it. “Noona!” He whines, his large eyes peering at you over the red flowers, “You’re just as bad as them!”

“Oh, am I, Kookie?” You emphasize the new nickname of his that you just learned courtesy of Hoseok. 

“Did they tell you to call me that?” Jungkook sets down the bucket of roses and looks like he is about to take off in pursuit of his three hyungs.

You grab his arm to prevent him from doing so. It’s warm and solid, and the physical contact sends a tingle across your skin. “They didn’t tell me. I just noticed Hoseok called you that once. If it bothers you, I won’t call you that again.”

Jungkook relaxes. “No, you can call me Kookie,” He says in a small voice.

“Thank god,” You grin and squeeze his arm once before releasing it, “It’s so cute!”

His responding squeal of ‘noona!’ can be heard throughout the entire market.

The following Sunday, the market is cancelled due to the tropical storm swirling up the coast, bringing with it a disappointing blend of rain and an absence of Jungkook.

You probably should be concerned at how rapidly your feelings for the boy are developing, but you aren’t. How can anyone not love him? It’s impossible, in your opinion. Even your grump of an employee likes Jungkook, and Yoongi likes very few people. You aren’t even sure if you make the cut most days.

Sipping your peppermint tea, you gaze out at the rain and wonder if Jungkook misses you just as you’re missing him. Does he feel anything for you?

You know he at least equates you with his friends; but is that all he sees you as? If so, you would respect that, albeit disappointedly. With a sigh, you turn back to your copy of “The Art of Jewelry Making: An Introduction” and pretend just for the day that your feelings are reciprocated.

One week later, you are scrambling. Somehow you had managed to sleep through all five of your alarms, and now you are so, so late. 

Your truck’s tires squeal angrily as you whip into the first empty parking space you spot outside of the market. Where will you even set up today? You quickly grab your buckets of flowers as well as all the other supplies you’ll need. Will there even be a booth left for you?

You push your cart up the rows of booths and get more and more dejected at each turn. Finally, you decide to at least visit Jungkook before you dejectedly head back to your truck. You are in dire need of his sweet smile and positive energy.

The wheels of your cart bump and wobble over the uneven gravel. God, why couldn’t Min Yoongi be a morning person? You grumble as you wind the final corner to where your usual stall resides. You stop in your tracks.

Your usual booth… is empty? You blink multiple times in case this is just a beautiful mirage. Nope, it’s still open, it’s wooden tables bare. 

Almost as if he senses you, Jungkook practically runs out of his stall towards you. “Noona! You’re here!” And before you can even answer, he sweeps you into a tight hug.

“Hi, Kookie,” You sigh, bringing your arms around his neck. You can’t resist the urge to bury your face in his chest. He smells so nice, like fresh soap with a hint of heady musk. Reluctantly, you release him, realizing you’re both blocking most of the pathway. 

“I-I saved your booth for you,” Jungkook blushes and looks down at the ground. He shifts his weight from left to right and then glances up at you once more. “I hoped you were just running late. I didn't want to miss seeing you two Sundays in a row. You would not believe how many people I’ve had to fight off.”

Your heart swells at his words. “Aw, thank you, Kookie. You missed me that much, huh?” You reach up to ruffle his hair as you pass by him, lugging your cart along with you.

You miss the forlorn expression on his face as he gazes after you and mumbles, “Yes...so much.”

With Jungkook’s help, you manage to set up your booth in record time. You thank him profusely, but he just shrugs it off by saying that you would do the same for him. And you would.

Around midday you text Yoongi and ask him to bring food for Jungkook as an extra way of saying thank you.

Rather than respond with a normal yes or no, Yoongi just sends you a sea of smirking emojis. You should’ve known that Yoongi would (correctly) read too much into it. The boy is too smart for his own good.

Quickly sending back the gif of Hades from Hercules turning his flames from blue to orange in anger, you glance up to find Jungkook staring at you with a peculiar expression.

“Noona,” He begins, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You choke out a laugh that sounds sad even to your ears. “No, I don’t. Why do you ask?”

Jungkook perks back up, “I just thought you might be arguing with them. You seemed to be angry texting.”

Letting out a more genuine laugh this time, you reply, “I’m just texting Yoongi, Kook. He’s being his usual difficult self.”

“Oh,” Jungkook grins, “Well then don’t punish him too harshly. It’s fun to see you all riled up.”

Punish? 

Riled up?

You blink rapidly at the boy who seems to have no idea how much his words affect you. Trying to brush off the images flowing through your mind, you decide to fight fire with fire – even if it had been unintentional arson.

You take a step towards him, “You like seeing me all riled up, Kookie?” 

“Uh-h, yes?” Jungkook eyes you warily as you continue to approach him. He even takes a step back, only to bump into his table of jewelry. 

You stand toe to toe with him as he is effectively trapped in between you and his table. Slowly, you rise to your tiptoes. Your lips brush his ear as you murmur, “Well, then I’ll be sure to stay cool and collected from now on.”

Pulling back, you saunter back over to your booth. Faintly, you hear a wheeze from the direction you’ve left Jungkook. You grin in success.

Yoongi had ended up bringing food with him that day. An action that had caused Jungkook to thank the two of you more times than you could count as he had shoved barbecue chicken into his mouth. 

You had stared at the boy with hearts in your eyes as he ate. Yoongi had just made whipping motions from beside you, thankfully out of Jungkook’s line of sight. 

And as June turns to July, your feelings grow substantially. Your mind is a meadow scattered with clove (I have loved you and you have not known it), cyclamen (timid hope), and gladiolus (you pierce my heart).

You can’t quite get a read on Jungkook. Every time you think there might be something in the way he interacts with you, he does something else that negates everything.

For example, the other day he had requested a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You had thought you might pass out from the way he looked at you, all blushing and shy. But, that might have just been the hundred degree weather.

It had admittedly been foolish to think that he would gift the bouquet back to you, but that’s just you – a fool in love. Your clown status had become even more confirmed when Jungkook had smiled down at the flowers, saying that his elderly neighbor would love them.

You had never thought you would experience being jealous of an elderly widow, but you had been ready to square up. It had decidedly not been your finest moment.

It isn’t until the middle of July that you begin to feel that Jungkook might actually return your feelings. 

The boy comes barreling into your stall as you’re setting up for the day. “Noona!” He grins happily, “I have a surprise for you!”

“Please tell me it’s a portable fan,” You moan, as you wipe the beads of sweat from your brow, “It’s so hot out here in these streets.”

“No,” Jungkook pouts adorably, “It’s not a fan. It’s my new collection! I spent all week working on it. I even brought my supplies to band practice. The hyungs all teased me, but it was worth it because of y— because of how good it turned out.”

Had he started to say because of you? Your heart pounds as you watch Jungkook eagerly tug a box out from his large backpack. He holds it out to you expectantly, and you have no choice but to take it from him.

Shooting him a speculative glance, you slowly open the lid. Your eyes widen at the sight before you. Rows of flower themed jewelry gleam up at you - orchid (refined beauty) necklaces, lotus (purity) earrings, and dahlia (dignity) charm bracelets. 

These are almost all of your favorite flowers. You blink up at Jungkook, “These are so beautiful, Kook. I want all of them. How are you so talented? It’s so unfair!” You reach down to grab a particularly gorgeous pair of silver hoop earrings with lotus charms dangling from the bottoms. 

“I will pay anything for these,” You look back up at him. He’s smiling widely and his cheeks are shaded pink.

“They’re yours,” Jungkook shakes his head, “There’s no charge if my noona wants to wear my jewelry.” 

His noona… 

You think your cheeks might fall off from smiling too hard. “Well,” You murmur, “If you insist.”

You hand Jungkook the box back, and quickly switch out your plain gold stud earrings for your new hoops. “How do they look?” You flick your ponytail behind you and turn this way and that in an attempt to model his work.

“Beautiful…” Jungkook sighs as he watches you and then straightens suddenly, “Oh, I almost forgot!” He digs around in his backpack for a second time. Pulling out a small black velvet drawstring bag, he once again extends his hand towards you with a gift.

“I made this specifically for you,” He doesn't blush outright this time, but you do note that his ears are bright red. Curiosity overtakes you. You slowly open the bag and pour its contents into your waiting palm.

A silver cuff falls into your hand. It’s about an inch wide with what seem to be persimmon flowers (bury me amid nature’s beauty) engraved on its surface.

“My favorite flower,” You gasp, immediately sliding the cuff onto your wrist, “You remembered!” 

“Of course I did,” Jungkook laughs, running a hand through his disheveled hair, “Do you- do you like it?”

“Do I like it?” You scoff, “Do I like it?” You take one large step towards him and basically tackle him in a hug. “I love it, you idiot.”

His hands rest on your waist as he sighs into your hair, “Good. That makes me so happy, noona.” 

Reluctantly, you pull away. “I should be angry because you completely upstaged me,” You crack a smile as Jungkook crinkles his nose in confusion, “But I can’t be mad when you give me presents.”

You tug your own little baggie from your tote bag and hand it to Jungkook. “It’s not even close to your level, but you inspired me to try to make something and…” You trail off as Jungkook holds up the bracelet you had carefully strung together for weeks. You basically only had bought expensive black stone beads and slid them onto a string, but you think it’s cute nonetheless.

“(Y/n)-noona,” Jungkook’s wide eyes flick up to stare at you, “You really made this for me?” 

“How many other JK’s do you know?” You say referring to the two little letter charms amidst the sea of black stones, “Yes, I made it for you.” 

“There’s John Krasinski!” He argues, sliding the bracelet onto his wrist with a smile.

You cannot roll your eyes hard enough, “You caught me. I couldn’t meet up with the Jim from The Office this month, so I just had to give this bracelet to the next JK I came across.”

“I knew it!” Jungkook laughs, “I guess we sort of have friendship bracelets now, huh?” 

You feel like you have just been slapped back into the friend-zone. “Oh,” You force out a chuckle, “Yes, I guess we do.” 

Clueless to your inner turmoil, Jungkook grins as he hurries away to set up his stall for the day. He prattles on about how excited he is to see how the new collection will sell, especially since he is set up right next to you and your flowers.

You feign normalcy as you reply that his collection will be a hit. And you’re right. As the day wears on, you watch as Jungkook sells more jewelry than you had ever seen him do before. You consistently feel like you’re in a state of whiplash as he keeps referring to you as his “muse” during his sales. 

Why are feelings so confusing? You fiddle with a stem of lavender (mistrust). You had honestly been beginning to think that Jungkook might return your affections, but now you aren’t so sure. Maybe next weekend you could try to get a better idea of his feelings? 

But, as it turns out, you wouldn’t have to...

It’s midway through the market that next Sunday that you begin to realize Jungkook is acting strange. He is acting more jittery than usual, and despite your constant questioning of if he is okay, Jungkook refuses to give you more than two word answers.

Eventually, you give up asking and instead begin to silently observe. He constantly toys with the bracelet you had given him last week. He rarely can go a minute without touching it, almost as if he is afraid it might disappear right off his wrist. Jungkook also keeps peering into his backpack and adjusting something inside of it. 

It isn’t until Jungkook checks his backpack for the third time in five minutes that you snap. “Okay, that’s it.” You stalk over to his booth, “Why are you acting weird today?” You stop in front of him, arms crossed in front of you. Jungkook’s throat bobs as he swallows nervously, “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, noona.”

“Really,” You deadpan, “Then you won’t mind sharing with the class what riveting thing you have in your backpack?”

His eyes widen to the size of dinner plates, “How did you know there’s something in my backpack?”

You laugh, “You’re not exactly subtle, Kookie.” His shocked expression turns into a pout as you continue, “I’m just teasing. You don’t have to show me. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything illegal.”

“Illegal?” Jungkook gasps, “Noona! Who do you think I am?”

“I don't know,” You shrug, “You could have a double identity for all I know.”

Mumbling something about infuriating women, Jungkook turns and tugs something out of his bag. Holding it behind his back, he faces you, “I was going to wait until the end of the day to do this, but I guess this is happening now.”

He takes in a shaky breath, “I know that I’m not the best with words. That I’m shy and inexperienced. But, I need to tell you how I feel, because I think I might lose myself completely if I don’t. So, I decided that I would tell you in the language you know well.”

Slowly, Jungkook moves his hands from behind his back to reveal a bouquet of flowers. “These say everything you need to know about what I feel for you.” His hand shakes slightly as he extends the flowers towards you. 

Your lungs refuse to work as your eyes cannot seem to look away from the flowers he offers you. 

Striped carnations. Those are what he holds out to you. You feel as if he has taken your heart and stomped on it with his massive boots. 

Striped carnations… symbolizing a love that cannot be shared. A gesture meaning that ‘he cannot be with you’. 

Rejection.

The first tear falls from your eyes as you force yourself to look up at the boy you’ve fallen in love with. How long has he known your feelings for him? Why has he strung you along so much only to hit you with this now? Or have you just been oblivious to his indifference all along? ‘

Jungkook seems to be panicking as he lowers the bouquet back to his side, “Noona, please say something.” 

You open and close your mouth, trying in vain to search for words to say, for questions to ask to help you make sense of this blindside. 

The only thing you can eventually muster up the strength to say is a shaky “I’m sorry. I’ll leave you alone.” You take off, barely stopping to grab your phone and your bag as you run to your truck. 

Behind you, you can hear Jungkook frantically shouting your name. He’s probably concerned that he has to monitor both your stall and his. You shake your head as you finally reach your car. 

You call Yoongi as soon as you turn out of the parking lot, unknowingly leaving a teary-eyed Jungkook in your wake. 

“What?” Yoongi groans when he finally picks up. 

You can barely breathe through your tears, “Y-Yoongi, can you swing by the market early to pack up?” 

The line is quiet for a second. Then, Yoongi rapidly fires questions at you, “What happened? What did he do? Where are you? Are you okay? Do I need to rough him up?” 

You let out a small laugh. At least one person seems to care for you. “I’m okay. Just a bit of an unexpected rejection.” You sniffle, “I’m heading home for the day.”

“Wait,” Yoongi sounds confused, “He rejected you? What the f—”

Cutting him off before he asks you to rehash every painful detail, you sigh, “Yes, he did. Now, please, can you go clean up the stall for me? And don’t say anything to him.”

Yoongi growls something that suspiciously sounds like “Oh, I’ll say something to him, alright”. But before you can voice your suspicions, he agrees and hangs up. 

Thank god for Min Yoongi.

The week passes slowly. You spend your days going through your usual motions, working in your shop and assisting customers.

However, after you make your sixth bouquet of marigold (grief), lichen (dejection) and cypress (mourning), Yoongi insists you take a few days off. You surprisingly listen. 

On Friday, Yoongi brings you a bunch of yarrow (cure for a broken heart) and nearly runs when you envelop him in a tight hug. He offers to handle the market this weekend, and you don’t have it in you to refuse. But, you only accept on the caveat that Yoongi takes Monday off. You don’t want to take advantage of your employee and your dear friend. 

Your weekend is spent by yourself. You stock up on cranberry juice in an attempt to pretend that it will have the same effect of its flower meaning (cure for heartache). Spoiler alert: it does not.

Even watching an exorbitant amount of bad Hallmark movies cannot cheer you up. And when Monday comes, you force yourself to try to be positive.

“It’s fine. This is fine. Totally fine. I’m fine.” You say, pointing at yourself in the mirror, “I’m totally cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool, cool.” With a firm nod, you head out.

Opening your shop is one of your favorite things. You revel in the solitude that the early hours bring, the first sips of your morning coffee, the feeling of being surrounded by your flowers.

Your flowers bring you peace – a big reason why persimmon flowers are your favorite. But, you can’t travel down that train of thought today. Nope. Today, you are all about self-love and positivity!

At least you are until 9:01am when your shop has barely been open for 60 seconds and Jungkook bursts through your doors.

The boy looks like a mess. His hair is sticking up in various places like he has run his hand through it too many times, his shirt looks like it’s on inside out, and he is staring at you like you’re a wild animal that might spook at any moment.

And he would not be wrong. You fight down the urge to run, choosing instead to head behind your counter so that there is at least a semblance of a divide between you.

You decide to just rip the bandaid off and attempt to be professional. Staring over his shoulder, you say, “Hello, welcome to Of Fern and Freesia. How can I help you?”

The sound of a stifled sob reaches your ears. Had that come from him? Or from you?

“Noona,” Jungkook finally pleads, his voice rough, “Can’t you at least look at me?”

Slowly, you bring your eyes to his. His large brown eyes search yours for a moment before they fill with determination.

“(Y/n)-noona, I know you’ve been avoiding me,” He approaches the counter, “But I need to know something. I have to or I’m going to lose my mind.”

Jungkook’s hands fall onto the countertop, his eyes blaze into yours, “Noona, is the thought of me loving you really so appalling that you can’t even stand to be around me? Is it really so terrible that we can’t even be friends?”

Your mind short circuits. “Are you making fun of me?” You whisper after a brief pause.

“What?” Jungkook cries, “No! Why would you even think that?”

Anger bursts to the surface as you throw his actions back in his face, “Maybe I think that because you openly rejected my feelings last weekend, Jungkook! Maybe I think that because I’ve stupidly been in love with you for weeks only to have you hand me those damned striped carnations!”  

Jungkook looks stricken, “I-I thought carnations meant love a-and fascination?”

Oh. My. Sweet. Baby. Jesus.

Your anger at what you thought was Jungkook’s rejection morphs into rage at the complete and utter idiocy of his misguided confession.

You shake your head at the giant idiot before you, “Yes, you absolute fool. The general meaning of carnations is love, distinction, and fascination. But, how did you not think for one second that meanings might change depending on the color and the type?”

He continues to gape at you as you power on. “Striped carnations symbolize rejection, you colossal moron! They mean that you cannot be with me! You basically slapped me and my love for you with a big, fat nope.”

You watch warily as Jungkook rounds the counter, coming towards you faster than you’d like. But, your mouth is on a roll now, and you can’t stop, “How could any respectable florist interpret that gesture any other way? Hey! What are you even doing? You can’t be back here—!”

Jungkook reaches you, cups your face in both hands, and slams his mouth onto yours. Your eyes widen as he continues to kiss you, and then slowly you begin to return his affections. Your hands slide up his back to twine through his hair.

The cutest whine emits from his throat as you tug on it slightly. “Noona,” He murmurs against your lips, his wide eyes stare into yours, “You really love me?”

You shoot him an exasperated look, “No, Jungkook, I go around kissing everyone who walks into my shop like this.”

He pouts, “So mean to me.” He tries to kiss you again, but you shift out of the way slightly so his lips meet your cheek.

“I reserve the right to be mean after spending an entire week wallowing in unnecessary self-pity following your failed attempt at a declaration of love.” You cock your head slightly, “If that’s even what it was?”

Jungkook blushes, “I really screwed up, huh?” He rests his forehead on yours and sighs, “It was supposed to be perfect. I was supposed to give you something meaningful to show how much I love you and pay attention to your work, but all I did was accidentally push you away. I thought you were rejecting me.”  

You press a soft kiss to his lips. “I could never reject you, Kookie. Not even after that.”

“God, I love you, noona,” Jungkook buries his face in your neck. “I missed you so much.”

“I love you, too,” You run your fingers through his hair, “But don’t think you’re getting off this easily.”

“Huh?” Jungkook pulls back, his eyes wide.

“You have a lot of making up to do, Kook,” You grin.

“And what do you suggest I do?” He smiles down at you, affection clear in his eyes.

“Well,” You shrug, “I can think of a few things…”

a/n: flower meanings taken from: The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh (flower definitions may vary depending on the source!! this is just the reference that i chose because i love the book uwu)

✿ Flowers left undefined in the fic: 

Fern → sincerity

Freesia → lasting friendship

Peppermint → warmth of feeling

Tiger Flower → please love me* (*as defined by jk)

Tiger Lily → wealth

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[zosonils-art]

Do you have a robot master OC (of the eight plus Drum) that you’d say is your favorite? If you haven’t done an infodump for them yet then you should do that one next

i couldn't choose a favourite if i tried, i love them all, but since you mentioned drum i thought i'd give her some new art and a proper dedicated post too! infodrump [ayyy] under the cut

drum, serial number SWN-002, is my take on the popular [????? i'm still a bit of a mega man fandom newbie i don't know hjdfn] 'wily equivalent to roll' oc template! she keeps things running at the various castles and fortresses and hideouts and whatever else her dad holes up in, whether that's by doing housework, planning schemes, or dodging taxes. whenever wily is trying to take over the world, drum acts as his second-in-command, ensuring that everything goes according to plan and ordering around the latest group of robot masters

she's every bit the edgy mid-00s teenager she looks: sarcastic, apathetic, and always talking back to her dad. she's more obedient than bass is, but she doesn't care for her job at all and will resort to any flimsy excuse or act of malicious compliance she can come up with to slack off. due to her purpose as an organiser and commander, she's a bossy control freak who's quick to anger when things don't go exactly her way, although when she's off work the worst of these traits recede in favour of more conventional teenage apathy. she sees herself as above the time and effort it takes to go out of her way to be mean to people like wily and bass tend to do, but she's equally uninterested in being nice on purpose and her default attitude is squarely on the nastier side

when she doesn't have work to focus on - and sometimes when she does anyway - drum is the lead vocalist and guitarist in a garage band, of which she is [currently - a friend's ocs get involved later, but that's a whole different post] the only member. i'm not good with music terms but she's into whatever genre stuff like wake me up inside and crawling in my skin is [i know those aren't the names hdfjf it's just the words i know people will recognise]. the sort with the crunchy guitar and the very loud lyrics about being sad and/or angry. playing or blasting music helps her to calm down when she's in a bad mood, which is pretty much all the time. the first warning sign of a new wily plot is a spike in search popularity for my chemical romance

i haven't gotten around to designing it, but drum has a non-armoured form like most of the other more explicitly kid-like robots, which she mostly uses for loitering around malls when she has an excuse to not be at home. she rarely buys anything, just hangs out and radiates an aura that makes suburban white women hurry their three kids into the next shop. drum often ends up hanging out with like-minded teens in the same vague area of the goth/punk/emo venn diagram she occupies, and makes a bit of a game out of seeing how honest she can be about her life without revealing that she's one of the world's most wanted robots. she tells herself that it's just something she does out of boredom and curiosity towards humans, but it mostly stems from loneliness and the desire to have literally any friends that aren't her brother's dog

as a sort of contrast to the healthy and positive relationship between their lightbot counterparts, drum and bass absolutely DESPISE each other and make no secret of it. each of them thinks of the other as an insufferable prick and they'll get into petty arguments over just about anything, from whose turn it is on the xbox to who treble loves more. [for the record, it's drum. she lets him hang out in the kitchen while she's cooking and sneaks him food scraps when bass isn't looking. he's the only family member she has an even remotely positive relationship with.] pretty much the only thing that can get them to stop fighting is mutual hatred of a bigger prick, and so far the only person to consistently get them to put their differences aside like this is wily himself - as much as the wily kids hate each other, they hate their dad just a little more, and have a history of teaming up just to mess with him. sometimes mega man can spark that spiteful cooperation, but drum's total apathy towards the light-wily family rivalry means she usually sees him as not worth her time and just finds bass' obsession with beating him even more annoying

drum wasn't made for combat, and as such she doesn't have a signature weapon or any fancy tricks like the copy chip. usually she just orders other robots to do the fighting for her. however, she is equipped with a standard arm-mounted buster, and can hold her own in battle with a 'fight smarter, not harder' approach if she has to. she's also outfitted with the same treble adapter that bass has, so if she's backed into a corner she can call on him for a power boost. treble is capable of supporting both adapters simultaneously, so as an absolute last resort they can all combine into treble-boosted drum & bass, who theoretically has all the combat power of bass plus the strategic thinking from drum and the boost in power from treble. in practice, though, drum and bass are so at odds with each other that they can barely hold together in the same body without either fighting for control or outright splitting apart to argue harder. again, it takes a lot of spite to get them to work together, but if something draws their combined ire and convinces them to cooperate they're an utterly terrifying force to be reckoned with

the game idea i vaguely have in my mind would feature drum as the final-not-final boss before wily reveals he was the mastermind behind it all and surprises absolutely nobody. she was put in charge of the latest world domination attempt, probably as the result of a 'why don't YOU take over the world if you're so smart' conversation, and in true drum fashion she follows a standard wily plot outline to the letter - including the blatant flaws, like all eight of her chosen robot masters forming a rock-paper-scissors wheel just begging to be exploited by the copy chip, and making a clear path from just outside the death fortress to her base of operations. after she's defeated in combat, she sarcasically wonders aloud how mega man could have possibly bested her plan and then helpfully points rock directly to wily's castle. she didn't wanna do the stupid scheme in the first place

again, i love all my ocs too much to possibly choose a favourite, but i'd say drum was the most fun to come up with if only because i had the help of some mates in a discord server. someone was like 'hey if there's bass is there a roll equivalent called drum or something lol' and i SPRINTED to microsoft paint to rough out a character design and the next entire day was just a constant stream of all of us bouncing ideas off each other and creating the meanest girl in the universe. her design changed a little bit from the initial sketch, most notably she used to have the half-shaved hairstyle that every gay person tries at some point before that changed to a midpoint between phoenix wright and sonic the hedgehog, but overall everything about her as a character flowed really well from the start. while she's fallen mostly into my hands since the initial brainstorm, she absolutely wouldn't exist without those friends' input and i feel that that's important to mention!

i'm very tired and i've been working on this on and off for the past day so i'm gonna call the infodrump finished here - thanks for giving me the excuse to talk about her! unfiltered and transparent versions of the art below as always

[writeyouin]

oho Bet. Guy from The Croods x Gender Neutral Reader where they were childhood friends/neighbors and they meet again at the "new world". (instead of Guy and Eek falling for each other they become friends) Sorry if it's weird to read, it's 3:30 am.

Guy Crood X Reader – The New World

A/N – Writing this fic was the only way I ever found out that there’s a Croods sequel in the works.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

You hid in the bushes, cautiously watching the family before you as they violently tore hunks of meat of a huge bird. The speed and ferocity with which they ate was sickening, not to mention the gristle and fat that dripped grotesquely down their fronts. You had thought that you would be safe in the New World, never suspecting that cavemen would also find the way to it, unevolved as they were. Only one of the females looked anything closer to the evolution that had taken place in your tribe generations ago, but you doubted her intelligence was any better than theirs.

You wondered whether you ought to kill them; you had tried to communicate with cavemen in the past and it never ended well. Then again, it might not even be possible to take on all six of them. You were sure that you could kill the Alpha male with your speed against his strength. The other male would probably die of a self-inflicted injury in the heat of combat; he certainly looked dim enough. The alpha’s mate would hopefully be preoccupied with the fate of her son. It was the last three that worried you. The elder might look frail but she had to be tough to have survived so long. The young girl was clearly fast and strong, a combination of her parent’s best traits. That left the worst one of all; the baby. You had seen her bite the head clean off a lizard only seconds ago; she was clearly the most dangerous member of the pack.

Regretfully, you decided to abandon any thought of fighting, as well as that area of the New World. Perhaps you could make your home elsewhere, with the hopes that the cavemen wouldn’t find you.

“Ugh, that was delicious,” The alpha-male belched.

You slung your bow over your shoulder, tiptoeing quietly away, only stopping when you heard the girl speak. “Hey… where’s the leg I saved for Guy?”

‘Guy!’ Your breath hitched in your throat as you remembered your childhood friend. It couldn’t be him, could it? Was Guy a common name nowadays? The Guy you knew was as afraid of cavemen as you were. He wouldn’t travel with them, right?

On the slim chance that it was your Guy that the cavemen knew, you decided to stay and wait for him to come back to the pack. Coating yourself in mud to camouflage yourself and hide your scent, you hunkered down, clutching your bow tightly in case a fight should occur.

You continued observing the family, bemused when a fight broke out over who had eaten the last bird leg. You soon learnt that their names were Grug, Ugga, Eep, Sandy, Thunk and Gran, and together they were the Croods. Should a confrontation arise, their names might come in useful to diffuse the situation.

As the night drifted on and the Croods occupied themselves with stories for Sandy, you thought back, losing yourself in memories of when you and Guy were children.

“Help.” A sniffly voice on the verge of crying called from the bottom of a steep slope.

You poked your head over the edge, finding the new boy, whose family had just moved into the cave next door to yours.

“Hey,” Guy said upon seeing you. “Please, help me.”

You giggled upon seeing him fail to scale the shale wall, trying to reach you.

“You’re not supposed to play there, new boy,” You grinned.

“Okay, I won’t ever again. Now, get me out of here.”

“What’s your name?”

Guy stared up at you exasperatedly, “Come on, get me out.”

“I will, if you tell me your name.”

“It’s Guy.”

“Hi Guy, I’m (Y/N).”

“That’s not a name.”

“Neither is Guy,” You pouted.

“Yes it is, and you promised to help me if I told you, so there.”

“Uh huh,” You replied non-committedly, looking around for anything that might aid Guy. You lowered a long, withered stick down into the pit for him to grab hold of. Gratefully, he began climbing it, trying his best to be quick.

“You’re heavy,” You whined. “Hurry up before I drop you.”

Guy did his best to speed up, but with no footholds in the shale, he had only his arms to work with.

“How old are you?” You grunted through gritted teeth.

“Seven,” Guy groaned.

“No way. I’m seven and I’m not nearly as heavy as you are. You must be…” You paused, trying to think of the highest number you knew, “Twelve.”

“I’m not twelve! I’m seven, like you,” Guy insisted, finally reaching the top and dragging himself out.

You let him catch his breath before asking, “Now what?”

“I’ve gotta go home or my parents will worry. Are you coming?”

“I guess.”

With that, the two of you walked back to your adjacent caves within the tribe, talking the entire way back. Afterwards, the two of you became fast friends. Growing up together, Guy always shared his best ideas with you; his family seemed to be full of great thinkers. In return, you taught him the tribe’s way of hunting, camouflage, and how to mentally map out the terrain. You asked him once why he hadn’t learnt such important things from his old tribe, only to find out that he and his parents had been loners living in the wilderness until they came across your tribe.

In your early teenage years, Guy invented puppet shows, explaining the concept to you so the two of you could tell a story at the nightly gathering.

You giggled as you made a tiny old woman puppet on your hand bow. “The tribe will love this.”

“Yeah… The tribe will,” Guy said, thinking of how he had invented the puppets as a way to get closer to you than he normally would.

That night was one of merriment and wonder for the entire tribe. While you kept peeking around the boulder that acted as a stage to enjoy the audience’s reactions, Guy was watching you, preparing to ask you out before some other, braver tribesman did. After the show, when everyone was preparing to sleep, Guy finally plucked up the courage to ask you out, an action that led to what was simultaneously the best and worst night of your lives.

“You what?” You asked, trying to make sense of the rushed invitation Guy asked moments prior.

“Sometime, I mean, anytime you’re free, I was wondering if you uh, might want to go out with me,” Guy said slowly.

A grin spread across your face, “We could go now.”

“Now?! But it’s night time. There’s- There’s no light.”

“We’ll take torches.”

Uncertain about going, yet unwilling to lose his chance with you, Guy borrowed two torches from the communal fire pit. The two of you walked far beyond the edge of the tribe, into the wilderness where you could be alone together.

When the two of you reached the cliff, the two of you sat with your legs hanging over the edge. In a comfortable silence, bathed in moonlight you gazed up at the stars. Guy kept his eyes on you, smiling boyishly.

“(Y/N),” Guy murmured, drawing your gaze to his face.

Instead of speaking, he leaned forwards. You mirrored his action, relishing the way your foreheads touched, then your noses. Everything felt so intimate under the moon’s watchful gaze. Any second now and your lips would meet his, or at least they would have, had the ground not started shaking.  The two of you jumped up, backing away from the edge of the cliff.

“What’s going on?” You gasped.

“I don’t know. I-” Guy was interrupted by the distant screams that echoed through the previously peaceful night air.

“THE TRIBE!” You cried out.

You broke into a run with Guy close behind you, each of you struggling to keep your balance on the unstable ground. Trees began uprooting themselves as large fissures opened in the earth below.

You were nearing the screaming tribe when Guy roared, “(Y/N), LOOK OUT!”

He had warned you just in time for you to leap out of the way of a newly formed chasm that swallowed the earth where you were standing only moments before. Guy morosely called your name, painfully aware that the two of you were now separated.

“Don’t worry about me,” You called back. “Get back home, I’ll find another way to get there, I promise.”

Guy nodded assent and ran towards the tribe just in time to watch his family slowly die in tar and hear their last goodbyes. You, on the other hand, never got to keep your promise. The new terrain provided no way back to the only home you had ever known, and eventually you were forced to flee as fire, lava, and tar pursued you.

In the years of isolation that followed, whilst searching for a place safe from The End, you often thought of Guy, hoping that he had survived that terrible night. Now, you had been provided a chance to see if it was your Guy travelling with these Croods. You desperately hoped it was him, so you could finally know that your friend was safe, and maybe even put an end to the solitary life that fate had forced upon you.

The rancid smell of bog water intermingled with wet fur drew you out of your reverie. Suddenly on edge about a possible animal attack, you squatted into a fighting stance and readied your bow. A large carnivorous cat pounced through the surrounding foliage, launching itself at Grug. You prepared yourself to watch a bloody massacre that would lead to the Croods’ demise, but instead found yourself watching the creature affectionately groom Grug, purring the entire time.

Soon enough, more animals followed, one for each Crood so it seemed. You scowled, thinking that perhaps Guy was the name of Eep’s pet, but your expression quickly transformed into one of radiant joy as a man followed the animals. He was older, his hair longer, and there was some kind of odd creature hugging his waist, but there was no mistaking it; that was your Guy.

“Next time, it’s Thunk’s turn to walk the pets,” Guy said bemusedly. “There’s just no keeping them out of that stagnant water.”

Shouldering your bow, you wasted no time in getting up. You were still afraid of the cavemen, but if worst came to worst, you could always grab Guy and run.

“Uh hi, room for one more?” You asked awkwardly.

You immediately began to regret your choice not to get Guy alone as you were grabbed by several pairs of hands.

“WHO ARE YOU?” Eep demanded, pulling you in one direction.

“EEP, I’LL ASK THE QUESTIONS,” Grug reminded her, pulling you in the opposite direction. “WHO ARE YOU?”

“Can we all ask?” Thunk grinned. “Who are you?”

“Sweetie, this isn’t a game,” Ugga warned Thunk. “Hold onto Sandy before she eats the intruder.”

“I SAY WE RELEASE THE BABY,” Gran cackled wickedly.

Throughout the interaction, Guy had been entirely too shocked to say anything, but he finally stepped in, pushing himself between you and the Croods.

“Everyone, wait. This is (Y/N), the two of us grew up together. We- We know each-other.”

Reluctantly, Grug let you go, but Eep’s grip only tightened and you were faced with a barrage of ecstatic questions. “You knew Guy? What was it like growing up? Do you have ideas too? Do you make fire? How well do you know him? What’s the curvy string stick on your back for? Do you have a pet too? Were you being chased by The End? How did you find your way here? What do you-”

“Eep,” Ugga said quietly. “I think that Guy may want some time to catch up with his old friend.”

Eep fell silent, looking up at Guy, finding an expression of sadness and awe written on his face. “Oh, right, yeah. We’ll just leave you too it. Uh… C’mon Croods, let’s go for another pet walk.”

All of the group left except Gran who took a seat, waiting for the show to start. Grug quickly came back and put her over his shoulder; she grumbled cantankerously as he carried her away.

“So…” You said awkwardly, unaccustomed to talking to others after so long alone.

“So…” Guy parroted, having been caught completely off-guard.

“Cavemen?”

“Yeah,” Guy laughed nervously. “But they’re good ones.”

“And…our tribe?” You asked, hoping that Guy wasn’t the only one who had made it out.

He shook his head, “Gone. We’re all that’s left.”

“Oh…”

“(Y/N), I never stopped looking for you. I always hoped… I mean- and now you’re here and I don’t know what to say.”

“I know what you mean. I kept hoping if I travelled far enough, I would find you and now I have. So much has changed, where do we even begin?”

“Well… I suppose we could begin where we left off,” Guy said thoughtfully. “We tell each other everything that’s happened, no matter how long it takes and we learn who we’ve both become.”

Guy sat down on a log, offering you the space next to him. You sat down tentatively,

“Okay,” You said quietly. “That sounds good. You go first. Tell me your story Guy.”

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[regrettablewritings]

Preference: Love Languages

Characters: Cassian Andor, Erik the Phantom, Poe Dameron, Bruce Wayne, & Clark Kent

Cassian Andor

How He Receives:

Cassian is a very tough nut to crack: He’s aloof, he’s driven, he has a seemingly one-track mind, and he’s definitely the least open member of the Rogue One Squad -- and that’s saying something! These traits only seem to become more evident when approaching him from a more romantically-driven angle . . . However, he’s most certainly not a glacier: Even the most glaring of Rebels has a heart, and Cassian is no exception. If one does the math, it eventually becomes apparent that the best way to warm this man up is through quality time.

Admittedly, it’s quite shocking to think this. After all, there are no tricks or double meanings to quality time. It’s exactly as it says on the tin: Drawing feelings of love and acceptance from spending time with someone you love. Be it while doing tasks together or talking or just sitting and enjoying one another’s company, quality time ultimately boils down to feeling seen and heard by just having your loved one near you. (In addition, it’s also often associated with down time, which can especially be seen as a plus in the eyes of a ranking official in a war effort.)

The idea that someone like Cassian could harness love from being around another person so often just plain puzzles you. After all, he’s not exactly known for being the most welcoming, or even the most eager for downtime. Indeed, Cassian himself may find himself in denial of seeking attention like that.

But really, as much as he may refuse to show it or even believe it, he really appreciates being shown this kind of attention. He’s more or less resigned himself to the life of a cog, helping to keep the machine of the Rebellion going by doing his part. He may not necessarily voice contentment over this, but given that he’s given so much of his life to the cause, there are few other options he sees for himself. At least, he thinks. He honestly doesn’t acknowledge to himself just how deep he does, what his wants are, who he is separate from his actions and traumas.

But by spending time with his partner, he’s given the chance to confront himself: He can talk to you and have you talk right back to him. He’s given a chance to simultaneously learn more about you and also about himself. He can feel seen, he can feel heard! Because when he gets quality time with you, he’s no longer Cassin Andor, Captain of the Rebellion, deadly sniper and veteran spy: He’s just Cassian. Cassian Jeron Andor: A man trying to do right by the future while at the same time trying to confront his past after so many years of avoiding it. More importantly, though, he’s your Cassian. Which is as far from being any old cog as one gets.

How He Gives:

Unlike his personal love language, how Cassian expresses care can actually go deeper than what its name suggests. The thing about giving gifts is that the gift need not necessarily be tangible: Sometimes it can be a gesture, an action that doesn’t qualify as an act of service, anything that could be perceived as a fundamental expression of how someone loves you. At their root, the giving and reception of gifts revolves around the idea that it is literally “the thought that counts.”

And for Cassian, you are on his mind when he decides to bequeath you with the gift of being able to defend yourself. Is it a strange gift? Absolutely. Is it advantageous? Most assuredly. Most of all, is it terribly important to Cassian that he gives you this? Beyond words.

Deep in love or slowly falling, you’re doing so in the midst of a war: One can never be too careful. And given that at any moment, the enemy could locate the base or one side of the partnership could be deployed on a dangerous mission, it’s better than have and not need the ability to knock a trooper unconscious than to need and not have the ability. Cassian has already lost so much in his life; he doesn’t have any desire to have one of his remaining loved ones added to the list.

In the event he can’t be there to protect you, he needs to know you can at least put up a fight well enough to possibly escape. So when he teaches you how to shoot or how to participate in hand to hand contact, or even teaches you how to combat Empire weaponry using items stolen from their stocks, it’s because he has you in mind. He has the image of a safe you in mind, to be more specific.

Because even if he can’t be there, he wants some trace of himself with you when you most need it. After all, the greatest gift one can receive is the gift of their partner being there for them. In Cassian’s case, if he can’t be with you physically, he’ll for damn sure make certain he’s on your mind in a way that will keep you alive.

Erik

How He Receives:

At this point, Erik’s love language could best be described as “yes.”

The man has gone throughout so much of his life lacking in various forms of all five, so it would be difficult to say at first what the best approach would be. Hell, it wouldn’t be far off to assume that regardless of what he truly felt, he would bend over to receive love however you gave it to him: He would consume every last drop as though it were the final beads of rain in the desert. However, it should be noted Erik seems to respond particularly well to words of affirmation and physical touch. Or, at least, these are the languages he appears to be most in search of.

This, of course, is unsurprising: Of all the things Erik has been denied in life, recognition of his humanity, abilities, and worth, and the kindly touch of another, are the most prominently missing. Consequently, it’s no wonder he desperately seeks someone to praise his genius. The problem, however, is that he’s become so lacking in either that his search for one or the other has more intensified natures than the average person’s.

For example, it may seem arrogant (and, to a point, it is), but considering Erik associates his worth with his talents and what he can contribute, it’s no wonder he snarks or even throws fits when he feels he’s been underappreciated. He considers himself too proud to fish for compliments, but you wouldn’t be sure what else to call it when you notice him leaning in ever so slightly, eagerness twinkling in his eyes when he asks you for your input on one of his most recent projects.

More tragically, however, is the situation regarding physical touch. Modern psychology would recognize Erik as being somewhere along the autism spectrum. For the time, however, all Erik knew was that he had a certain sensitivity to things: Sounds, some smells, heavy light, and, indeed, some sensations of touch. The aversion to touch flickered, however, much like candlelight: There would be long periods where Erik would crave the feeling of another, followed by brief moments where he couldn’t stand the idea of anything touching him and vice versa. Some days, he would feel content in his robe, one of the few things he’d escaped Persia with; other days, it, as well as any other seemingly gentle fabric, would feel scratchy or dry on his skin.

Nevertheless, Erik wanted to become familiar with the feeling of someone else. Particularly, he wanted to become familiar with the feeling you. The unfortunate nature of it all was that Erik’s touch-starved nature would sometimes collide with his touch-aversion tendencies, leaving him a frustrated (and, at their worst, trembling) mess. He, of course, chalks it up to him being overwhelmed from lack of experience, but it certainly doesn’t help anything. He’s already gone this long without so much as over one kiss to his name, most touches being through some reckless nature.

And now that he finally has in his life someone to touch him as though he were a beloved pet, to kiss him as lovers are meant to . . . It’s simply not fair! He’ll be damned more than he already has been if he lets what he perceives as fear get in the way of himself and your affections!

In his stubbornness, he tends to push forward on the craving regardless of how much it will cause him to shiver and tense: Even if it only means your pinky wrapping around his, he wants your physical company upon his own. He will brave all that he must until he can no longer bear it!

Praise him. Call him your angel. Tell him he’s brilliant. Tell him he’s good. All while hugging him, or rubbing the smoother parts of his scalp, or gently stroking a thumb on his cheek (blemished or not, he won’t force you to touch what you don’t want to). Truly, to be seen and felt in ways of affection is how people are meant to be loved, in Erik’s book.

How He Gives:

On the rare occasions he’s been accepted or tolerated in his life, it’s usually been in relation to what Erik could provide for the other party involved, romantically or not. Be it to use his skills to carry out a murder task, or to create for them gifts beyond their wildest dreams, Erik has since learned (or at least been led to believe) that one of the best ways to please someone is to provide for them.

As a result, anyone who’s caught the eye of the Phantom of the Opera need not be shocked when they find him in their services as a tutor, or pulling strings behind the scenes to help their goals be achieved within the opera house. Case in point, with Christine, he offered to teach her to sing, he tried to raise her status as an ensemble member to the prima donna of the Opera Populaire, etc. Sure, his methods were not ideal, but to Erik, these were simply acts of service and providing her intangible but nonetheless important gifts meant to help her along in life in some way, albeit with traces of his own selfishness intertwined. (Not that he may have necessarily even noticed it at first. Remember: He gave her his music; he gifted her with something very important to him that he still wanted her to have.)

While he’s since thankfully dampened down on his methods, the language he speaks to any new and special person remains: If you have caught his eye and/or heart, he wants you to know your importance to him the only way he really knows how: He wants to provide you with peeks into his little world, to express to you what he finds difficult to do in words. Erik is not inarticulate in the least, but he truly does feel his actions speak more of his soul than his words sometimes can.

So from this, be prepared to find projects of yours completed after spending night upon night struggling to keep up. Do not be alarmed when you find letters in your working station with tips or secrets that ultimately help you along the way. Cherish those days when you find small morsels of your favorite pastries (don’t question how he got them), or if he lets you be the first person to lay eyes upon his newest masterpiece. He’s doing all he can to help you, even if sometimes it must be from afar. He is, after all, your most devoted and obedient servant.

Poe Dameron

How He Receives:

Poe Dameron: the Resistance’s golden boy. Always committed, always ready to go, and always ready to lend a helping hand. It therefore stands to suggest that the devoted general deserves some help right back. After all, being a general is a tough job: He has to make tough calls, disperse troops as necessary, direct the flow of the Resistance’s counters, and so forth -- all while keeping a calm and reasonable countenance. He wants to do everyone proud, but admittedly it does take a lot out of him.

Hence why with him, acts of service can go a long way.

To the average person, this may come off as just doing chores: Helping mind his resting quarters, relaying messages as necessary, bringing him things he may need, making sure he eats and sleeps regularly enough, making sure subordinates stay on task and don’t distract him from larger responsibilities in favor of more tedious endeavors . . . This couldn’t possibly be what endears a bold and confident hero like General Dameron, right?

Actually, it is: When someone performs an act of service, they’re telling their special someone that they love and care about them enough to help take a few things off their plate. And when somebody best receives love through another’s efforts, it means they see that their own personal time and work is, in fact, appreciated! Poe feels loved and cared for when he has someone who knows that in spite of his hero status, he really is just a man: He has limits, he has his doubts sometimes in the dark. Being General Leia Organa’s successor means he has big, big shoes to fill, and even though everyone has faith in him, it’s all too easy for him to potentially put himself into overdrive and risk even his health.

When one wants to show Poe that they love and care for him, to do really is to love.

(Additionally, if you tend to BB-8′s maintenance and make sure his X-Wing is in tip top shape, it tells him that you also care about the things he values beyond his job and regular functioning. BB-8 is his best buddy, and his X-Wing is symbolic of his first love: Flying. When you respect these two pillars of Poe’s life, that’s how he knows you see him for him.)

How He Gives:

There are many great things that could be said about Poe Dameron: That he’s handsome, that he’s brave, that he’s not afraid to take a risk (though how great of a thing this might be can be debated), and so much more. But one of the most underappreciated yet blessedly wonderful things about this man is that he has just as many wonderful things to say right back! He has a natural ability to lead and instill confidence, so it is only natural that his way with words translates into his way with love: Words of affirmation is Poe’s game, and he plays it hard.

Because of how ready he is to commend another, it’s rather easy to assume that perhaps he’s just using run-of-the-mill, one-size-fits-all compliments. However, this is far from the truth: The truth is, Poe can see beauty and skill in all kinds of ways, and he’s not afraid to openly appreciate the ones whom he sees it in. As a result, everything he says is steeped in genuineness, often at the perfect time (sometimes without his target ever even knowing they needed it).

His partner, of course, is far from and beyond being an exception.

Your days are filled with constant reminders of your worth, with praises and comments prompted by him acknowledging your efforts.

You successfully run a drill known for its difficulty? He congratulates you with, “Great job!”

Your learning of a new skill, regardless of how minor it may seem to the unappreciative, is greeted with statements of how proud of you he is.

A long day of running errands for him, or helping him clean up his plate of duties is acknowledged with a tired but nevertheless warm, “Thank you, Starlight . . .”

Admittedly, it can potentially come off as a bit much. He couldn’t possibly see so much in you worth talking about, right? In actuality, he truly does: Contrary to popular presumptions, Poe isn’t nearly as arrogant as people believe him to be, and he easily recognizes how strength and bravery comes in all shapes, sizes, and wars. He can appreciate all the efforts one applies, and he wants them to appreciate themselves right back. Hence why, whether it’s over your skills or perseverance, Poe will always be there to remind you he’s in your corner, watching you with pride in his eyes.

You’re a hero in your own way, in both the Resistance and in your own life, and you deserve to know that about yourself. He sees you, he appreciates you, he loves you for all that you are, and even the bits that you’re not.

And even though it’s so easy to want to doubt him, there’s something so warm and honest about the way he looks at you when he says, “I love you” . . . You just can’t help but know it’s the truth.

Of course, it should also be noted that even once the war winds down and he no longer has drills or base errands to appreciate you over, the praises will not stop. This man has a nebula’s worth of affirmations waiting for you, in his vice, in little messages he leaves for you, in holoimages you find whenever he has to go out.

“I would never want life with anybody else,” he tells you every chance he gets. And every time, it’s accompanied with a warm smile that reaches his eyes. It’s enough warmth to fire up an entire galaxy’s worth of stars, with each one representing something about you to love, adore, and cherish. He would mark them all in a star chart if you would let him.

Bruce Wayne

How He Receives:

Bruce, Bruce, Bruce . . . How does one begin to solve an enigma like Bruce? The thing about him being the Prince of Gotham and an all around very public figure is that everyone likes to make their own assumptions about him: That he’s cold, that he’s selfish, that he’s an idiot, or that he’s, well, a slut. And certainly, the philandering playboy image he’d projected in his youth did nothing to suggest otherwise, but it should be stated upfront that Bruce is and always will be an enigma far beyond first impressions, even to ones who love him and are a part of his personal life.

Case in point, it may come as both expected and a surprise that the man's love language actually veers more in the physical touch territory. It's a bit expected because, once again, he is known for being a bit more playful with women in the public eye in the past. However, as his lover in a much more healthy and intendedly long-term relationship, you learn that, much like Bruce, it goes far deeper than that.

The thing about physical touch is that it is both a fundamental way of expressing love, while also requiring a lot of understanding between those involved in order for it to have the best turnout.

Everyone assumes that Bruce will accept any touch, so long as it comes from the hands of any pretty thing. And while it is true that lapses in judgement and moments of desperation have led to Bruce letting his guard down, the fact of the matter still stands: Not all touches are created equal. Not every spot will illicit the same response, and, surprisingly, not every applicant will either.

There have, unfortunately, been many hands seemingly placed on his shoulders or face that would start off sweet and trusting, only to turn into slaps or harsh grips, long nails digging into him in a moment of distress. Without going into too much detail, it’s sufficient to just say that these instances have consequently led to Bruce becoming increasingly on guard about who he lets touch him, causing him to become more and more touch starved than what he already was.

Getting close enough for Bruce to let down his walls was by far not an easy task. But by far, your greatest accomplishment was getting Bruce to trust you enough to know: Your caresses had no dubious intentions. He’d spent so long expecting you to turn around and prove you were using him, taking advantage of his need for another’s physical attention to get whatever you wanted. After all, that’s how it went in the past with others.

But with you . . . With you, Bruce has come to find that it’s . . . different. He’s learned that your hand is resting on his cheek to pillow his weary head, to gently scratch the scruff beginning to form after working long hours into the night after night after night. While your massages on his aching back may lead to intimacy, it doesn’t have to; and when it does, it’s accompanied not by sickeningly sweet words made to threaten to tear him down. And speaking of intimacy, you don’t use it as a tool: You use it as a means of communicating with him. You want to actually be with him, in that moment, and let him know that for every second you are bound in this way, you love and adore him for who he is.

It’s hard to imagine, but the big, strong Dark Knight often finds himself seeking your touch throughout the day. He’s good at hiding it and composing himself otherwise, of course, but that’s regularly only to a point. In private, he leans in ever so slightly, his eyes quietly begging for you to embrace him. You care about his vulnerabilties, his needs for gentle touches, and even though they sate him, he’s always left wanting more. For even though he is supposedly a man who has everything, he will always be selfish for your unselfish touches.

How He Gives:

Once again, there was almost a sense of predictability revolving around Bruce’s main manner of showing love. After all, where was the shock in a billionaire resorting to gifting his partner with material goods? Indeed, this unfortunate expectation easily led to some corruption and exploitation, but the fact of the matter stood: At its root, Bruce never meant to necessarily spoil the ones whom he tried to be with; he merely wanted to provide for them tangible happiness, things that would let them know he’d thought about them. But, of course, bad company makes for bad reception: The socialites and femme fatales that had slinked in and out of his life were all too ready and willing to milk what they could from their other half.

Any “wronged” lovers would give him the cold shoulder until it was warmed by some fancy coat or couture leather jacket; they would demand to be pacified by the crystalline beaches of some far off location that would no doubt look great on their social media; fancy bags, tickets to shows Bruce could never wrap his head around, the latest gadgets and trendy things – he was more than willing to provide them if it meant she understood and appreciated his efforts and affections.

Of course, they never really did. And, of course, this left an impression on Bruce.

He hadn’t meant to be so cynical by the time your relationship with him came to be, but suspicion had become second nature. As did his tendency to give half-hearted gifts in order to supposedly appease you. (Of course, he could have potentially tried to learn a new method of showing his care, but that is neither here nor there; gift-giving just seemed to come most naturally to him.) He didn’t necessarily mean to lump you in with the rest, of course, but none of the relationships previous had ever allowed him to think the possibility of there even being an “otherwise.”

And while you didn’t necessarily mind receiving nearly weekly parcels of dresses and jewelry and the latest tech, part of you did admittedly feel somewhat stifled by it all. And cold. But maybe this was how Bruce truly did show his love? And who were you to conduct how he did so, much less reject his offerings? And so, as a result, a wordless dance between the two of you had been initiated: Bruce would buy what he thought you wanted, and you would accept if only because you felt you needed to in order to show your acceptance of his life. It wasn’t until Bruce had given you a postcard, however, that the tide had turned.

He hadn’t thought too terribly much of the thing when he’d sent it to you from Amnesty Bay during a recon of sorts; of course, he’d been thinking of you, but as far as he knew, you were probably thinking of him bringing back something valuable. (If only the sleepy, seaside town actually had anything worth so much.) What he hadn’t expected was to see it perched on your nightstand when he returned.

“I like having it nearby me when I go to sleep,” you sheepishly admitted. “It’s small but . . . Well, you were thinking of me even when you were ‘doing your thing’ out there, and it feels really . . . nice . . .”

“Nice?” he repeated, a brow raised.

“Nice,” you confirmed, cheeks burning.

. . . Hm. He couldn’t help but note that you hadn’t fidgeted like that after he gave you the diamond tennis bracelet he’d picked up on the way back.

Smartest detective in the world, his foot: Maybe . . . There was a slight chance he’d been going about this the wrong way. And the more he tested this theory, the more that slight chance began to look even bigger: It was when he remembered things like your favorite meals, both at home and when dining out; it was when he brought home your favorite snacks after a particularly rough week; it was when he remembered dates that were important to you, or added small things to your growing collections of your choice.

Those were the moments where you felt connected to him. Those were the moments when you felt Bruce’s love for you. It was in the intangible some days, and in others, the tiny gestures that left you feeling large amounts of warmth within. Certainly, as time went on, you became more accepting of the larger objects sent your way, but it was only after Bruce genuinely applied his thoughts of you in order to guide him more properly. In the end, you didn’t need big items, big gestures, or really anything with a big price tag to appreciate him or acknowledge that he cared. All you really needed what to know he was there, ready and willing to make you as happy as you wanted to make him.

And, in a way, by relearning to give you gifts, Bruce was inadvertently gifted right back: He was reminded why giving gifts had become his go-to method. Certainly, it had started off as means to show his ability to provide, but it had long since evolved. Specifically, it had matured into something more healthy and beautiful, healed from its wounds and exploitation.

Because so long as he thought of you, there was always something around him – something he could do – that was suddenly made all the more beautiful for being associated with you.

Clark Kent

How He Receives:

Superman was a polarizing figure: For every news article recounting his amazing feats and daring rescues, there were at least three or five think pieces on his alien nature, or conspiracy podcast episodes dedicated to defining his malevolence. And while it admittedly made for a rough start in his heroing career (after all, even the weight of worry was a bit much for the world’s strongest man to properly handle), the Last Son of Krypton had thankfully since learned to stop investing so much stock into these sorts of criticisms. To a point anyway.

After all, a few words of affirmation never hurt anyone. Least of all the Man of Steel – or rather, his alter ego, Clark Kent.

Despite the fact that he had been Superman for at least three years by this point, Clark’s complex relationship with compliments and declarations give his relationship with you a bit of a bumpy start. It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with the concept of compliments and being appreciated – he’d gotten plenty of it for his deeds. For what it was worth, in three short years, love for Superman had made an almost complete 180 from the previously dour position. But, then again, that was the problem: He knew adoration as Superman – but Clark barely knew appreciation as himself.

It was easier to accept that sort of thing when you were a public figure: All you needed to do was smile and puff out your muscular chest and speak in a clear and precise voice as blazing and bright as the sun that powered you. Simple stuff. There were plenty courses and even tutorials on how to be a public figure and how to appreciate praise. But nobody talks about how to do it when one is a supposedly sheepish, poorly-postured man of humble means, just trying to make his way in the big city. Probably because when one is such a man, not much is expected of him, much less something actually worth touching upon.

To your credit, you didn’t know this was something he needed. And to his own, he didn’t really recognize it, either. He’d spent so much of his life lately being dedicated to being Superman that he quietly began to neglect himself as a man in multiple areas of his life; why ever would he think about how he needed to receive love when he has to focus on keeping the city clean of crime? You thought he wanted you to appreciate him for such a nigh-on impossible feat! After all, not just anyone could brag that their boyfriend stopped a hostage situation, blew out a fire in a single breath, and lifted a derailed train back into an upright position, all in one afternoon! But the more and more you complimented him on such matters, the less and less you came to actually agree with your methods.

Not because you became used to and even bored with Clark’s Supermanning, but because the more you paid attention, the more you noticed that Clark, well, wasn’t beaming. You knew the difference between happy-for-the-public Supes and genuinely-happy Supes – there was a certain light missing in Clark’s eyes whenever you would congratulate him on a job well-down with a robbery or what have you.

Still, he would thank you for it, flashing you that glorious smile of his: “All in a day’s work, sweetheart!”

Even the tone with which he used wasn’t authentic to his true self.

You found yourself racking your brain as the days progressed. Maybe he was a different love language altogether? It was a bit presumptuous of you to assume this was the proper method, though, wasn’t it?

You haven’t even been meaning to think about it the moment it came to you; all you were trying to do was let Clark know how much you appreciated the meal he’d prepared. A less busy day for Superman was still plentiful for the average man Clark was trying to be; you never would have pressured him to come home and start cooking, much less a dish he’d only just recently found out about!

But that was simply how Clark was: He always went above and beyond, more than happy to take care of you whenever he could.

“Oh, wow!” you gasped between forkfuls. “You’ve really outdone yourself tonight; you really didn’t have to, Sweetie!” You glanced up just in time to see Clark’s face pinken ever so slightly.

“Oh!” he responded. “Well, you know . . . I just followed the recipe and went by intuition, that’s all . . .” And that was when you knew you were on to something. There were a million tells: The tensing, the flicker in his eyes, the clumsy smile . . . But most telling of all was his deflection: Clark never used deflection when accepting his usual bout of compliments.

But just to be certain, you carried on just a bit further. In the weeks to come, you would bring attention to the things Clark did -- specifically as Clark: You would appreciate aloud how he would do chores or bring home groceries even when he didn’t have you; you’d remind him of how handy he was around the apartment, using his farm-grown resourcefulness to fix little problems like a broken door; or, when reading over his submission for the Daily Planet, you would compliment him on his writing and thought process. And, as you’d come to expect, the same responses would follow: A split-second glimmer, a wobbly smile that carried blush, and an insistence that, “Oh, it was nothing” or “No need to mention it, it’s fine.”

In short, everything that was less Superman and more Clark. And that was how you knew you were on the right track.

While it did come with a learning curve for both parties (for you, you needed to learn what did and didn’t appeal as a  Clark-specific affirmation; for Clark, he actually needed to learn that there was plenty about himself worth affirming at all), stability and a better understanding of the situation did come your way. The deflections lessened to mere extinction after a point (though the sheepishness still stayed for the most part).

Of course, there were still threats of lapsing back into disbelief on Clark’s part. After all, just because you, as Superman’s partner, had figured out his preferred way of being appreciated, didn’t mean that the rest of the world could possibly know or stop how they gave him there’s. But at the end of the day, Clark supposed that that was what made it all the more special.

At the end of the day, after all the “You’re so strong!”s and corny “What a man!”s, he could just come home and be greeted with much more personal, “Thank you for responding to my message earlier; it was very thoughtful of you!”s, or “I read your latest article; not too shabby”s. Or his absolute favorite: “You’re my hero.”

How He Gives:

There’s no point in mincing it when even complete strangers experienced how Clark showed his love for the world: Every act of heroism Clark did was an act of service to all. But where you got off on the long end of the stick was when you had to acts all to yourself. Sure, 10% of the local population could recount how Superman had saved them from a nasty fall or retrieved their poor kitty from a tree -- but how many of them could say that they had Superman helping them clip coupons so that they would be prepared for the next visit to the grocery store? Just you? You’re darn skippy!

Sure, Clark’s alter ego was in the service of all. But you had an ace up your sleeve: The intimacy and closeness of a working relationship! This meant you got the more personal acts of service; things that made you two look like a normal couple.

Clark would happily gather groceries for the household; do the dishes without complaint after you’d cooked; pick up the laundry on his way back if you hadn’t already; overall, the works! Of course, you had been very hesitant when you discovered that this was Clark’s way of displaying his love to you: He was already running himself ragged as a superhero, right? Why was he doing all these extra chores!? True, you certainly didn’t mind having some extra tasks in your day being taken care of (not everyone had the same super speed or ability to take care of a major problem in record timing, after all), but the idea of being a burden toy your already overworked boyfriend worried you. You began to seriously worry that perhaps there was something you were doing that suggested to him that this was what you wanted, and it clearly showed in your nervous expressions or uncertain eyes after the fifth time he proudly told you he’d given the entire apartment a clean sweep.

You had meant to do that, but traffic on the way home kept you busy . . .

“It’s okay,” Clark insisted, eyes earnest. “I like being able to take some worries out of the way for you. Cleaning the apartment is easy compared to what I do on a regular basis.”

You pressed your lips together, uncertain. “Yeah, but that’s just it: You have a regular basis. A very crazy one. I don’t want you to focus on all this . . . tedious stuff when I can just do that. You focus on the weird, power-y villain stuff, I focus on the mundane -- isn’t that what we agreed on? Wordlessly??”

Clark frowned. “No . . . There was never an agreement. At least, not like that. The only thing we ever agreed on was that we wanted to be together. . . . And that we liked this apartment. But I digress: We wanted to be together. And when I do things like this, it shows how much being with you means to me. I like making sure our home life is secure and clean. After all, if my girl back home is upset, then what kind of man would I be?” You were quiet, certain he was being rhetorical -- “A not very super man, that’s what.” If that smile of his weren’t so darling, you would’ve been tempted to wipe it off his face.

But you did see his point. And it did take a bit of time to get used to it. Of course, you refused to let your ability to do your share fall to the wayside: If you were able to do a chore or run errands, then you were on it! But . . . far be it from you to not appreciate your super man for the things that he did, when he could!

In the event you’d beaten him to the tasks, however, Clark would still have one last thing up his skin-tight sleeves: Physical touch.

Everyone knows this man has the strength necessary to uproot and transport an entire building. It’s enough to even cause some nervousness to the average person: How careful was he with his strength? How easy was it for him to forget himself and actually break something --or someone? Was being held by him a risk at the expense of the wellness of one’s bones? The answers were simple: He was very careful with his strength; not as easy as it had once been, but he’d long since come into his own sense of control; and not really, actually.

Who knew that the Man of Steel had a touch of kittens made out of clouds? Well, 10% of the local population, but also and especially You because whereas everyone else would experience a carry of some kind into safety, you got a carry into bed. Or the couch. Or even just his lap!

Really, the roughest Clark ever hazards with you is when a long day has left your back feeling stiff and in need of a gentle, gentle pop. He is more than happy to oblige, knowing that it’s giving you a sense of satisfactory (as well as doubling up as an act of service, or so he claims).

Clark loves cuddles, and he’s more than happy to share them with you as a reminder of just how special you are to him. After all, nobody else in the city can claim that they get to be spooned by the strongest and most sweetest man on Earth! Because out of all the people he comes into contact with on a regular basis, be it on the streets as a civilian, or in the midst of a crisis being brought down to control, you’re the one that matters most to Clark. He may be the world’s Superman, but let’s make one thing clear: He will only ever be your super man.

[develation]

SCP AU

So @emeraldtrainer1 (Ao3), @writingforfunandbecauseboredom (Ao3), and DarkstarWolf53 (<-Dunno if they have Tumblr) did an SCP AU three-way Convo fic some months ago. I really enjoyed the outline and concept and asked if I could expand on it. With their permission and about a month of research into what the actual SCP Foundation is (and holy cow there is so much, no wonder people are all over this) I've finally managed to get a start on this. There is a decent amount of things that are different from their original Convo (via their permission) but it will basically follow the same storyline that they created. Please go check their Convo out, it's a very long and fun read with a lot of good fluff and Angst mixed in.

I will hopefully be drawing some of my designs soon but for now, writing seems to be the way to go. Here is a link to it on Ao3 -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/33213928/chapters/82464553

I'll also have it below in case you would like to read it on Tumblr instead.

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Error: (The End Of All But Me.) There are too many unworldly traits that spiders have that I couldn't just not give to Error, so I've kind of combined their Puppetmaster concept to my design. He has 4 arms with clawed fingertips, his tail is prehensile and his jaw can split open. He has 5 tongues still, 2 of them are spear-like, and can shoot out and impale victims. The saliva produced under the tips of the barbs on the two tongues can liquidity a prey items insides so he can drink them up (still a clean freak, using the skin as a cup and drinking up any mess leaving a skin bag behind). His other three tongues are prehensile and can extend to an unknown length, they are barbed aswell but do not carry the venomous saliva. Strings wrap along his bones from his eye sockets, which he uses to create a nest atop the ceiling of his cell.

SCP-002's (Apollyon class) cell is a blank room (it ask for a TV later on) that goes up vertically 2 floors. The top half is required to be shrouded in darkness as it likes voids of either white or black. It has filled the darkness of its cell with a nest of strings that it spends all of its time in, even when feeding. It does not attempt to attack staff, when asked why it replied with, "Not yet." Personal have not been able to decipher what it means by that statement. In an interview via speakers and mics within containment cell, it was asked why SCP-002 stares off at seemingly nothing for extended periods of time and never touches the ground. Subject responded with, "Busy." When asked what it was busy doing- "Watching." When asked what it was watching- "The world. Everything." Due to this experience, it can be concluded that 002 can view any place in the world and perhaps beyond via "screens". These "screens" are unviewable to anyone but 002 and 001 as the latter SCP had called them so, hence their given name. SCP-002 has a strange relationship with SCP-001 and it can not be determined if 002 likes or dislikes 001.

Ink created Error on accident. In the beginning, Ink didn't know what he was doing, and the brutality of Earth's natural forces of destruction were uncontrollable. If he wanted to bring life to his chosen planet he needed a way to control the chaos. And so through the storm, a new force was born. And even if Ink didn't create it, he did wish for it.

Error is a ticking time bomb for extinction. He waits and watches until he decides it's time for a "spring cleaning" and starts his work. The Ordovician, Late Devonian, Permian, Triassic, and Cretaceous mass extinctions were all him. He deemed the human race ready for a "cleaning" a long time ago and Ink agreed with him, ready to see and make something new. But Nightmare threatened the both of them by stating that he would make the earth forever inhabitable and they would have to kill him before he stoped his rage. Nightmare fears that if another extinction event were to occur he'd lose his boys.

Ink: (God doesn't care about what's right or what's wrong. God just wants to watch interesting things happen.) His form is always changing, different traits from different animals and organisms he's created. Ink is basically Gaia. Born when Theia crashed into Earth around 4.5 billion years ago, he made everything that ever existed. Since he's made A LOT of organisms he has a ton of favorites and the traits from them are what mostly show up when he mutates. Sometimes it's Kaprosuchus with belonged snout and fangs. Sometimes it's Tylosaurus with its marine reptilian posterior. Sometimes it's Chital Deer and their antlers. More often than not though, his tail has consistently stated having bristle-like hair at the tip of it, which is basically his brush. The concept of paintbrushes is pretty new to him since the human race has been around for a short time compared to other species, so while he does have one, his tail is his broomie. If his next from doesn't have it then he just uses his hands and his blood.

Ink can't be contained. It's that simple, he just can't. He just sticks around because it's interesting and hilarious to see his creations so intelligent but so stupid. (remember how humans are still young in terms of Earth's age, so the fact that they're so smart... on a thought level that could almost match his own is so very interesting to see and watch. even if there ruining his planet.) The SCP foundation just has to let him do his thing and hope that he doesn't override 003's and 004's decision to not have an extinction event.

His cell is basically a mini-ecosystem, with all of his favorite organisms living within whether they are extinct or not. He loves his little sample of the world and it keeps him in his cell for a good amount of time so the foundation let him have it. If any of them even touch what is HIS without permission then he rips them apart and feeds them to the baby Rhamphorhynchus. Don't touch his babies.

...Cross though... he can touch his babies... and Dream... and maybe Error... That's it though!

SCP-001 (Apollyon Class) is a being older than all living things, despite his toddler-like mannerisms. Even more infuriating, within an interview, 001 openly admitted to being the cause of all SCP's and their anomalous effects. It stated that they were all just mistakes and/or experiments, testing the limits of their own abilities. 001's quoted response- "You don't get it do you? I made everything here! All of your little "SCP's" are just of my creation as all of you. Sure there all mistakes but, it just proves my point that it's time to start over again. A clean slate y'know? Pfft- wow you look mad! If it makes you feel any better, I don't like most of them either. They were cool at first but... it's like flicking black paint over a finished painting. Sure, you can try to get over it but eventually, it will just bother you so much that you just can't stand it! Well... I do kinda want some of them to stay... If I could just convince Ru..." -shows evidence to this conclusion. Termination trials were approved by the 05 Council, though have not been able to start since 001's creation of a barrier around its cell, preventing entry of anything that tries to pass.

[Note: Error, Dream, and Nightmare are not included in what Ink views as "mistakes". Y'know when you're trying something new and you don't know what you’re doing, yet it works somehow. That's them, happy accidents. Ink adores them.]

Ink finds the attempt of Termination trials on him to be absolutely hilarious. The fact that humanity's insecurity about their lifespan and control is so great that they'd try to KILL HIM. Amazing. He can't believe he's managed to make the simultaneously best and worst organism ever.

Dream: (When day breaks.)  Again he was accidentally created by Ink’s actions in an intense solar storm. The flare drifting over the earth in combination with Ink’s magic still working to bring life brought him to existence. Dream’s design is almost harpy-like, with beautiful golden, sun-like wings with a small feathery crest atop his skull. Two tail-like feathers sprout from the crest that can rise up and down depending on expression and mood. He also has bird feet and legs, and a tail.

Dream adores all life, his is the warmth and growth of the sun (original form being a ball of light and plasma that literally looks like a mini sun). He is basically like a piece of the sun on earth. His cell is kinda like Ink’s, only in the fact that there are just a couple of animal species. Some deer, birds, and insects mainly. Ink obviously just appeared in his cell one day and made it for him. While Dream could be considered to be a Safe SCP, his ability to damage or completely ruin the planet if inraged prevents that classification.

SCP-003 (Apollyon Class) has proven to be a relatively docile creature. It is elegant in nature (like that of a bird) and shows greater empathy towards all life in general. Unlike SCP’s 001, 002, and 004 who view it as more interesting and admirable, more like a pretty crystal than an actual being with its own consciousness. 003 can not be fully contained and has shown the ability to travel through light rays. Its aura has also shown to be some form of anesthesia, and exposure for prolonged periods causes victims to feel more at peace and calm. 003 does have the capability to travel through the “dreamscape”, what exactly that in tails is unknown.

Dream doesn’t agree with the extinction event thing because the Holocene period hasn’t lasted for nearly as long as it should. On the other hand, he does distaste humanity/monsterkind for all it has done to the planet. Even so, he feels like they deserve more of a chance.

Nightmare: (Does the Black Moon howl?)(Death) Complete with the theme of being Dreams opposite, Nightmare was born from a black moon and the combination of Ink’s magic bringing life to the earth. He isn’t an evil force or anything, just the night to the day. His design is pretty true to OG nightmare, although his legs and feet share the same digitigrade format. His tentacles are more ghostly than slimy and they drip upwards instead of towards the ground. His bones also have a ghost;y wisp to them, but it isn’t that noticeable. Instead of only having a turquoise glint in his magic, there are sparks of purple aswell. (His original form being a black sphere of what looks like smoke).

His cell is basically an entrance to a cave system that Ink had made for him. Inside is a galaxy of crystals and gemstones that glow and sparkle like the night sky. A small stream runs through, the light refracting off of the water, adding to the glow effect. It is a nice calm place for Nightmare to just chill in, his separate own little world.

Nightmare is kind of mysterious, in the realm of Error in which he likes to watch things happen. Just lurking in the shadows, a quiet observer. Though, he wasn’t as fascinated by life as the others. So to prevent his boredom Ink made him a present- Killer. Nightmare hated the little thing at first but it didn’t take too long to grow fond of the little guy. Not too long later Ink pronounced his joy in watching Nightmare sigh in frustration by sending 2 more bundles his way -Dust and Horror- and Nightmare had to threaten Ink to stop before any more joined the fray.

SCP-004 (Apollyon Class) is an entity whose intentions are completely unknown. A mysterious being that chooses to dwell in the cave system 001 made for it. The entity refuses to interact with personal unless in interview. And when it does respond, it does so in riddles and metaphors. It seemingly takes joy asking more questions than the interviewer, turning the conversation in its favor. On such question that has been repeated multiple times - “Does the Black Moon howl?” has puzzled personal. Though 004 states that if answered correctly and explained why, then it will share its secrets with that person and that person only.

004 proves to be uncontainable like its counterparts, able to travel through shadows. SCP’s 012, 032, and 024 seem to be “followers” of 004, and regularly go missing from their cells. Most likely 004’s doing.

[Ink created Killer, Dust, and Horror during the era where dinosaurs were still alive, so they have some traits from them.]

Killer: (War) Was created by Ink for Nightmare to keep him entertained. Killer was born as a baby in Ink’s very hands, a little skeleton with curved blades for hands and digitigrade legs and feet (and little quills on his back). Growing up under Nightmare’s care was an interesting experience, but he thought Kill’s everything he needed to know.

-[SCP-012, Keter]-

Killer is fast, very fast. And he enjoys killing things (what a surprise). He’s pretty much the same cocky boi as always. His more SCP side is that he doesn’t seem to ever feel pain and the black liquid that leaks through his eyes. That can be used as a type of venomous toxin to whatever he pleases.

Dust: (Pestilence) You know Epidexipteryx and Therizinosaurus? Those are Dust hands, long with even longer claws. He can also turn into literal dust, more of a phantom or wraith in nature. He can walk through walls, and turn others to dust and grow himself if he wishes.

He and Horror could be twins since Ink made them both at the same time. Holding his little creations in his arms as they wriggled and whined in confusion at suddenly being alive.

-[SCP-032, Keter]-

Dust is pretty quiet and tame. He has his episodes but he stays pretty much the same as bookwrym’s, writing’s, and Dark’s Dust.

Horror: (Famine) Since Horror is a vent crawler I based his design on that. Horror’s second set of arms are like a praying mantis with an extra joint, hands serrated blades almost like Killer’s. He used to sit in trees and wait for prey to walk underneath him, plucking them from the ground with his long arms and eating them alive.

Same thing when in vents, just waits over the openings and plucks a person off of the ground and into the vent (if personal don’t keep up with his feeding times)

-[SCP-024, Euclid]-

Other than his design Horror is pretty much the same as bookwyrm’s, writing’s, and Dark’s concept.

Outer: [SCP-044, Safe] His stardust makes him have luminescent galaxy and star patterns on his bones. He floats regularly without control over it and can sometimes make other objects float, in rare cases people, aswell. Ink made him a jacket where pieces of its hood and aglets float off like a sort of fluffy foam. The pieces orbit him like planets to a star before joining back, making a continuous cycle.

(And yes writingforFUN, he will still keep his anime sparkling eyelight’s).

Cross: [SCP-00X, Thaumiel] Was created by Dr. X to help contain and terminate Keter SCP’s. Being forced to kill his brother when he turned Keter, not completely in control of his actions. Dr. X’s “programing” making him see his brother no longer as such, just an object to be eliminated. When Cross became uncontrollable Dr. X put wiped his memory without the 05’s or administers permission and an MTF was sent after him that came back empty-handed. Cross was brought back soon enough and had his memory wiped.

They bring him back in as a staff member and that’s when the story kicks off, mostly following bookwyrm’s, writingforFUN, and Dark’s original outline/convo.

(I apologize for any typos)

[chipper9906]

Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 7: Slip Of The Silver Tongue

<- - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 8,223

Overall Word Count: 65,405

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (7/?)

Chapter Preview:

Loki grunts — a terribly well-thought-out argument — taking a moment at the top of the stairs to wait for his vision to stop swimming. “Didn’t I ask you to stop me from pouring any more drinks?” “You did,” Sylvie agrees. “You also then proceeded to tell me that ‘one more drink couldn’t hurt’, called the waitress over for the last of their wine stores, and then nearly stabbed that wannabe knight who started getting grabby with me.”

“He deserved worse,” Loki mumbled darkly, letting Sylvie guide him towards the room she had booked for them. “Not that I had to do anything, of course. By the time I had gotten my daggers out, you had already dented his cranium with your tankard.”

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* * *

This wasn’t the first time Sylvie had seen someone fall victim to shock.

It usually happened when there was a specific sweet spot in the time it takes for an Apocalyptic event to occur. If it happens quickly, then most people don’t have time to actually react to it. That was probably the better option, where they didn’t know what was coming. The slower Apocalypses, like Lamentis or Miiphus, were some of the worst. The people of those Apocalypses were often unable to accept their fate. There was always that little stubborn bit of hope they clung onto, trying everything in their power to change their fate. Of course, they never could change it, because the Apocalypse of their world was written in stone. It had to happen, in accordance with His timeline. 

But then there were some in the middle… the ones where the people could see the end coming. They knew there was nothing they could do to stop it, and He Who Remains was cruel enough to give them just enough time where all they could do was stand there and realize this before everything they ever knew and loved was destroyed. 

That’s the times she saw people in a state of being… shell-shocked. Not all, of course. Most screamed, most ran, some… showed the crueler side of their nature in the face of the end. But a few people did nothing. She supposed they could be feeling despair in that moment, more than likely some terror, but… they don’t show it on their face. Their expressions are often next to impossible to read, like their mind had just… shut off.

She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that that was what was happening to Loki.

She didn’t like it. Not one bit. Loki wasn’t like this. Loki was sharp and attentive, his razor-sharp wit and equally sharp tongue one of many traits that helped keep him alive. That Loki? He was gone, buried deep somewhere inside this empty shell of a man that weakly clung to her hand, pushing through the snow gathered around their feet like he hadn’t even registered it was there. 

Sylvie’s head snaps to the right, to where she heard the sound of pounding hooves barely muted by the thick blanket of snow. She just about gets a glimpse of a band of riders galloping down the path towards them before she jumps behind a tree, dragging Loki with her. Thankfully, he still seems to have some sense of self-preservation left in him, willingly letting her pull him towards her until they were both pressed against each other, flattening themselves against the tree. 

Sylvie winces at the rough bark pressing against her back, the thin and flimsy material of the TVA shirt and blazer providing little to no protection. Loki’s breathing is loud and shallow right next to her ear, the two of them pressed so tightly together that she can feel the rise and fall of his chest. The booming sound of the horses gallops slowly fades away as the riders pass them by, and it’s only then that Sylvie changes her clothes with a shrug of her shoulders and a burst of magic, re-materializing her usual clothing and ridding herself of a uniform she hopes she never has to wear again. 

“Where… where are we?” Loki asks, and Sylvie had never been so glad to hear his voice. He slowly pushes away from her, scanning their surroundings with wide eyes like he couldn’t figure out how they had got here. 

“Earth,” Sylvie brings his attention back to her, not bothering to hide the worry on her face. 

“Those riders…” Loki looks to where the riders had disappeared between the thick thatches of trees, white puffs of condensation materializing from his mouth as he spoke. “Last I remember of my time on Earth, not many people carried swords... What year did you take us to?”

“Eighth century,” answered Sylvie, giving Loki’s hand a gentle squeeze to bring his attention back to her when he continued to stare out into the distance. “I know a place that's not too far. Are you… are you okay to walk?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Loki shoots Sylvie a strained smile that knocks away some of the reassurance she felt that he was starting to come back to himself, wishing that far-away look in his eyes would be gone. Loki weakly gestures with a wave of his hand in the direction they had been walking in. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Not once during their trek does Sylvie let go of his hand. Sometimes it felt like the only thing anchoring Loki to reality was her, and that if she let go, he would simply cease to exist. 

Loki doesn’t hound her with his usual questions or provide insightful commentary on their surroundings. She… missed it, actually. Not just because their absence further proves that something with Loki isn’t quite right, but also because… to put it bluntly, she missed him. She missed hearing his voice, and missed feeling annoyed at hearing his voice. 

...What was she talking about? She was thinking like Loki was dead, with his hand wrapped around hers, and his stumbling footsteps just behind her. He was still there, she knew that, he just… needed some time, is all. It wasn’t like he was going to quickly bounce back from…

Gods, had that really happened? Mobius was… he was… 

Why did this hurt? Mobius was a man who had chased her across branches, hunting her down like it was for sport. She had only known him briefly, and this Mobius wasn’t even the one they knew. And yet… his death left an oddly hollow feeling in her chest that she knows must be immense and suffocating inside of Loki’s. 

That was why, she supposed. It just seemed to be the way it worked with them. Mobius’s death was clearly wreaking havoc on Loki’s emotions, overwhelming him with levels of guilt and pain that he was struggling to handle. Loki was hurting, and just from that, she was hurting too. Loki was mourning the loss of his friend, and so she was mourning, too. 

But she couldn’t let herself fall into it like Loki was. If she’s the only one of them that can tread on the surface of despair Loki was sinking into and keep the both of them afloat? Then that’s just what she’ll have to do. 

The sight of the little building nestled within the forest brings with it a much-needed air of relief. The columns of smoke billowing from the inn’s chimney gave promises of alluring warmth and shelter from the cold — not that it bothered them all that much — and more importantly, the drunken patrons stumbling out of the front door that struggled to climb atop their horses gave promises of a much-needed drink. 

“Hang on.” Sylvie comes to a stop, holding out a hand to stop Loki from walking any further forward. There was still enough distance and cover provided by the forest that no one would be able to spot them just yet. “It’s probably best that you change out of your clothes, too. We’re probably going to get a decent amount of stares with me wearing armor. I can’t imagine these people will react too well to seeing someone in an office get up.”

“Right…” Loki nods his head, peering at the handful of people of this time that stood around the entrance to the Inn, friendly smiles on their faces as they conversed whilst simultaneously keeping one hand placed atop the hilt of their swords. His eyes scan meticulously over their clothing, taking note of every small detail he can see that may be of use.

Loki moves closer towards the cover of a nearby tree, blocking out most of the light from his magic as he changes his wardrobe. What he wore was quite similar to his usual Asgardian armor, being mostly comprised of leather as most other pieces of armor from this time period on Earth seemed to be. Thankfully, the dark colors of his clothing seemed to be a common theme amongst others he had seen so far, so it wasn’t like they would have to worry over this Earth’s people scrutinizing their coloring choice. 

Sylvie raised an eyebrow at the addition of some sort of fur wrap that ran along the collar and flowed down his back like… well, like a cape, it looked like. The fur was as dark in color, as was the rest of his outfit, the muted light from the cloud-covered sun barely able to show whether it was a very dark brown, or was simply black. 

“People might look at us strangely if we’re walking around in freezing temperatures without a coat,” Loki says when he catches sight of her questioning look. 

Sylvie had to admit that he had a point there. Before she can say anything or do anything in response, Loki had manifested a similar fur-lined coat in his hands. Sylvie raises a hand up, intending to take it from him, but of course Loki instead chooses to reach across her and drape it around her shoulders. He tucks the lapels of the coat together, waiting for Sylvie to reach out and grab hold of the lapels to keep it tightly wrapped around herself before letting go. 

“There -- now we match,” Loki says with a soft smile that struggles to reach his eyes. “Also should help to reduce some of the stares at seeing a woman in armor…”

Loki and Sylvie continue towards the beckoning light spilling out from the Inn, the layer of snow under their feet steadily shifting to well-worn paths of mud and compacted snow. Only once do Loki’s feet nearly slide out from under him, but it takes everything in Sylvie not to crackup into laughter as she catches his arm to steady him. 

The group of people milling about the door don’t even bat an eyelid at them as they squeeze by, evidently too invested in whatever conversations they were having to pay attention to the passing strangers. Even as Frost Giants, the blast of warmth that hits them as they push open the heavy wooden door is nothing less than a blessing. They both kick away the stubborn bits of mud and snow that clung to their boots, thankful to see only a few curious pub-goers had turned to see the newcomers. They apparently decided they weren’t of much interest, turning their attention back to their company and whatever alcoholic beverage was contained within the mugs in their hands. 

Sylvie catches sight of a small table that is blessedly empty, tucked away within the corner of the room and away from the line of sight of eyes that might be a little too curious. Loki trails behind as Sylvie leads them to it, waiting for her to slide into place on one of the rickety-looking wooden benches before taking a seat for himself opposite. 

The Inn was lit only by the fireplace that sat within the middle of the back wall, which also provided the old building with the much-needed heat against the bitter cold of the winter they had stepped into. Usually, Loki would be doing the same as Sylvie is right now: taking note of every exit, every potentially unsavory individual; preparing for the possibility of things going south, and figuring out whether running or fighting would be the best option depending on what went down. 

But right now… he was tired. Drained. A part of him wanted to… to slip back into that uncaring facade. It had been his best line of defense, and now, the mask no longer seemed to fit. 

“Be back in a minute,” Sylvie tells him in passing as she springs up from the table. She squeezes his shoulder as she passes, which he’s nearly unable to feel through the thick layer of fur that covered it. 

She comes back moments later with two shoddily crafted metal cups in hand, one being more like a goblet in shape, and the other more like a tankard of some sort. She places the silver goblet on the table in front of him, before dropping back down onto the bench and claiming the tankard for herself. 

“Kinda just guessed you’d want wine,” Sylvie tells him as he pulls the goblet towards him and peers down into its contents. “I’d ask for something stronger, but uh… we’re sort of limited to a few options here.”

“How did you pay for these?” Loki asks, the first genuine hint of amusement she’s heard from him laced into his question.

Sylvie wiggles her eyebrows at him in response, whilst also raising her hand into the air and wiggling her fingers with a burst of lime-green light. It manages to pull the tiniest of smiles from Loki, looking down to his drink with a huffed breath of laughter. 

“Probably should have guessed that, shouldn’t I?”

“Probably,” Sylvie agrees with a smile, raising the tankard to her lips and taking a sip of the dark ale within. 

Loki mirrors her actions, although where she had taken a single sip, his ‘sip’ didn’t stop until every last drop was sucked down. Sylvie was a little impressed as she watched him chuck his head back and down the entire thing in what seemed like one swallow, but mostly… she was just worried.

“Did... did you even taste that?”

The goblet clangs loudly as Loki returns it to the table, chuckling low, deep, and slow in a way that, if it had been anyone else, probably would have made her skin crawl. “I’m not exactly drinking it for the taste.”

'Fair point,' Sylvie thought. Not one to be outdone (and because, quite frankly, she needed it), Sylvie brought her metal tankard up to her mouth, draining the entire mug in only a few swallows. Loki shot her an equally impressed look once she dropped the tankard back down to the table, which she returned with a shrug of her shoulders.

“You know, sometimes I’m jealous of the humans,” Loki says almost a little too loudly. He raises the now empty goblet in his hands up in the air, cocking his head to the side as he inspects the blacksmith’s handiwork. “Their bodies are weaker than ours… and so it’s so much easier for them to get drunk… and for longer.”

“Well, the drinks on Lamentis certainly seemed to be effective on you.” Sylvie slides the goblet out of his hands, catching the eye of a nearby waitress and summoning her over with a curl of her finger. “I would say that I’m starting to feel you have a drinking problem but…” Sylvie trails off for a moment, her mouth softly closing with a sympathetic grimace. “But… I think I need a drink about as much as you do.”

Right on cue, the waitress appears by their table, carrying two large jugs of the drinks they had previously offered. She puts one down on the table, preparing to pour the other into Loki’s goblet first to top it up, but Loki places his hand over the top of the goblet to stop her. 

“You might be better off leaving them both here,” Loki not so non-nonchalantly suggests to her with a charming smile. “Would probably save you the trips back and forth to our table.”

“I’m not sure that’s—” The woman starts to say, and it’s enough for Loki to realize it was another way of saying ‘no.’ He moves his hand from his goblet to the woman’s hand atop the handle of the jug, his smile not once wavering. No one, apart from him and Sylvie, see the green glow emitting from underneath his hands. 

“I’m just trying to make your job easier for you.”

“Yes… yes, you’re right,” The waitress agrees, looking a little dazed as she slides her hands away from Loki and the jugs. “Let me know if you need any more, and I’ll bring them right over.”

“Lovely, thank you.” The smile on Loki’s face only drops away once the waitress has turned her back to them, and it’s a harsh reminder to them both of just how good of an actor he is.

How good of a liar he is. 

"You're getting better," Sylvie notes once the waitress is out of earshot. "Won't be long before enchantment feels like second nature."

“Like you said — easier on those with simple minds. For a change of subject—" Loki picks up the jug of dark ale first, refilling Sylvie’s tankard for her before she can even ask — or say that she even wanted another one. She takes the cup once he offers it to her anyway, settling back against the uncomfortably hard wooden panels behind her. Loki doesn’t continue the rest of his sentence before he's poured himself another drink, hunched over the table as he holds onto his goblet of wine like it was a lifeline. “—What brings the end to this picturesque little location? Seems a little… small, to be classed as an Apocalypse.”

“There’s a village a few miles to the West from here.” Sylvie gestures with a flick of her head in the direction of the village. “Not a particularly large population, but… large by the standards of this time period.”

“Ah… so what brings about their end?” Loki asks like they were discussing the weather, perhaps the most emotionless smile on his face that she’s seen from him as he takes another long drink from his goblet. 

Sylvie doesn’t answer his question. Loki raises his brows when she just stares at him instead of speaking, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she leans forward against the table. “Loki… I know what you’re doing.”

Loki’s eyebrows somehow raise even higher, shooting Sylvie a bemused frown. “What… I’m doing?”

“I saw you on Miiphus. You can’t pretend like seeing all these worlds coming to an end doesn’t bother you. And now, you’re… you’re trying to pretend like you don’t care.”

“Because I don’t—”

“You do, though,” Sylvie cuts off another lie. “And I know you do, because I do. Even after all these years, even when I think I’m desensitized to it… I still care. I care that all these apocalypses happen because He decided they do. So don’t give me that. Don’t give me this… this regressed form of yourself. You know as well as I do that you’re pretending you don’t care so that it’s easier to talk about -- because you’re looking for a distraction.”

Something on Loki’s face shifts. A slip, a give to the illusion. Sylvie didn’t say what it was that he was trying to distract himself from, but it’s not like she needs to. She pushes her tankard to the side, reaching out for Loki like it was second nature. His jaw shifts by just the slightest as her hand rests atop of his, his eyes never once leaving hers. 

“If you want to talk to me… just talk to me,” Sylvie offers earnestly. “And if you can’t talk to me about… about that… then you don’t have to. I’m more than happy to act as a distraction if you want me to, just… don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. And hey -- I booked us a room upstairs in case all you want to do is drink until you pass out, and I’ll haul your drunken arse up the stairs.”

For the first time since they’ve gotten here, the half-a-smile that pulls at Loki’s lips is one she knows comes from her Loki. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, soft and quiet, and the illusion is broken. “It’s just… easier that way… Not to think about it.”

“Believe me, I know.” Sylvie lifts her hand from Loki’s, wrapping it back around her tankard and taking a sip. “And that’s something I’m working on, too. I… I want to open up to you more, even when everything inside me is screaming at me not to. So… I understand if… if you can’t talk about it.”

Loki closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in through his nose. He opens them back up again, glancing over to the nearly full jug of wine next to him, feeling very grateful for its presence. “First… you answer my previous question, about what happens here.”

“Snowstorm,” Sylvie answers, keeping her voice low as she turns her gaze towards the frost-covered windows of the Inn. “Still a few days out -- but then again, since we don’t know what timeline this is, it could be sooner… or later… or not at all.”

“At least we don’t have to worry about this one,” Loki points out, one of the only times he’s thankful for his true heritage. “Were they… not prepared for it?”

“Not really something they can predict. They prepare for winter, sure, but this…? It’s just… too much for them to handle. This apocalypse, it’s…” Sylvie shivers, not from the cold but more of a sympathetic reaction. “It’s… slow. The ones that freeze to death are the lucky ones. Others… fight a losing battle. Food runs out pretty quickly, and once their storages are gone… the fighting starts. No one makes it through to the spring.”

Loki hums sadly, dropping his gaze down to his goblet as he taps his fingers along its surface. “Did you see that often…?”

“What -- people panicking in the face of death?” Sylvie’s voice is twinged with amusement, amazed that Loki would ask a question with such an obvious answer. 

“No, that’s a given,” Loki dismisses with a wave of his hand. “More… people being reduced to their animalistic tendencies. Civilizations that took centuries to develop, reduced to bare instincts in such little time.”

Sylvie sighs heavily through her nose, taking another drink of ale before she answers. “It’s… it’s not easy to predict how we’d react in the face of death. Having been there to watch it unfold countless times… I sometimes wondered what I would do in their place. There were many times where that was almost the case. There was never a guarantee I’d make it through to the next apocalypse. Never a guarantee that the TVA wouldn’t figure out my hiding spaces before I could make my move.”

Loki drops his gaze, shoulders hunched over as the guilt forces his eyes away from hers. Like usual, Sylvie seemed to be able to read his mind, reaching out a hand to wrap around his wrist. “I know I like to tease you about it sometimes, but I don’t blame you. I know you were doing what you needed to do to survive, same as I was. And at the end of it all… you were there with me.”

“Sometimes wish it could have played out differently,” Loki mumbles, head still bowed towards his goblet of wine. “That we could have met under better circumstances.”

“How?” Sylvie asks with a chuckle. “Not many people get to meet a variant of themselves unless under very particular TVA-related circumstances -- and that’s in the off-chance they do something wrong.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Loki finally lifts his gaze back up, even if it’s only to pull the jug of wine closer and refill his goblet. He turns his attention back to Sylvie, a lazy smile stretching across his face as he lifts his goblet into the air. “And now here we are: having massively cocked up the timeline by doing what we thought was right, leading to us hunting down infinite amounts of the same dangerous, potentially — more than likely — genocidal man, who may or may not be aware of our presence, and is hunting us down in return.”

Sylvie returns his smile with one of her own, lifting up her own tankard and clinking it against Loki’s. “I’m leaning more towards the ‘may be aware’ than ‘may not’ side of him hunting us down.”

Loki agrees with a mixture of a hum and a groan as he drains yet another cup of wine, wiping away any remnants that clung to his upper lip as he lowers the cup from his mouth. “Could always use a challenge.”

“And what -- trying to kill every version of one man isn’t enough of a challenge for you?”

Loki shrugs. “Sounds like an average day to me.”

Sylvie chuckles lightly, shaking her head at him. “Keep up that confidence, and we’ll be done with this whole mess in no time.”

“And then we’ll be right back to where we were,” Loki says, the easy-going smile on his face slipping slightly. “With either one of us knowing what to do next…”

“One step at a time,” Sylvie utters softly, ducking her head to catch Loki’s eye. “It’s difficult to focus on what’s next when what’s ahead is as big as it is.”

Loki nods at her answer, dragging his goblet across the table to take another drink. Sylvie reaches out a hand to stop him before he can lift it, forcing his eyes up to meet hers. 

“But… I’d like to accept your offer, from before.”

That rouses Loki’s interest, the dreary fog that had been hanging over his head since they arrived lifting by just the slightest as his curiosity wins over. “My offer…?”

“Back in the Void, you asked me what I was going to do next.” Sylvie lowers her hand from the goblet onto Loki’s, his fingers tightening instinctively around the stem of the goblet. “I said I didn’t know.”

Loki knew all of this, of course. This very conversation, everything he had said, everything she had answered with, had been seared into his memory. But, in what was an unusual move for him, he chose to remain silent, letting Sylvie speak. 

“You asked, if…” Sylvie pauses for just a moment, darting out the tip of her tongue to wet her lips — more of a nervous gesture than anything. “…If maybe we could figure that out together.”

Loki swallows harshly — his own nervous gesture — remaining remarkably patient and quiet as he waits for Sylvie to continue. 

“And I answered with ‘maybe,’” Sylvie continues, looking as lost to the memory of that day as he was. “If the offer still stands… I’d like to change my answer to yes.”

Loki laughs which, in most cases, isn’t the most ideal of responses to such a statement. But even through the nerves that Sylvie doesn’t know how to handle does she hear the clear relief in his laughter, the warm smile on his face helping to squash down those nerves better than any spoken words ever could. 

“The offer still, as it always will do, stands.”

…But then again, she supposed those words helped, too.

* * *

A few hours later, with no TVA in sight, no snowstorm in sight, and too many drinks for them to count, it was fair enough to say that they were tip-toeing the line between ‘pleasantly tipsy’ and… downright hammered. 

“I thought you were the one that was supposed to be dragging me up the stairs.” Loki’s words come out a little more slurred than they sounded in his head, the both of them hanging onto each other for support as they climb the old wooden stairs that looked a lot more slanted than they did earlier. In fact, they seemed to be doing a remarkable job of disobeying the laws of physics and jumping away from where he intended to place his foot. 

“Says the guy leaning half of his weight on me,” Sylvie huffs, her free hand pressed against the wall for support. And… to stop them from tumbling down the stairs. 

Loki grunts — a terribly well-thought-out argument — taking a moment at the top of the stairs to wait for his vision to stop swimming. “Didn’t I ask you to stop me from pouring any more drinks?”

“You did,” Sylvie agrees. “You also then proceeded to tell me that ‘one more drink couldn’t hurt’, called the waitress over for the last of their wine stores, and then nearly stabbed that wannabe knight who started getting grabby with me.”

“He deserved worse,” Loki mumbled darkly, letting Sylvie guide him towards the room she had booked for them. “Not that I had to do anything, of course. By the time I had gotten my daggers out, you had already dented his cranium with your tankard.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Sylvie replies, which Loki doesn’t like the sound of at all. “Remember those ‘animalistic natures’ you talked about earlier? Well, let’s just say I’ve gotten used to dealing with people like that whilst on the run.”

Sylvie just barely manages to shove the steel key into the door’s lock, the scratch marks etched into the area of the handle around the hole itself indicating that most other drunk patrons of this Inn had dealt with the same problem. She all but leans her entire weight against the heavy door to push it open, nearly stumbling into the room and dragging Loki with her when the door finally gives way. 

“Ah -- what a sight for sore eyes!” Loki crows in delight as he lays eyes on the king-sized bed pushed against the wall to the left of the doorway. The bed faced yet another fireplace — being the only room in the Inn for hire that included a fireplace, situated atop the fireplace downstairs in the pub and sharing its chimney. Renting such a room would usually cost a pretty penny… but having access to magic beyond most’s understanding made it much easier to get the five-finger discount. 

“You know, I genuinely can’t remember the last time I slept in a bed,” Loki comments as he teeters towards the fireplace. He gracefully —by which he means he just let’s gravity do most of the work — drops down onto his knees in front of the fireplace, using a burst of his magic to turn the pile of freshly cut logs and tinder within into a roaring fire within seconds. “I’m guessing the same could be said for you?”

“Depends what you classify as a bed.” Sylvie finishes up locking the door to the room, tucking the key into her pocket as she turns towards the room. “Most times, I was lucky to be lying on something even somewhat soft. Other times… well, let’s just say that sleep was often a luxury I couldn’t afford.”

Loki grimaces as he pushes himself up until he was standing, walking over to the bed and collapsing down onto it with an exhausted sounding huff, letting his hands rest atop his stomach as his back hits the — mostly — clean sheets underneath him. 

“Suppose I shouldn’t expect much craftsmanship from Earth’s eighty century,” Loki comments on the state of the bed. Sylvie walks over to the bed, entering Loki’s frame of vision as she stands over him. 

“At least I have a nice view, though.” He accompanies the comment with a sly smile, which gets him a roll of the eyes and a less than vicious kick to his leg hanging off the edge of the bed in response.

“Come on, budge up,” Sylvie indicates to where he was situated directly in the middle of the bed, motioning for him to move with a flick of her wrist. 

Loki grunts with the little effort it takes to move himself over to one side of the bed. He closes his eyes against the comforting yet too bright light of the fire, feeling the dip of the bed as Sylvie takes a seat on the edge of it. 

“Hey,” she tries to get his attention, tapping at his thigh until he creaks an eye open to look at her. “You do still have the TemPad, right?” 

Loki answers by digging into his oversized coat pocket, pulling out the TemPad and holding it out in the air for her to take. She takes it from his hands, running a thumb along the smoothed marble edge, watching as it lights up at her touch. 

“I think it likes you more than me,” Loki mumbled from beside her. 

“Mmm… not sure it has the capability to pick favorites.”

“If it’s smart enough to recognize us as its owners, then it might be able to differentiate between us and have a preference to which of us is wielding it.”

“Well… I have used it more than you,” Sylvie points out, and on cue, the surface of the TemPad lights up, as if it were agreeing with her words. 

Loki pushes himself up from the bed, matching Sylvie as he sits at the edge of the bed. He runs a tired hand over equally tired eyes, glancing down to the TemPad in her hands. “Why’d you use Mo -- the other TemPad, instead of that one?”

If Sylvie noticed him tripping over his words, she didn’t mention it. “We said it’d be best to grab a backup, didn’t we? And… you seemed a little, uh… shaken at the time, to get the TemPad back off you.”

“Right…” Loki drops his gaze down to his lap, seemingly shrinking in on himself. 

“Loki… I’m so sorry,” Sylvie says gently, trying to find the best way to approach the subject they had both seemingly been avoiding. “I know that Mobius, he was… he was a good friend.”

“No, not a good friend.” Loki shakes his head, glancing up at her. “He was… my only friend.”

The pain on his face briefly gives way to one of panic, quickly attempting to backtrack on what he had just said. “Oh, uh, that’s not to say that you’re not my friend, it’s just that -- I’ve always seen as you as something different than—”

Sylvie smiles at his awkward and bumbling words, reaching out to place her hand on his upper arm. “I know. I get what you’re trying to say.”

Loki relaxes at that, sighing quietly to himself in relief. “If it hadn’t been for Mobius, I would have been reset moments after my so-called ‘trial.’ He… broke me down and pulled me apart, forcing me to realize truths about myself that I had always tried to run from. Meeting him, just like meeting you, it… it changed me. Or… or more so it made me realize that I was capable of changing myself.”

Sylvie’s hand moves up and down his arm in soothing motions, the comforting touch forcing his eyes shut. “He’s still out there, Loki. We’ll find him again.”

“How am I supposed to face him again?” Loki asks desperately. “How can I look him in the eye, knowing what I’ve done to him?”

“You need to stop seeing that variant as him. Just like me and you, that Mobius and the one we know are nearly different people entirely. Different choices made, different lives lived. Who we are -- who we become -- is more than just what we are at birth. That Mobius made the choice to pick up the Pruning Stick. That Mobius made the choice to threaten us, not the Mobius you know. You didn’t kill Mobius; you killed a man that was holding a weapon to my neck, and I… I can’t even begin to thank you for that.”

Loki shoots her an incredulous look. “You can’t have really thought I would have let him…?”

“I thought it might have been a possibility.” Sylvie shrugs her shoulders, Loki’s baffled expression only growing stronger at her response. 

“Mobius is… he’s the only — and the greatest  — friend I’ve ever had,” Loki begins, placing a hand over hers on his shoulder. “But you? You’re…”

Loki wasn’t even sure he had a word to describe what Sylvie was to him. None that he knew quite seemed to fit, didn’t quite match the way he felt when he thought about her. She was… himself, both the good parts and the bad parts. She was… she was him, and yet she wasn’t. She was… a force of nature that came crashing into his life as much as he had been chasing it, stirring up trouble and chaos wherever she went, and yet, left behind the seeds of new life, of new beginnings once the destruction had cleared. 

She was… the driving force that made him want to be someone different. She was the only person he wanted by his side as they took on this seemingly impossible task. 

She was…

“...My Glorious Purpose.”

There was a split second where Loki wondered if perhaps those words weren’t the best to use. Sure, he had mentioned his ‘Glorious Purpose’ before, and since the future version of himself had brought it up, he… kind of just assumed that the idea of a ‘Glorious Purpose’ was something that was sort of built into every Loki. Now though, when he thought about it from an outside perspective, the use of ‘my’ seemed to suggest a claim of ownership over Sylvie, which was certainly not the impression he wanted to give off. 

He stops worrying about it when the concerned frown on her face slowly softens, changing to one of disbelief at his statement. He can’t help but give her a small smile at the sight of her shock, looking back down to his lap with that half-turned smile slipping away. 

“I’m not too sure when it changed,” he admits to her. “I suppose that… most other versions of my ‘Glorious Purpose’ always involved me ruling over… something. Asgard… Midgard… The Nine Realms; then, when I discovered the power they held, The TVA. Same goal, just… different circumstances. And you know what the strange thing is?”

Sylvie was still a bit too dumbstruck from Loki’s previous admission, only able to stare avidly at him as he speaks. 

“I didn’t even want them. Not really,” Loki says, and then he laughs, the reality of his entire life now just seeming so incredibly absurd as he says it out loud. 

What had his obsession over ruling truly been about? Did he think it would guide him towards happiness? Would he felt like he had achieved something he had earned through blood, sweat, and tears? That he took what should have been his, not something he had to take? 

No… no, it wasn’t any of that. It was…

It was from feeling out of place. 

He always had, right from the beginning. Always this feeling of… something not right. He had been the, quite literal, black sheep in the family. Watching his father sat atop the throne, witnessing the grandeur that came with his father’s title, hearing of the stories that led to his place on the throne… and then seeing the way his brother was co closely following in the footsteps of their father. 

Thor was the oldest. He might have been a prince, just as Thor was, but he always knew that Thor was the one who would step up to the throne when the time came. He was… a backup, it sometimes felt like. The only time he truly felt wanted, and like he was right where he was meant to be, was whenever he was learning magic, paying rapt attention to his mother as she showed him all she knew. 

Then, to find out who he truly was… What little claim he had to the title, what little claim he had to being an Asgardian, of being Son of Odin and Frigga was… gone. He was nothing more than a little ice runt, saved from abandonment to act as a token of peace in the hopes of ending both his father’s wars.

What if he had known? What if, like Sylvie, he had been told of who he really was? Would events still transpire as they had? Would Sylvie had done the same as him, if she had never been taken from her timeline? It seemed unlikely. For one, she seemed — at least on the outside — remarkably unphased about being adopted when he had brought it up back on Lamentis. And for another... she had spent her entire life running away from an organization that ruled over everything that has existed, or ever will exist; it wasn’t all too surprising that the thought of ruling over anything didn’t really appeal to her. 

And that was what it boiled down to. Him, desperately trying to grab hold of power in a bid for control, to prove to others and to himself that he deserved to be something -- someone -- other than a pawn in his father’s wars. And Sylvie… she had run, stolen, and killed her way through universe after universe, all to send a message to the TVA that she was more than just a pawn in their game that had made her own move, not theirs. 

They both felt the need to prove that they belonged. Just... In different ways. 

“How…” Sylvie tries to start speaking, clearing her throat with a shake of her head. “How am I your Glorious Purpose? Why am I…?”

“Not really something I can control,” Loki gestures to himself with a strained smile. “One moment, all I care about is finding my way back to the TVA, getting in front of the Time Keepers, and taking their place on the throne. Then… there you were. You were… persistent, and determined, and… me, yet… not. You were trying to destroy the TVA — the very thing I was trying to rule — and… I only had to know you for a day for everything to change. For me to change. I didn’t care about having a throne. I didn’t care about being in control. For once, I felt like I truly belonged — and that was whenever I was with you. I knew that… I could let myself be happy, so long as you’re happy.”

Sylvie has to look away from the intensity of his gaze, trying to wrap her head around everything he had just said. “I, um… I’m starting to think this is the wine talking.”

Loki chuckled lazily at that, dropping gracefully back down to the bed. “Hmm… wine does usually make me talk a lot.”

“You always talk a lot.”

“More so than usual,” Loki grumbles. “My point still stands; just because it’s the wine talking doesn’t mean it isn’t the truth.”

Sylvie glances back to him over her shoulder, drinking in the peaceful look on his face as he lies there with his eyes closed, looking about ready to drop off. She sighs quietly, looking back to the TemPad in her hands with a thoughtful frown. 

“I wish I knew how to tell you the way I feel for you,” she admits to the quiet of the room. Loki’s eyes pop open, looking up to her in surprise. 

“It seems like you’re better at all this than I am,” Sylvie continues, shuffling around on the bed so she could face him better. “Feels like… I have some catching up to do.”

“We both do,” Loki reassures her, pushing himself up onto his arms. “But that’s okay. We’ll figure things out at our own pace.”

“But what if I…” Sylvie trails off, face twisting in frustration. “…What if I never get there?”

“You will—”

“But you don’t know that,” Sylvie stresses, cutting him off. “And it’s... it’s not fair to you, for me to be stuck the way I am…”

“Sylvie, a few days before I met you, I was using a device to carve out and copy the information of a man’s eye.” Sylvie reels back slightly at this tidbit of information, but —thankfully— doesn’t ask about it any further. “And, you know… a friend once told me I could be whoever, or whatever, I wanted to be. We are capable of change, Sylvie -- especially when it’s a change we’re striving to achieve. And if you never get there?” Loki shrugs his shoulders. “That’s okay, too. I know you’ll find your own way to express how you feel.”

Sylvie shakes her head at the assurance in his voice. She wasn’t sure what it was she had done that had made Loki so… devoted to her. “Sometimes I’ll look at you, and I’ll think of something, and… and I just can’t say those thoughts out loud. And I should. If I can think them, why can’t I say them?”

“Sylvie… there’s a hell of a difference between thinking something, and acting on it. The way that I feel for you, it’s… it’s not easy for me to admit, either. It doesn’t feel all that long ago that I mocked people for being in love. And now, in their shoes, I know it’s more complicated then—”

Loki stopped himself when he caught sight of the wide-eyed look on Sylvie’s face, his mouth frozen partway open in mid-sentence. Loki might not have picked up on the significance of what he had just said out loud, but for Sylvie, those few words were echoing around in her head. It was almost funny that, seconds after saying he too struggled to admit how he feels, he had just dropped the biggest admission possible on her without even realizing it. 

“What did you just say?” Sylvie whispers, eyes still wide as saucers. 

Loki frowned, ready to ask which part of what he had just said, when the realization clobbers him around the head. He… he had never said that out loud, had he? But… but she knew, didn’t she? She had to — especially after sharing their emotions with each other as they delved into their memories, re-watching their moment on Lamentis through the power of enchantment. 

“Ah…” Loki got out, trying not to let the panic take over. “That… that probably wasn’t the best time to say that, was it?”

Sylvie’s continuous silence and lack of a reaction other than just staring at him wasn’t doing much to calm his nerves. “Okay, I know I said it’s fine if you can’t express how you feel, but I’d really appreciate it if you said something right about now.”

“Did you mean it?” Sylvie asks, the vulnerability in her voice giving Loki pause. “Are you… are you really…?”

“In love with you?” Loki fills in the words Sylvie couldn’t seem to get out. Sylvie sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth at the words, slowly nodding her head. A small smile flickers at the corner of Loki’s lips, looking away sheepishly. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

Loki glances up at her from his ducked gaze, watching as she takes this in. She teeters back on the bed, eyes darting around the room in what Loki hoped was closer to something like shock than just downright panic. 

“Please, don’t -- don’t freak out.” Loki wanted to reach out to her, but wasn’t sure how well-received his touch would be right now. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you—”

“Say it again.”

Loki blinked at her in surprise, the response not what he was expecting. “I… excuse me?”

“Say it again,” Sylvie repeats firmly, looking him straight in the eye. 

Loki schools his confused expression, meeting her searching gaze as he repeats the one thing he never thought he’d get to say. “I’m in love with you.”

Sylvie’s eyes narrow for a moment, her eyes scanning across his face for some kind of tell that he was lying — some form of manipulation, one which would be the cruelest kind. “Again,” She repeats, unable to keep the shakiness out of her voice. 

“I’m in love with you.” It was almost scary how easy it was coming to him, now. It was like stating the weather, or what he had eaten for dinner. Just… a matter of fact. An absolute truth — and he was finding he enjoyed saying it as much as he enjoyed knowing she had now heard those words fall from his lips.

Loki wasn’t sure what about him saying it for the third time made Sylvie believe it, but she seemed to find whatever it was she was looking for from him. Sylvie rushes towards him, grabbing hold of the lapels of his coat and pulling him towards her until their lips met. It was already much too warm in the room from the heat radiating from the fireplace, so Loki was all too eager to assist Sylvie as she begins yanking his coat off. 

They break apart for the briefest of moments to pull his arms out from the sleeves of the coat, balling it up and throwing it carelessly to the side, nearly setting it alight as it lands near the fire. Loki happily follows the directions of her push, falling back onto the bed and savoring the feeling of her body pressed against his as her weight falls onto him. 

“You’re right -- I can find another way to express the way I feel,” Sylvie pants a few tantalizing inches from his mouth. It takes all of Loki’s focus to listen to what she’s saying and not just surge up and reclaim her lips like his body was screaming at him to do. “And I’ve always been more a woman of actions than words, anyway.”

Next Chapter - - - >

[oumakokichi]

What's your opinion on Kaito and Maki! I don't know if anyone's ever asked this before (sorry if yes) Ur blog is epic btw!

This question is pretty recent, so I feel like this is a great one to kick off with getting back into writing full meta! I know in the past I’ve answered a few brief questions on how I feel about Momota and Maki respectively, as well as their relationship in-game, but I don’t know if I’ve ever written at length about the two of them.

I also don’t know whether you want my opinions on them both as individual characters or their relationship together, so I’ll probably touch on both aspects! This ask will obviously include spoilers for the whole game, so I’ll talk more under the cut!

Momota and Maki are definitely two of the most important characters in the game. Both their dynamic with each other, as well as their eventual friendship with Saihara, are pivotal plot points that come up again and again. Momota’s good intentions and attempts to help Maki come out of her shell and self-imposed isolation from everyone else are initially met by her with skepticism, distrust, and a feeling that he’s being incredibly overbearing and putting his nose where it doesn’t belong—but in the end, she does find herself pulled in by his unrelenting optimism and offers of friendship.

As Momota helps Saihara begin to overcome his anxiety and self-doubt by pushing him forward and reaffirming that he believes in him, Maki also begins to face some of her own demons. Like Saihara, her issues are rooted in deep-seated trauma from a young age, though hers is considerably more severe as it concerns both physical and mental child abuse, as well as a life filled with violence and murder.

It’s interesting, because both Saihara and Maki struggle with what I would call self-loathing, but go about showing it in completely different ways. They both doubt their own ability to do anything right and feel that they’ll only hurt people in the end, but where Saihara overcompensates for this by trying to please everyone and being afraid of saying no, Maki’s approach is much firmer: she tries to shut everyone out completely, keeping everyone at arm’s bay in order to prevent any attachments from forming in the first place. As someone who lost pretty much everything at such a young age, she’s clearly afraid of the same thing happening all over again, as well as wary of anyone who might try to get close to her, only to attempt to “take her out” in the same fashion that she’s had to kill people her entire life.

Momota’s persistence in striking up a friendship with her is therefore really, really interesting. It’s the first time in Maki’s life that anyone has ever been so adamant about wanting to get to know her. Considering how harsh and unfriendly she initially is, as well as the fact that her talent is revealed to everyone by the end of chapter 2, it would make complete sense if Momota wanted nothing to do with her, in her opinion. She’s used to being alone, and she’s already convinced herself by that point that it’s preferable to the alternative.

But Momota is a character who fundamentally refuses to take no for an answer. This is simultaneously both his best and worst trait, in my opinion: it’s literally right in his catch phrase, whenever he claims that he’s going to reach the stars someday. He runs purely on the idea of faith and belief. There’s no middle ground with him: either you trust someone implicitly, regardless of everything stacked against them, or you don’t. Shades of grey, especially at the beginning of the game, are virtually nil. It’s a very “shounen protagonist” sentiment that winds up being somewhat challenged for him as the game goes on.

He’s interested in Maki, and wants to know why she closes herself off in her research lab. When the finger is pointed at her in chapter 2 and she falls under suspicion of murdering Hoshi, he defends her even at the expense of making himself look worse, and even to the point of claiming that he would “bet everyone else’s lives” that she’s innocent (a line which was completely omitted in the localization and dub, but which you can still hear him say in the jp dialogue of the chapter 2 trial).

There’s absolutely no evidence to back Maki up or support her; Momota’s defense on her behalf stems more from the fact that he hates Ouma’s equally black-or-white “guilty until proven innocent” approach, and resents the attempts at mutual suspicion and paranoia that Ouma tries to force between them. Momota is, in a word, stubborn. He figures things out by “feel” or “intuition” and is extremely slow to change his opinions even when facts and evidence are presented before him.

Again, this can be a good trait: his loyalty means he’s the last person who would ever throw someone else under the bus, and it’s the main reason he succeeds in getting closer to someone as emotionally closed-off as Maki at all. It’s less of a good thing, however, in later chapters like chapter 4, where his stubborn refusal to look at the facts genuinely endangers everyone’s lives in the trial and results in a huge blow-out that threatens his friend group with Saihara especially, but really with the whole training trio.

It’s this stubbornness of his that really baffles Maki. Initially, she doesn’t know what to make of Momota’s attempts to befriend her. She assumes he must be reckless, or stupid, or both, to want to get close to someone as dangerous as she is. But as she gradually begins to let her walls down and starts opening up despite herself, it’s such a nice change to see her eventually starting to believe in herself and view herself more positively as a result of Momota’s own belief in her.

I think momoharu as a ship works really well and has potential specifically because of these themes of “self-love” and “believing in yourself” that come up in the main game’s narrative again and again. And unlike the dynamics between Momota and other characters, such as Saihara, I feel like Momota and Maki are on much more of an even footing, where the two of them can view each other as equals and aren’t afraid to challenge each other whenever one of them is in the wrong about something.

For example, Saihara and Momota have much more of an imbalanced, sometimes one-sided friendship. That’s not to say that they aren’t both extremely important friends to one another—but between Saihara’s inability to say no to people and Momota’s tendency to take charge and view himself as “the hero” while everyone else is his “sidekick,” their relationship becomes incredibly uneven very quickly.

Add to this Momota’s unspoken jealousy of Saihara’s talent and his pivotal importance to the rest of the group in trials, and it gets even messier. I’m reminded of the chapter 4 trial, when Saihara really goes against Momota’s opinion on something for the first time by proving that Gonta is the culprit, and Momota is livid. Even when all the proof is laid out before him, and even when he knows, logically, he feels so betrayed by Saihara’s lack of “belief” in him that his underlying jealousy bubbles up and he lashes out. The localization considerably dulled the impact of this, but in the original Japanese dialogue, Momota even stops referring to Saihara by his first name for a long time, referring to him much more coldly by his surname from the end of chapter 4 until the latter half of chapter 5.

Momota and Saihara never feel as though they’ve really escaped that “hero and sidekick” dynamic until the very end of chapter 5 when they say their farewells, and even then there’s a real hesitance with Saihara to call Momota out when he’s wrong or ask for an apology even when Momota owes him one. If the game had explored more of Momota’s jealousy and feelings of inadequacy compared to Saihara, I would have really loved that, and I feel like there would be real potential to explore how they could eventually be on even footing… but as it stands, in canon we don’t really get that, and most of Momota’s shortcomings and flaws are somewhat brushed aside after his death in favor of Saihara remembering him more fondly.

This isn’t to say that Momota doesn’t have any flaws when it comes to how he interacts with Maki, of course. His character has a lot of “toxic masculinity” baggage, including unironically believing really outdated things like “women shouldn’t be fighting, they should be raising children,” or thinking that women are inherently weaker physically and more fragile emotionally than men. Luckily though, Maki often consistently proves him wrong on all of these points: her ability to wipe the floor with him during their training sessions is of course part of it, but it’s worth noting that she’s also considerably more level-headed than Momota is in many ways.

Where Momota is superstitious and afraid of the occult to a comedic degree, Maki remains the rational, down-to-earth one who doesn’t believe in such things. Where Momota is prone to letting his pride and temper get the better of him and refuses to speak to Saihara or apologize for the things he said during their fight in chapter 4, Maki is the one who attempts to push them into interacting with each other again, and believes that Momota is being much too childish about the whole ordeal. Again and again, Maki proves Momota’s outdated and harmful stereotypes about women wrong, and isn’t afraid to poke fun at him or get exasperated with his bullshit whenever he’s being kind of a dick.

Her relationship with Momota works specifically because of how much it feels like the two of them are on a more even footing. Where Saihara somewhat meekly accepts the “sidekick” role, even when he thinks it’s unfair, Maki doesn’t really accept it or go along with it in the first place, beyond showing up for training sessions. And when she gradually begins to develop romantic feelings for him, it feels authentic—particularly because it ties back into the idea of Maki learning to believe in herself the same way that Momota has believed in her from the start.

Deep down, Maki is someone who fundamentally believes herself not only undeserving of, but borderline incapable of love. She feels as though any human emotions she might have once had were stomped out of her from a young age and that absolutely nothing remains, to the point where she says “even Kiibo is more human than she is.” This self-loathing and dehumanization are the main reasons she keeps people at arm’s length: she simply thinks she doesn’t deserve any kindness, and that even if it’s given to her, she doesn’t know how to reciprocate in turn.

Her entire character arc is about unlearning this, and gradually coming to accept that she does have the capacity to love, including love for herself and for others. I’ve seen some people who believe Tsumugi when she claims in the chapter 6 trial that she “gave Maki those feelings for Momota” for the sake of the show, but I feel that believing that at face value really doesn’t do justice to Maki’s autonomy as a character.

Even if Tsumugi somehow did insert those feelings there (which I highly doubt, especially considering how she blatantly lies about giving Momota his illness too despite pretty obviously not knowing he was sick prior to chapter 5), the whole point of Maki’s confession to Momota in chapter 5 and reaffirmation of those feelings in chapter 6 is that she eventually comes to believe that they’re her feelings, and no one else’s. As someone who was denied any free will or choice for her entire life, her coming to view Momota as someone precious to her, as well as herself as an individual capable of making decisions and loving other people, is an incredibly powerful arc of character growth. I honestly really love to see it.

And it’s clear that Maki coming to love and value herself as an individual is exactly what Momota wanted to see from her. We don’t really know if he reciprocated her romantic feelings or not since he dies without really giving her an answer. I personally think he spared her an answer because even if he had said he reciprocated, it only would’ve hurt her worse to see him die immediately afterward.

But what he does make really clear is that he fully believes that because she could come to love him, she could also eventually come to love herself. Whether it’s romantic or not, he clearly cherishes her a lot as a person and wants her to be happy. He wants her to live on as herself, and not any of the roles she’s had to take thus far in order to survive. She eventually does do this, and I think he would’ve been absolutely thrilled to see it happen.

All in all, I feel like momoharu has a lot of potential for character growth (both for Maki and Momota), as well as for cute moments, comic relief, and all around as a feel-good ship. Momota definitely has some issues to work out with misogyny and toxic masculinity, and while it’s certainly not Maki’s job to hold his hand and walk him through those things, she’s the type of person who doesn’t mind putting her foot down and telling him no when she feels like he’s crossed a line, which is exactly the type of dynamic I like to see in relationships.

Anyway, I’ll wind this up here. This was a really fun question to go into, thank you again anon! I had a lot of fun getting back into the swing of writing meta, and I’m glad I got a chance to write a little more about my thoughts on momoharu, and Momota and Maki as characters.

[chaos-monkeyy]

Fanfic writing game, tagged by @atlantis-scribe and @frankthesnek ! Thank you both, this was fun 😁💙

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Name: Chaos!

Fandoms: too many several 🙈 most active lately in Stargate (Atlantis), but also currently watching SG1, and Loki (which I may or may not eventually write something for cause that ship 👀👀 oh I see it 👀👀). Attached to, but currently or generally less active in, Thrawn, Stormlight Archive, Midsomer Murders, Dresden Files, the Witcher netflix series, and Assassin's Creed. Honourable mention to Good Omens too!

Two-shot: ...huh, y'know I think it's been awhile since I wrote a two-chapter fic? I used to do them more, probably, but I tend a lot more now towards either just one-shots, or two related one-shots but put in a series rather than a single work (cause then I feel simultaneously less pressure to Write More and finish a 1/? fic, but also avoid feeling like a one-shot is finished so I can't write anymore in that setting/verse/wtv). Most recent 2-part series is the ShepDex 💦 kink fics; most recent actual two-chapter fic was... Intoxicating for geraskier over a year ago, holy shit! Definitely have more in the 3-6 chapter range than true longfics, anyway.

Most popular multi-chapter: that's tough because 'popular' is affected by fandom size so damn much 😅 So I'll say it's probably something of a tie between Need (Thranto) and Stolen Moments (Geraskier)

Actual worst part of writing: getting way too hyper-focused on it when I didn't actually mean to, and discovering I've accidentally spent an entire day or weekend sitting at my desk writing random filth and turning into a screen-eyes zombie. Instead of leaving the house or doing all the real life things that really needed doing (like, yknow, actually showering and feeding myself and doing chores while I have the time 🙈😬)

How you choose your titles: It's almost always the second-last thing I come up with (the last thing being the bloody summaries. I usually have my damn tags figured out before the actual title 😂), and generally I just pick a single word or short phrase that kind of sums up the whole thing in some way. Often it's something that appears in the fic itself somewhere, one or more times, but not always.

Do you outline: Yes, just not always... physically? So like, Need and then Inflection Point have shown me that I can outline and that I really like it for anything actually plotty! For shorter fics or oneshots, I almost always still outline - but it often just stays in my head and isn't written down anywhere till I'm actually just writing the fic. And whether it's written down or a mental outline, I'd guess that I'm probably somewhere in the middle when it comes down to how much detail I do my outlines in. I generally like to know where I'm starting and where I'm ending (whether it's plot or PWP), with some little points I want to hit along the way (if it works). That gives me the flexibility to let things unfold naturally as I write, while also giving me a direction so I don't write myself into a corner too much. But if I over-outline, I often lose interest in actually writing the thing cause I... kind of already have. Or the whole thing winds up feeling too forced and awkward, particularly for smut.

Ideas you probably won’t get to but wouldn’t it be nice: oh jeez, so many. Too many. There are also things that sat in my ideas list for a long time and I thought I'd never get around to them, but then I did in the end, too? So... who knows with any of them 😅

Callouts @ yourself: Not everything has to be in full fucking detail, chaos. So often I write myself into a boring corner and get stuck until I finally remember I can just... have the thing (sex, it's usually sex) happen in vaguer or more emotional/sensation terms. Also I'm probably going to writer's jail for flagrant abuse of commas, semi-colons, grammatically-correct but overly long sentences.

Best writing traits: I make people feel things. I also like to think my pacing is pretty good in general, and I don't miss too many typos and shit. but there's always that ONE that gets away

Spicy tangential opinion: second person POV ("you") is awkward enough to read, writing it in past tense instead of present makes it extra weird 🙈

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I don't know who's already been tagged and who's actively writing/wants to talk about it these days 😅 So I leave it open to anyone who wants to do it, @ me so I can see 😁

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

(pt. 1) it seems ennea 1/8/cp6s can mistype as one another quite often. it also seems that there is an overwhelming amount of bs circulating around these types. especially 8s. you know more than i do, so i figured that i'd ask for your input. thanks in advance if you choose to read all this. basically, which one would you say is most fitting for myself? i'm extremely stubborn and willful. tbh, those two are simultaneously some of my best AND worst traits.

(pt. 2) i've gotten better at unclenching as i've aged though, so on the whole i think they're positive forces in my life at this point. when i was a kid i had some anger issues, but i worked on them and by the time i reached adulthood the issues had been dealt with. i still feel anger (of course lol), possibly a bit more often than others, but i dont really blow up. using that energy to instead try to fix the problem causing anger ASAP is better in literally every way so i do that instead.

(pt. 3) that last part about the anger actually is one of my tripping points, most descriptions of 8s ive read show them as being very explosive. some of them to the point where it sounds kind of cartoonish- which makes me doubt how accurate their descriptions of 8s are. but moving on, i'm very independent and have been from a young age. being reliant on other people is like sandpaper on my soul, i have trust issues tbh (that im working on with a professional)

(pt. 4) one of my more 1-ish traits (i think??) is that i tend to be pretty focused on the morality of my actions, with apparently enough intensity that other people point it out when describing me. i'm VERY concerned with justice. it's difficult for me to be a bystander. seeing people attacking others who cant defend themselves is infuriating on a deep level. i'll stand down if the victim asks, since they know their lives better than me, and offer other forms of support instead.

(pt. 5) related to that, i have very high emotional empathy while also having low cognitive empathy (both due to the same neurodivergence) which i think drives me towards compassion. despite the fact that i, in general, feel things with the intensity of a bonfire pushing the limits of what can be controlled, i apparently dont often show it externally. other people (w/ the exception of close friends) almost universally describe me as aloof. which probably ties into the trust issues tbh.

(pt. 6) close friends have told me that, before they got to knew me, that they were intimidated by me and thought that i didnt like them. other people seem to feel the same, but dont say so very often. with the people that were stubborn/caring enough to actually get to know me, it takes a LONG time for me to start opening up to them. but once we get to that point, pretty much the only thing that'd break off the friendship is them doing something morally reprehensible, violating my boundaries...

(pt.  7) or them ending the friendship themselves. a stumbling block in some of my relationships is that i can get into power struggles, sometimes over things that arent really that important in hindsight. i dont want to be anyones subordinate, i need equality in all my personal relationships if they're going to exist at all. i tend to take on the role of the Dad Friend in my friend groups; ive been told by them that they kind of see me as a source of strength that they can draw from/rely on

(pt. 8) ... its something that i like about myself. im also very blunt when communicating for better or worse. people come to me for honest, direct feedback and input, but it has made me some enemies in the past. when i was less mature it made me kind of abrasive tbh, though i learned to play nice well enough that its been literal years since i heard that specific complaint. also this is apparently relevant to the type question so tl;dr yeah, bad childhood. hopefully this is enough info for you

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Hi anon,

Thanks for your patience! My guess is cp6, but I’m not positive. I should also add, as always, that I do believe that neurodivergent people can be typed but because I do not (and should not) have all the details of people’s conditions nor can I judge what is due to those conditions and what is inherent to personality (not to mention whether that condition is something you consider inherent to your personality) it can be much more difficult for me to type.

While the way we act in inboxes isn’t the same necessarily as how we act in real life, “thanks in advance if you choose to read this” is not really an 8 statement to me and none of the writing style here stands out as 8: it’s far too conciliatory. 8s can be polite/cordial, but in my experience there tends to be a certain forcefulness or at least expectation. A healthy 8 is more likely to assume they will be read.

Similarly, you indicate that expressing that anger directly is something you’ve moved away from. 8s don’t - they learn perhaps to express it more respectfully (it is true that constant explosive anger is extremely unhealthy and that a lot of 8 descriptions are really hyperbolic) but healthy 8s don’t feel bad about being angry and find value in that expression, in addition to fixing the problem.

With that said I don’t get the sense you feel bad about angry outbursts necessarily, which is pretty common in 1s, and the morality seems outward focused: this doesn’t feel like a fear of “what if I am corrupt” but rather a more 6-like focus of defense and fighting for a belief.

You do mention extreme loyalty to those you are close to, and the wariness of a cp6 but the inherent 6 need for support systems - and willingness to be a pillar within that support system speaks to that.

The one thing that does still speak to 8 is the need for equality, and so I would look into what that ultimate fear is: is it a fear of being dominated or controlled in general (8), or is it a mistrust of those who have been in control over you and who did not provide you with the beneficial guidance and support they should have (6)?

[author-morgan]

Deimos!Alexios SFW Alphabet

Deimos!Alexios x Fem!Reader

click here for a not so safe for work alphabet ;)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

By nature, Deimos is not a demonstrative person —he was raised without warmth and doesn’t know how to show affection. He does try though, especially once you become more acquainted with one another. Among the first things he does to show affection is buying you gifts —fine dresses, jewels, rare perfumes, and sweet wines. Then he begins to notice you crave more than to be showered in luxuries, so he starts with gentle touches —running his hand through your hair, tracing patterns on your skin, and given time, soft kisses.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Your family needed sway in Elis and the Cult could give your father what he desired. There was a cost for such a reward though —you. If you are a man you will make a son one of the masked men had said while binding your wrists. You were to be a slave for the Cult —doing their bidding and assisting the Pythia with false prophecies, but it all changed when Maron tried to force himself on you one night in the Cave of Gaia. One minute you were pushed against the stone wall. The next Maron was coughing up blood with a sword emerging from his chest. Deimos. It was the first time you’d seen the Cult’s weapon. He offered you his hand and led you deep into the cave to a private pool of water so you could wash the blood away. Soon after that initial encounter, you were offered the opportunity to become Deimos’ companion. Foolishly, you accepted.

Deimos is somehow simultaneously the best and worst kind of friend. He will smite anyone who dares try to hurt you in deed or words, but then he has no idea how to act when you wish to confide in him or even show him kindness.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Deimos isn’t a fan of cuddling, at least knowingly. Once asleep, he’ll seek you out —wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. If he wakes and he’s done this, Deimos is quick to distance himself —even if it felt good to hold you.

On the contrary, if you’re the one doing the cuddling —he doesn’t care (as long as he isn’t in an extremely foul mood). Deimos enjoys it when your head rests on his chest, one leg draped across his waist, fingers pressing into his shoulder or side. Having you willingly be this close to him is enough to make him believe that maybe he isn’t just a monster or weapon.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Once free from the Cult, he might consider settling down (though starting a family is still something he’s unsure of —he just knows he’d be a terrible father). Otherwise, he wants to be on the move, and that’s why he’s content following in his sister’s steps and becoming a misthios.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise, but Deimos is terrible at domestic activities. Sometimes he tries, but he gets in the way most of the time and you end up having to go behind him. Eventually, he takes the hint that he’s in the way, causing more trouble, and leaves most things to you. He still lingers around should you need anything, though.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

A break-up with Deimos would be something he doesn’t want to happen, but it comes as a result of the Cult’s actions. Unless they can physically restrain him, he’s not going to listen. He’ll find you —it’s not like there’s anyone stupid enough to get in his way or strong enough to stop him.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Marriage likely isn’t in the equation, but that’s just because of the nature of marriage in Classical Greece. Commitment is something that frightens him though he won’t admit it. Before he knows it, he’s already given himself to you —it’s in subtle things like ensuring your safety, asking about your day, offering to comb your hair. After quite a bit of time, he finally acknowledges it and makes sure everyone knows that you are his, and he is yours.  

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Deimos is not gentle. The Cult took his humanity, but through you, he finds it again —little-by-little. You learn he can be tender and kind when he cleans and binds a wound you accidentally inflicted on yourself slicing fresh apricots. From then on, he’s always mindful of his strength and becomes gentler toward you over time.

If we’re being honest, Deimos is a bit (very) emotionally constipated. He keeps just about all his emotions buried deep within him and puts on a hard exterior —one that you’re able to start chipping away.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Hugs are a no for Deimos and are probably the quickest way to get a knife in the stomach. He makes rare exceptions, though. If he’s been away for a long time —he enjoys seeing you run toward him and leap into his arms. Those embraces are always quick, though —not even long enough to count as a hug since you’re eager to check him over for injuries.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Chrysis has instilled in him from a young age that love is weakness and weakness is punishable by pain. Deimos does not even begin to consider the possibility that he might love you until the Cult’s demise at the hands’ of his sister. Even then it takes time.

Finally, after years of standing by his side, he would accept that he does love you (Kassandra may have helped him see it as such). He’d utter a soft I love you and kiss your forehead —thinking you’re asleep and wouldn’t be able to hurt him by rebuffing the quiet admission. It surprises him when you shift. Eyes fluttering open and adjusting to the darkness. The back of your hand would graze his jaw and cheek, an ethereal smile upon your lips. I love you, too you’d whisper, moving closer to him.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He is exceptionally jealous and has been known to gut men who even look in your direction for too long or with the wrong type of expression. It’s a trait that carries over even after he leaves the Cult. You and Kassandra have both had to pull him away from Stentor a few times. Occasionally, Stentor slips and goes overboard on the Adrestia.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Deimos’ kisses are rough, even when he intends for them to be soft. He likes to hold your face in his hands or have one hand tangled in your hair —something to give him some semblance of control. His favorite place to kiss you is your lips and neck (bonus points if he leaves little love bites). Deimos likes it when you kiss his fingertips. It makes him feel some type of way knowing you trust the hands of a killer. He also enjoys when you kiss his neck and clavicles.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He will say he’s terrible with children (mostly because he’s rarely been around anyone younger than him since becoming a man), but you’ve seen him show mercy to girls and boys. He’d even been somewhat distraught when the Cult guards killed the girl, Phoibe, in Athens —she wasn’t meant to die. She had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You firmly believe given the chance, he’d be good around children, especially after leaving the Cult in the past. That theory is proven true when Kassandra has Elpidios. He spoils his baby nephew at every opportunity once overcoming the fear of dropping him or holding him wrong. Seeing him and Elpidios plants a seed in your mind that starting a family could be nice.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

On most mornings he is gone before you wake —either training or on an assignment. It’s more of a shock to wake and find him still lying next to you. If that’s the case, you seem to be the one to wake first. It’s a rare sight to see him at rest —the tension released from his body, the furrow between his brows and the creases on his forehead gone. You take those moments to commit his features to memory.

One of your favorite things to do is trace the scars on his torso. The feel of your fingertips dancing across his skin is usually enough to wake him, but if that’s how he’s woken it puts him in a significantly better mood. Sometimes when you’re feeling brave you’ll trace his scars with your lips and tongue (if you do that it’s pretty much assured you won’t be leaving the bed anytime soon).

Once Deimos is awake, he doesn’t say much —he’s a man of few words to begin with, but he will always kiss either your lips or forehead before rising from bed to dress for the day.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights with Deimos either go one of two ways. Nighttime is his favorite time to fuck you (eventually it gets to a point where can confidently call it making love instead of fucking), it helps tire him so he might actually get some sleep. Deimos makes you feel like a goddess. You enjoy those nights.

Other nights are a mix between sparse conversation and comfortable silence. He’s more apt to talk about his past at night or tell you stories of his conquests and scars on his chest and back. It’s at night that he takes more interest in you too —he wants to know where you’re from, what was your childhood like, what your favorite color is. Nights with Deimos are when you start to see who he is outside of the Cult’s influence.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

He wouldn’t like to talk about it, but he can only deflect your questions for so long before he starts telling you. Deimos would talk about his scars first, then Chrysis and the other children she’d raised alongside him, about the lioness protecting her cub, and how he’d been condemned to die as a suckling babe. He won’t tell you everything at once —you don’t expect him to either— but he does open up to you. You understand him better as time passes and it makes your strange relationship better, stronger.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Deimos has no patience for anyone (though perhaps he is a little more patient with you, but not by much). Incompetence is one of the quickest ways to make him angry.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing or do they kind of forget everything?)

It’s a surprise when Deimos recalls a small detail you’d mentioned in passing about your childhood near Olympia. Turns out he remembers everything you tell him —that explains why sometimes you find one of your favorite flowers lying on the table, a dress in your favorite color, or your favorite gem. He’s quick to learn your quirks too —he knows you bite your nails out of boredom or worry and when you’re concentrated on a task the tip of your tongue will poke between your lips. He remembers everything and is terrified that the Cult will find a way to make him forget.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Deimos has two memories that stand out to him. One of them is when you first kissed him. Up until that point, it was only soft caresses and forehead kisses. When he stepped down from the trireme and onto the wharf in Phokis after weeks of being apart, you couldn’t help yourself. You’d taken his face in your hands and planted your lips against his without a second thought.

The second is another first kiss of sorts. It’s the first you kiss you shared after the Cult had been dismantled —his first kiss as Alexios, not Deimos. You and he had sat atop the roof of his home in Sparta after a somewhat awkward dinner with Kassandra, Nikolaos, Myrrine, and Stentor. He’d placed his hand on your cheek, turning your gaze from the moonlit Lakonian countryside and pressed his lips to yours —soft and slow.

They’re good memories that fill his heart with warmth whenever he begins to sink back into his old ways.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

You’re likely one of the most protected persons in all the Greek world. Deimos will cut down anyone who dares harm you. Even the Cult is sure to keep you well protected though some of its members aren’t happy about your relationship with their champion. Despite that, they know if something happens to you it is likely they will never be able to control Deimos again.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Deimos notices the longing in your eyes when you look to the sea. You’d grown up close to the sea in Elis and often went down to the water to swim and relax. Some nights he’ll surprise you by taking you down to the shore. He spoils you (in part due to his own insecurities) with gifts. But the gifts that mean the most are the ones he put thought into. Sure necklaces with emeralds and sapphires are pretty, but a pressed rose, an old scroll of poetry, and a shell full of uneven pearls are what makes your heart flutter.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Sulking. Deimos is a sulky boi. He also has some issues with controlling his temper, but he’s working on it.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

The Cult is more concerned with his appearance than he is, but he puts some effort forth and keeps his beard cropped to dark stubble and his hair clean. One thing you quickly note is the lack of scars on his appendages. The few light ones on his arms and thighs are from battle —his own follies and hubris. It’s his back and chest that are littered with gouges, burns, and raised. He looks untouchable, invincible wearing the gold-and-black armor of the Cult, but beneath it, you know the truth. He bleeds and heals like any other man even if they tell him he is a demigod.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

To a certain degree. It becomes more obvious to him that he wouldn’t be incomplete so much as lost without you. You’re his other half as the poets would say —his better half.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Sometimes he’ll stop outside the door of your chambers or wherever you may be and just listen and watch you. He likes it when you hum lullabies or sea shanties, even singing at times when you’re sure no one else is around. Deimos will watch you move around like a bee and have to fight a smile. Even if he won’t admit it to himself, he adores you and still doesn’t understand why you like him so much.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Weakness. Showing weakness was a punishable offense and Deimos has learned to hate anything he perceives as being weak —even his love for you until he realizes it makes him stronger.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Deimos doesn’t sleep much —that’s evident in the dark circles ringing his eyes. The only time he sleeps well is when he’s well beyond the point of exhaustion or has been injured. Sometimes he sleeps better if he falls asleep in your arms, but most of the time he won’t let himself do that. He has a lot of nightmares, and you learn early on to be careful when trying to wake him. Otherwise, it might result in fingers almost being broken or a dagger at your throat. The best way to get him to wake if he’s having a nightmare is to hold his hand or stroke his hair. When he wakes, his eyes will be damp, his gaze distant and feral and it hurts you to know that all of this is the Cult’s fault.