#always angry at the smallest things assuming the worst about people and situations

[fussystreetlight]

(Remaking this post cause I realized I didn't want to reblog from these kinds of people even when I'm reacting to them but I think some context is necessary).

It's always dispiriting to see things like this. And to see, imo, obvious nonsense get so much attention, more attention than fanartists that are not only talented but genuinely kind.

And I know I could ignore this and that I'm giving it more attention. But for my own peace of mind I wanted to add some important amendments :

Be as weird as you want about Skully. Yana Toboso and the TWST developers want you to (so you'll spend money but still...)

If you're a weirdo the game was made for you. Enjoy it however you want.

The game and developers are weird about their own characters (they knew what they were doing especially with the Union Birthday card groovies).

He's a bunch of pixels programmed to be set at an semi-arbitrary number that was chosen cause it made sense for the story, not because he's supposed to represent a person. It's like sleeping with an inflatable doll that was only made a year ago. It's a doll, how long it's been in existence doesn't matter. A very obvious not real character is not comparable to or representative of a person.

Again, he's not real, his "age" doesn't matter because he's an object, and fiction is not a 1:1 reflection of reality. If someone likes him it doesn't mean they'll prey on an actual teen. The chances of there being a correlation are really small. People who assume it does and try to stop people from liking a character; that says more about you than what liking Skully says about the person who likes him. It's like someone finding a chip that looks like a person and then someone else eats it. You're not going to call that person a cannibal and assume they want to eat people, this is the same thing. It's not comparable to a sexual predator. Seriously, why are y'all obsessed with predators, why is it always on your mind? Y'all keep bringing them up in situations that had nothing to do with them, making things about them and seeing them everywhere, and assuming everyone you meet that isn't a clone of you is one. Why is this always the first place your mind goes to? If y'all saw someone reacting the same way about murderers you'd realize they need some help so why are y'all so lacking in self-awareness?

The fact that people were simping for him before his "age reveal" and after it should have driven home the fact that it's simply that people like how this object looks and is programmed to behave, not how long it's been manufactured. Also his voice actor is an adult, so it's more like an adult acting like a younger person, i.e. this is more like a form of age play between consenting adults than a sign that people want to prey on teens (of course if antis looked at things that way then they'd have to face the realization that they are not the valiant heroes they think they are so they won't).

This attitude is what kills fandoms and makes creators not want their stuff to leave their country. It wouldn't surprise me if TWST one day shuts down because of all these antis.

And considering every anti I've come across liked something that does the very same things they claim to hate, are made by people who support the fiction they claim to hate, or like the very things that they claim to hate, I just can't make myself believe they really care about morals or being good people. At this point I genuinely believe antis are either just looking for attention or need professional help but are unwilling to admit it. Or they want to hurt people. But really, why this unhealthy obsession with sexual predators and finding them?? Especially when the people and organizations whose job it is to find actual predators have asked them to stop reporting this stuff because it doesn't count. The line should be drawn when real giving beings are getting hurt. No one is getting hurt by this no matter how much antis like to roleplay victims. Let people have their harmless innocent fun.

[crumbledcastle28]

Chapter 8: An Apology

Warnings: depression, suicidal thoughts, references to an incredibly painful past, references to murder, references to torture, lots of crying, references of being shot/stabbed. This is really heavy, so please proceed with caution.

Author’s Note: Thank you to EVERYONE who has shown any support for this! I am very proud of this series and it makes me very happy people are enjoying it 💜

(I cannot remember where I got this gif from, so if it’s yours please let me know so I can credit you!)

After Mando left, you sat in your silent sobs for what felt like hours.

It could have been hours for all you knew. It’s not like you cared anyway.

All you did was sit in your guilt and shame, allowing yourself to digest all you’ve done. You have been pushing this down for so long, and now it feels like there is no stopping it.

A person can only pretend for so long, and you would give anything to just go back in time and reverse it all.

So many faces flash in your memory of people you’ve killed and cheated for the Empire, and it’s an absolute hell. None of these people deserved what they got. None of them. And yet you still did it.

No matter how many excuses you make for how you became a part of the Empire and all the torture they put you through, you still did it. You are still an enemy to the people you held so dear after so little time.

You are a monster.

After a while, you hear Mando’s footsteps entering Kuiil’s house again. You don’t even know where Kuiil is, you honestly forgot he even existed.

Maybe he will forgive me, you think to yourself. We were in a similar situation?

You see Mando’s helmet enter through the doorway and you feel the smallest, tiniest fraction of butterflies you once had for the man returning.

But the butterflies are immediately squashed when you remember you are about to be thrown out. Again.

Just because you handled it once before doesn’t mean you have the strength to go through that now. Especially after everything you’ve done.

You feel his eyes scanning your pathetic, patched up form on the ground, and the storm inside of you starts to rumble again.

Please… please not again.

He sits down on the opposite side of the ship, resting his hands on his knees. He folds his hands, and you swear you hear him take a deep breath.

“She needs to calm down, that’s all,” he says, referring to Cara, and you find some strength to nod. Your eyes are burning and your muscles want to explode from exhaustion. Your mind is keeping you awake, while the rest of your body just wants to sleep.

“I…. I wouldn’t have let her kill you,” he says, and you shut your eyes, feeling the tears start to rise again.

Why, you think to yourself. It would be easier for everyone if I was just dead!

You still somehow keep yourself together, wiping your nose with your sleeve. He can see how much pain you are in, but you were praying he didn’t pity you. You didn’t deserve it. Especially from him.

“I have only heard stories about red lightsabers. They belong to an evil, dark side of the powers that the kid has,” he says, and you nod.

He has to understand. You know he understands. He always has.

“They’re called Sith… right,” he asks, and you finally make eye contact with him.

“Yes,” you croak out. Your voice sounds like you hadn’t talked for a hundred years, but Mando just nodded.

Yes, you think to yourself. I am a Sith.

The fact that Mando knows who and what you are now is the weirdest combination of feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders, but at the same time, one double the weight has been added.

He was talking so gently. Like he didn’t want to rub it in your face.

He has to be doing this so I don’t kill him when he kicks me out, you think.

Why else would he have any respect for me? No one else ever has?

He takes a moment to process, and then he asks, “The Emperor was a Sith… wasn’t he?”

You feel like a sword has been stabbed through you one final time, but you don’t want to make him feel like he’s hurting you, so you just nod slowly.

You have to save your strength for when he asks you to leave. You know he will ask you in that calm, gentle voice that will haunt you forever.

He understands you fought for the Empire. You killed, destroyed, and lied for them. Their blood is forever stained on your hands, and now you got Mando bloodied.

He deserves an explanation, or at least an apology, so you mumble a quiet “um,” signifying you were about to speak.

Even if he doesn’t believe you, he needs to know you didn’t want this. Ever.

“My uh… my parents sold me,” you mumble while sniffling.

You can tell his interest is peaked because his entire body leans forward, silently asking you to continue.

How can he even look at me right now?

You proceed to tell him the story of how your parents were servants to an evil family who never gave them a fair pay. They were incredibly poor, and they had you outside of wedlock, so they were looked down upon even more in their society. They hated you for it. They took any chance they could get to get you away from them.

When the Empire came to your planet looking for recruits, your parents jumped on the offer. They didn’t mind the extra handful of credits that came with it too.

“No matter how much I hated them, they were still my parents,” you say.

“I didn’t want to leave them, so when the stormtroopers went to drag me away, I got so angry. I didn’t know it at the time, but the force channeled through me in my anger. I used all my strength, and sent them all flying through the air,” you say, while laughing uncomfortably at the memory.

Your eyes still burned and your muscles screamed for relief, but you had to keep going. Mando deserved to know the truth.

“That’s the last thing I remember of that day, and the next thing I knew, I was sent into training. I went through countless masters, but none of them could control me. I was just so angry. All the time,” you said with a sigh.

“I would refuse to do what they asked, and even when I did what I was told, I would hurt them instead. I never listened.”

You took a deep breath. This next part was going to hurt.

“They finally realized that I could not be controlled, so they….. tortured me,” you say, trying not to allow the weakness in your voice to show through.

If you got emotional, it was more likely Mando would think you were crazy. You had to keep pushing.

You cleared your throat, and continued.

“They made me do everything, Mando. They made me tear down towns, cities, planets. And if the people didn’t succumb to the Empire’s rule…,” you say, and you can’t even finish the sentence.

“I finally got away years later, and I escaped to Tattooine. They tried to stop me, but it was no use. I could beat any stormtrooper or Imperial guard they threw at me,” you say.

“They hurt me enough to know that I wouldn’t come back…… I hadn’t even come close to helping anyone but myself until I met you,” you say.

You take a deep breath and rub your eyes.

You did it, you think. He knows.

You let him digest your story. He listened intently and respectfully the entire time you were speaking. He never interrupted, he never became angry, he just stared at you and digested it all.

It was quiet for a while, until he stood up.

“The Empire killed my family,” he said, and all your composure went out the window.

You assumed that the Empire hurt him, it has hurt everyone, but this is on another level. It felt like you had been shot again, but this was way more painful. Your heart shattered for him.

You always knew the universe was cruel, but you had done horrific things, so you always thought it was payback. Now you knew the universe was truly cruel.

“I am….. so sorry,” you manage to say through your burning throat. Tears were streaming down your face, but you managed to stay relatively quiet. It’s not like crying for them would bring Mando’s family back.

He moved to you slowly and kneeled down in front of you.

You couldn’t meet his gaze. You just stared at the floor and wiped your eyes. You were hurting him, just like you hurt everyone else. It felt like hell on earth and you were convinced you were the worst person that ever lived.

“You… you don’t have to believe me Mando. I know I hurt so many people, and even if I didn’t want to, I still did what they asked,” you say, trying to fill up the space.

“You can kick me out, kill me. Anything. I just want you to know that I didn’t choose this. I swear on everything I would do anything to be any other person in the whole galaxy.”

You finish and finally meet his gaze, begging him to say something. Anything.

He stands to leave, and you finally accept your fate.

He gets to the doorway, your final hopes of forgiveness leaving with him.

“I believe you,” he mumbles, looking back at you.

“We will talk more tomorrow” he says, and he leaves you.

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @pinkninja200 @bookloverfilmoholic @farfromjustordinary @440mxs-wife

[hypmicdaydreams]

Can I ask for some angst? Sasara, Samatoki and Ichiro reactions when their s/o is brainwashed for Chuuoku a la Nemu and becomes hostile towards the boys?

Hey hey anon! Needless to say, this one did hurt to write, but I do love the idea so much. I do love me some good ol' angst at times haha. Thank you sm for the request and hope you enjoy 💕

𝗜𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗼, 𝗦𝗮𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗸𝗶, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗦𝗮𝘀𝗮𝗿𝗮 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝘀/𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘄𝗮𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝘆 𝗖𝗵𝘂𝗼𝗵𝗸𝘂

-pairings: ichiro yamada x gn!reader, samatoki aohitsugi x gn!reader, sasara nurude x gn!reader

-genre: angst

Ichiro

he immediately notices your shift in demeanor when ichiro visits you the next time, realizing that there were something off about your gaze

you looked so...emotionless, similar to a robot obeying commands. those weren’t your lovestruck eyes that he was used to, the ones filled with endless love and warmth. you looked dead

it was baffling to say the least. he had absolutely no idea what had happened to cause you to snap like that

“babe, are you alright?”

well, he certainly wasn’t expecting you to glare daggers at him. at that moment, ichiro’s mind was racing as he tried to remember if he had unintentionally done anything to hurt you, though he couldn’t recall anything of that sort

so he decides to ask you once more, hoping this time that he’d get a response, though he’d come to regret that

“get lost. i don’t want to see you anymore.”

...what?

immediately, memories from his past fight with kuko resurfaced, taking note of how eerily similar this entire situation was to that. it was playing out word-by-word, right down to the exact emotions he felt: fear coupled with anxiety and nausea

he tried to not get too emotional, tried to hold himself back and take control of the situation, tried to reason with you and calm you down, but you were having none of it

when you walked away, however, shutting the door in his face, he felt defeated. he wasn’t able to talk you out of it. this was a genuine break up, and ichiro didn’t really know how to process it

he knew that what he saw wasn’t the real you, wasn’t the sweet and loving you who loved to pepper him with kisses or tease him. what he saw was an imposter, but he couldn’t do anything about it

no one knew about what had happened; rather, they assumed that the two of you broke up, which was technically the truth in some aspect. nothing his brothers did to try and cheer him up worked however

he did eventually move on from you, though that wouldn’t be after a long time. ichiro had loved you with everything he had, right down to the smallest cell in his body, and it hurt to see you walk away so easily, as if it all meant absolutely nothing to you

the next time he saw you was during the rap battles, and needless to say, he’s surprised when he spotted you adorned in chuohku’s uniform, which made his stomach churn

you had chosen chuohku, and even if ichiro thought he had gotten over you, he felt all those emotions come flooding in again once he saw you standing at the gate

he desperately wanted to go up to you and try to reconcile things, but he knew that it was simply much too late

you decided on chuohku, and even if ichiro absolutely despised that, it was your decision

ichiro really hated to see you so broken, and it was gut wrenching to say the least when he took note of how dead your eyes were

even if you were sad, even if you felt as if the world around you was ending, ichiro felt as if that was better than what had happened to you now. at the very least, the former you had emotion, and he had no doubt that he could help you through it

but now, it kinda felt hopeless, as much as he hated to admit. you were nothing but a shell of your former self, so how could he help you feel better when you couldn’t feel at all?

Samatoki

he feels the tension in the air the moment you walk into his office, and samatoki isn’t exactly sure why you seemed off at that moment

though, his instincts were telling him to prepare for the worst. this was likely to be one hell of an interaction

“huh? what’s the matter with you? did someone hurt you?”

at that moment, samatoki felt himself fill with rage at the thought of someone having dare lay a hand on you. if that was the problem, then he really wouldn’t even hesitate to kick the guy’s ass

“i’ve only come to tell you that i don’t want to see you anymore. you’re a pain”

upon your last word, this man is immediately on fight or flight mode. there was absolutely no way that this was you; it simply couldn’t be. the entire time the two of you were together, not once did you sound or look this heartless

he’s right by your side, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking you (rather aggressively might i add) as if that’d help snap you out of your stupor

“y/n, what the hell is up with you?! cut the bullshit”

samatoki didn’t believe one bit of what you were saying. for one, the you he knew would never speak like that, not so cold anyway. secondly, your entire mannerisms were off. there was no way in hell that you even knew what you were saying

but when you reiterate that you’re serious, pushing him off of you, samatoki’s temper gets the better of him, and he immediately switches to defensive mode

he’s already lost quite a few people he loved in his life, and samatoki wasn’t about to add another one to that list

you were much too important for him to simply let you go. you made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time, and samatoki would be damned if he let you walk out that door

he bickers with you for quite a while, his voice getting a bit higher each time. it’s not like samatoki had meant to yell at you, though; his temper and anxiety was merely getting the best of him at that moment

but he knew that he had lost the moment you stated that you were joining chuuoku. this entire situation was the exact same as with nemu a few years prior. he couldn’t stop her then, and samatoki knew that there was no way he could stop you now

the moment you walk out that door, samatoki feels powerless and quite frustrated, taking out his anger by punching objects that were in his way. he had stupidly believed that things were looking up with you, with the situation with nemu, with everything, but he was dead wrong

at that moment, samatoki swears that he’ll get you back

(quite frankly, he still didn’t believe that was you that he had talked to)

his teammates have no idea what had happened given that samatoki doesn’t really outwardly show it, though they do have a hint of an idea based off of his heartbroken and angry gaze he had every time you were mentioned

the next time he meets you, it felt as if the world was laughing at him. not only had samatoki spotted you in chuohku, but you were alongside his beloved sister as well, and he couldn’t even run up to the two of you and drag you both home (his teammates somehow managed to hold him back)

he hadn’t the faintest clue of what had happened to make you flip so quick, but all samatoki knew was that he was never going to give up on you

make no mistake, he will bring both you and nemu back home, no matter what it cost

Sasara

he couldn’t quite lay his finger on it, but sasara could sense that something was off about you the moment you came to his apartment

well, his instincts were telling him that, but sasara didn’t listen to that at all. instead, he decided to brush it off and treated it as if it was another normal day

but then the bombshell dropped

in a blank and rather aggressive tone, you casually mentioned how you never wanted to see him again, and you had simply dropped by to let him know that

at first, sasara really couldn’t believe what he was hearing. surely he must’ve misheard you, right? there was no way you actually felt that way, at least, not that he knew of

“aww come on y/n, you know a joke must have a punchline.”

didn’t really take it seriously at first, though it was more like sasara didn’t have the heart to confront it, so he did what he was best at: distract with jokes

it was always effective, but not so much this time

needless to say, he’s pretty much speechless when you repeat it, this time your tone practically dripping with poison. sasara had no idea what had gotten into you or what had happened for you to be so cold

you were always so sweet and loving to him, cracking jokes left and right as well as playing along with his shenanigans. there was never a dull moment with you

but now, everything was falling apart. had you always felt this way? did you simply hate him but simply put up with it? was his love really one sided this entire time? sasara began to doubt your guys’ entire relationship

sure, there was no possible way that the person standing in front of him was you, but sasara also didn’t know what had happened. perhaps a person or an event made you feel this way towards him, but with no way of knowing, he assumed that this was how you truly felt

even though you seemed more robotic than usual, even though there was not a single hint of emotion in your eyes, sasara took your words to heart

and he really did want to try and change your mind, to try and reconcile with you, but anytime he uttered a single word, you were at his throat. you didn’t seem to want to try and understand

sasara really wasn’t too keen on fighting. it was such a horrible feeling and brought up a few memories that he’d rather have buried away. he’d rather not hurt both you and himself, even if it was all accidental

arguments never got anywhere, and there seemed to be nothing that could change your mind, so all sasara could do was stand and watch as you walked away. it was your decision after all, and he had no choice but to accept

sasara fell into a bit of a depression right after, always catching himself thinking of you and wishing that things hadn’t turned out this way

nothing seemed to make him happy anymore, not even his favorite comedy shows or drinks. even if he didn’t outwardly show it, it was pretty clear to everyone that knew him well that sasara was indeed hurting

eventually, he did move on, but there was a scar on his heart that’d never heal

when he saw you at chuohku, wearing the same blank expression as before and dressed up in their uniform, his first thought was that he was grateful that you were alive and healthy

but that was soon followed by heartbreak and hopelessness. it hurt him to see you again, and it hurt even more to know that you had sided with chuohku

he couldn’t help but ruminate on what could’ve been

[like-rain-or-confetti]

Request: Ignorance (Volturi Leaders x Reader)

Judging by the atmosphere of the room, something was wrong. You turned to your three mates, skepticism all over your face.  "What's wrong?" You asked warily, watching for any changes in your mates faces, even the slightest micro-movement.  “Nothing you need to worry yourself about, my dear.” Aro responded with a reassuring smile. Whilst he was convincing, you didn't buy it. It didn’t take long for the thoughts to creep in, a reminder that you had been here before, in this exact situation. A thought rushed through your head but never left.  “This doesn’t have something to do with Bella...does it?” You asked.  “No.” Aro smiled at you gently.  Again, convincing but you noticed the tiny details within each of your mates and those details led you to believe this was a lie. 

You felt a pang in your chest, you had been here before. It always hurt to know your mates could and would lie to you again and again.  “Why are you lying to me?” You had visibly faltered, hurt etched across your face. You were met with silence at first.  “Why would you think that?” Caius responded.  “Marcus looks like he just kicked a puppy, you are trying to will me to believe Aro with your eyes alone and Aro has a particular smile when he lies.”   "It's a private matter." Aro responded.  "A private matter? So of course I wasn't included." You said with a cold smile. 

As you began to turn away, Aro responded.  "We can tell you later-"  "No. It's fine. We all know you won't. Don't let me interrupt." You interrupted him with a forced smile. Marcus was the next to speak. "No, (Y/N), we'll discuss-" Once again you interrupted, if you had to hear their excuses or empty promises again, you’d make Alec take away your senses for good. "No, how about you don't bother and neither will I." "If you want to be treated like an adult, (Y/N), then I advise you stop acting like a child." Caius’ words made you freeze mid-step and your blood boil. So much so, you had no doubt every vampire in the castle sensed it. 

You had once made a comment that the three treated you like a child, whether it was the age gap or the fact you were human, you didn't appreciate it. You wanted them to trust you as you trusted them and instead they hid things from you under the pretences that you wouldn't understand. However, you swallowed back your rage, sending Caius a blank stare. 

“We have received word from one of the Denali coven that the Cullen’s have created an immortal child.” Aro declared. Caius turned sharply to his brother, clearly displeased that he had revealed the secret. You, on the other hand, looked taken aback.”Bella and...?” You trailed off. Aro nodded.  “You’re sure?” You responded quietly.  “I saw for myself.” Aro assured you. “We’re about to vote on the situation.Perhaps we could use your involvement.” Aro continued. However Caius was quick to let his thoughts known. "They're human, reckless and don't understand, so why allow them a vote? We know what must be done. We do not offer second chances and this is breaking another law. We cannot cloud our judgement because of (Y/N)." 

You used to be good friends with Bella, but that friendship had since fallen away ever since you had met your mates. Although, that was Edwards fault if anyone’s. You’d have likely never met if you hadn't gone to Italy with Bella and Alice. You turned to Caius with another hurt look upon your face. "I...I was going to agree with you." You said quietly. If the Cullen’s had broken the law, then what else could be done? Yet now Caius was treating you like the weakest link, like you’d betray them so easily. You crossed your arms before turning to leave the room.  “(Y/N)-” Aro  was following behind you in seconds and reached out for your arm but you pulled away from his reach. "Don't touch me." You mumbled, this time successfully leaving the room. 

Within a second, Aro was back on his throne with his others. Aro turned to Caius.  “I understand your motives brother but you don’t need to be so harsh.” Aro said icily.  “I’m not going to dote to them like you two. When it comes down to it, I will say what needs to be said. If either of you did the same, perhaps I wouldn’t be the villain.” Caius shot back.  “I’ll go to them.” Marcus said.  “Ah yes, Marcus to the rescue from the evil Caius.” Caius scowled.  “You do it to yourself, Caius.” Marcus said as he stood up. 

You looked up to see Marcus in the doorway of his room, where you had went after the altercation. “Marcus, i’m really not in the mood to do this right now.” You began.  “We didn’t want to upset you. We only had your benefit in mind.”  "No, you hold me at arm's length and then make me feel bad about it. Like I did something wrong when the truth is you don't trust me enough to even give me the chance." You responded sourly. 

Suddenly both Aro and Marcus were behind you.  “You’ve done nothing wrong, cara mia and we do trust you. Of course, we trust you.” Aro explained. “We choose not to involve you because it seems, in our eyes, unnecessary stress on you. It’s our job to do this but that doesn’t mean it’s you must endure it.”  “It’s not your job to shelter me!” You turned, arguing back. “I’m so tired of this!”  “Tired of what, cara mia?” Aro pressed, knowing something else was bothering you.

You tended to bottle things up and eventually the emotions overflow from the even the smallest of changes at times. "I am tired of it being three against one. I am tired of only existing when it's convenient to you. I am tired of making excuses for him and I'm tired with you assuming that I won't leave all three of you!" You said loudly making the two men pause. You had never mentioned leaving before and it had never even crossed their minds on what to even think if you ever brought it up, never mind do. Aro seemed to clam up, his expression unreadable whilst Marcus looked almost terrified.   "Don't say things like that! You don't mean it!" Marcus pleaded slightly. You stared at him. You sighed. Once again leaving the room. However only Marcus’ followed you this time.  "I'm trying to talk to you!"  "I don't want to talk!" You snapped back, storming into Caius’ room this time.   "(Y/N), I love you- we love y-" You interrupted Marcus.  "Don't say that!" You snapped. 

That was your weakness and you loved them more than you could describe but you couldn’t go ignored. They couldn’t wish it away with those three little words. You couldn’t look at Marcus who looked absolutely heartbroken.  “You’re pulling away.” He said quietly. “I can see it...you’re pulling away from us.” You said nothing and Marcus left the room. 

An hour passed and Caius entered the room briskly, Aro and Marcus remaining at the door. “You two, leave. (Y/N) and I need to have a conversation alone.”  “Excuse me?” You responded.  "You're angry with me and releasing your anger on them. Be that adult and if you have something to say. Say it!" Caius turned to his brothers. “Get out.” "It drives me mad that you overlook everything I feel and do whatever is convenient for you! And you win! Every time, you always get your own way!" You said almost immediately.  “It drives me to madness that I have to be careful with what i say because you assume the worst of me.” Caius shot back.   "I hate that you make me feel so inferior!" You said louder, the anger rising in you once more.  "I hate that you're so naive you fail to realise that I do this because you mean more to me than anything else! I want you to be happy, I want you to be protected!" Caius scowled. “I hate that you will drag out every situation until you win. Even now, you’re winning!” You argued back. Caius looked at you incredulously. “Don't you understand!? I've already lost! I'm losing you right now! Everything I have ever done is to protect you because if you're gone I won't be able to survive it! I'd rather you hated me and were safe than dead and loving me!" You moved closer, growing exasperated. "Caius, why don't you understand that there is other ways? I love you. I love all of you but everyday it's a tag team against me!" "You don't understand how much of a blessing you are and at the same time how stressful it is to know that any tiny little movement could hurt you!" Caius said flatly.  You stared at him and Caius sighed. “You’re so stubborn.” Caius shook his head. "You won't want to hear it."  "That's never stopped you before." You responded quietly. Caius sighed again. "I don't want to involve you. I fear that if I do and something hurt you...I can't fix it."  “That deci-”  "I don't want to force you to make any decisions! If you did, I couldn't live with you hating yourself. So if I did it and you hated me for it, I can live with that!" You were at a loss for words. Dumbstruck by Caius’ words. He had never been so vulnerable with you to actually admit his fears, especially involving you.  “I want you to be loved and i want you to be happy. I cannot without a doubt expose you to these things and believe you wouldn’t be affected.” “Caius...” You pleaded, tears welling in your eyes. “I lost my friend for you. i haven’t contacted anyone in months since coming here. Bella was my best friend and i lost her. I gave her up for you. It might hurt, but it hurts more knowing that the three people i gave everything up for, are holding me at arms length.” You took hold of Caius’ arms who said nothing as you continued. “I am willing to face all of that, if it means i have you three with me. I can face all of it. I am willing to face it all if it means i get to keep you at my side. I don't want you hiding things from me, or pushing me away. That hurts more than any of it.”  

A blur of black in the corner of your eye catch your attention. Once again Marcus and Aro were at the door. Meanwhile, Caius stared down at you with a surprisingly soft expression.  "The truth is that we don't tell you a lot of things...but that doesn't mean we want to hurt you." Marcus spoke up. "Listen," You said softly, tugging Caius' hand and looking over at Aro and Marcus. "You will never have to worry about me leaving. I could never leave you behind." You turned your gaze to Caius, stepping closer to him. "Look at me." You whispered and Caius' gaze shifted. "Never." You promised him. "There have been so many more good times than bad and none of them could keep me from you." You closed the distance with a kiss that Caius was just as willing to return. One of his hands moving to your cheek. Even Marcus couldn't hold back a smile when you reached out towards them, beckoning for them. You broke the kiss to declare. "If you two don't hug me in the next three seconds I will cry."

[prettyblfan]

Coffee Shop Boy

Chapter Two

~

Just as he thought by the time he had finished his shift and set off for school Sorawit managed to completely forget about his encounter with very mysterious That.

~

As he walked into his classroom he instantly locked eyes with his best friend Nam. Despite only being in Viangpa Mork for only 3 months him and Nam seemed to connect instantly, she practically took Sorawit under her wing because he was too gullible for his own good. During his first week of school some boys in their class convinced him that the girls toilet was actually the boys toilet, ever since then she's felt very protective over him. However, this was practically the same for Sorawit after all Nam was pretty, popular and funny a complete package so he felt like if was his job to protect from all the shameless creeps that through themselves at her.

Sorawit pulled out his seat next to Nam and smiled,

"Have you done the maths homework" he cheekily asked putting on his sweetest voice. He plan to do it this morning but all the customers decided to pack in all at once so in the end he didn't have any time to finish it.

"No, I though you would do it! that's why I didn't bother" Nam said pulling a pout while she flopped onto the desk in front of her.

"Ahh, why don't you ask one of the multiple guys who have a crush on you" Sorawit responded, despite how calm they both seemed the end result of not handing in homework was quite harsh. They'd get one or two whole weeks of detention. As they went to a very high ranked and respected school it was only natural that standards were set to such a high level, but regardless they couldn't help but think it was stupid.

"No way, they always end up expecting soo much more in return, i can't handle the entitlement." Nam said dryly her voice dripping with disgust.

Sorawit knew exactly what she meant, whenever she'd show the smallest bit of kindest or even ask for a favour they always seemed to think that they deserved something in return. And that something was her body. In alot of situations although Sorawit couldn't fight he'd end up stepping in and trying to protect her.

"Umm, I guess we'll just have to settle for one week of detention then." Sorawit laughed after all his friend's safety was his top priority.

Just as both Nam and Sorawit were prepared to accept their fate one of the girls in their class came in yelling,

"Miss Jane isn't in."

It was this one line that seemed to save their lives, miss Jane was their maths and foreign language teacher as well as a tutor at the school. She was only strict because wanted the best for them but sometimes she could really be too ruthless.

As they no longer had a teacher for two of their lesson both Nam and Sorawit messed about, joking and talking the entire time.

For Sorawit the rest of the day went by without a hitch.

~

By the end of school Sorawit felt like death, maybe waking up at 3 am wasn't going to work for him. As he almost feel asleep against his bike Nam flicked his head.

"Are you gonna give me a ride home today or not" Nam said impatiently as she hopped onto the back of his bike (Sorawit is too much of a soft boy to be riding round on a motorbike, so he has a bicycle a yellow one at that).

Before Sorawit could respond the most obnoxious sounding voice echoed out.

"Nam!"

Standing at the gate was a couple of boys probably a year older than them. They were all in Sorawit's eyes dressed like gangsters, their pants were unnecessarily low and they all opted for darker colours (yes this is what gangsters look like in Sorawit's mind, maybe mine too). The one that called out to Nam was tall but not that handsome the only thing that stood out about him was the polished black motorcycle next to him.

Sorawit looked at Nam puzzled.

"It's a long story, just ignore them." Nam said urging Sorawit to hurry up.

Sorawit despite being known for not being very quick witted caught on quite fast, this must be one of Nam's countless admirers.

He pulled Nam along on his adorable yellow bike and although others may not not agree with him, Nam in fact said it was too girly. Regardless Sorawit didn't see anything wrong with it. It was just the right amount of cute, the yellow made it stand out and the small daisies dotted about the bike made it even more pefect in Sorawit's eyes.

As they approached the gates they were quickly blocked, just as Sorawit had expected. However, Sorawit knew for a fact they wouldn't try anything as long as they were on school property, but unfortunately he couldn't say the same for when they had left.

"Nam let's hang out today, on me" he said eying her up and down.

"Pong, I remember telling you I was busy when you asked me yesterday." She replied obviously not interested in hanging out with him at all.

"What, busy hanging out with this loser instead." The guy now known as Pong spoke sizing up Sorawit. Eventhough he was tall Sorawit was indeed 100% bone.

"Pong." Nam warned, it was quite clear that she had enough, half because she knew that this would end alot worse for Sorawit than for her. And the other half was tired of guys constantly thinking she was interested in them.

"Nam, what does he have that I dont." Pong paused briefly looking at Sorawit before bring his eyes back to Nam.

"Now don't be stupid."

It was that line that made Sorawit snap.

"Her not wanting to hang out with you isn't being stupid." He said standing tall trying to make himself appear as tough as possible.

"What?" Pong replied before laughing along with the rest of his friends, they all looked completely amused.

Nam quickly sensed things were going to take a turn for the worst if things continued going the way that they were.

"Pong I'm seriously busy today I have a bunch of work to catch up on, I have alot more time on the weekend let's hang out then" she spoke alot softer.

"Huh, fine." Pond said a lot calmer now maybe because Nam was being a lot more docile or because a teacher was approaching.

~

The whole situation was over rather quickly after that, Pong and his group of friends had left before the teacher arrived and Nam had explained to that said teacher that the whole thing was a misunderstanding.

Sorawit was now sitting in the Pink Lilly attempting to complete his homework as the staff around him began to prepare for the evening shift. He was thinking about the conversation that he had with Nam while he was taking her home.

She said playing along was always the safer options especially with guys like that.

It made him worry to the point he had to convince her not to go and see him on the weekend.

"What's wrong you're pulling a pout." Ploy said squeezing his cheeks with a soft smile.

Ploy was a University student in her 20s that worked at the Pink Lily part time, she was kind and energetic but she was always in other peoples business.

"Umm I'm fine" Sorawit mumbled out before resuming his homework that he had been neglecting for the past half hour.

Before Ploy could prod for more information, Bun had stormed and was clearly in a mood. A way worse one than usual.

"Who does he think he is?" Fuming Bun slammed his hand down on the front counter.

"Why do handsome men think its okay to be so arrogant" Bun continued to rant furiously.

"P'Bun????" Sorawit called utterly confused, who could have made him so angry.

"Bun, what's wrong?" Ploy also questioned after all seeing her boss this angry was rare.

"Huh, what's wrong. You won't believe what happened today!" Bun responded quickly pulling out a seat. Finally seeming to calm down he recited what took place earlier today.

Bun had gone into work for his regular morning shift at 3am hence why he wasn't there to help ease Sorawit into his first shift. But the real trouble began after his long lunch break around 4ish when a young man was rushed in with a bullet wound, Bun was assigned to treat him. So naturally once he heard the man was accompanied by two other men he had quickly gone to question them after all bullet wounds weren't very common in Viangpa Mork. When he had confronted them he was ridiculed and mocked (more so softly teased, but okay Bun. I'll have to make a special chapter about their first meeting after all this is a That x Sorawit centered story) by a tall well dressed handsome man which only pissed him off more. He'd come to know that the arrogantly handsome man was Tan.

In his 3 months in Viangpa Mork he had only heard from other residents that Tan was one of the many sons of a very affluent family that owned multiple business in the city, and he had been doing a lot of work out here recently.

But the icing on the cake for Bun was that everyone loved him, not the police nor a single soul had come to question them or see what was going on. The whole situation was perfectly swept under the rug.

Bun had finished his story with a huff, just retelling it had seemed to annoy him.

"Wow, i mean it is expected after all rumour is that their family does dabble in..." Ploy trailed off unsure if she should finish her sentence. Tan and his family were doing way more for Viangpa Mork than the governor, in the past couple years their investments had gotten them things they never thought they'd see. Like new school buildings and more focus placed on education. They had even gotten Ploy into university through their Helping the Youth fund before that she never thought she would even have the opportunity to go.

"In what?" Sorawit asked, he hadn't been able to catch onto what she was implying like Bun had.

"Never you mind, my shift starts now so I'll see you later" Ploy wore a light smile before returning to work.

Bun had assumed it would have been something like that but he really thought Viangpa Mork was a quite and unproblematic town.

"Ah, Sorawit how was your shift this morning" Bun asked realising that he had been to caught up in himself to ask.

"It was fine but," it was at this moment that Sorawit had remembered his encounter with That.

"But what?" Bun said urging him to continue.

So, for the remainder of the evening shift until the start of the late evening shift Sorawit proceed to tell Bun about the oh so mysterious That. Although he sub consciously left out his heart pains and stomach twists that he felt around the boy, the rest of the story was relayed exactly as it happened.

After he had finished Bun had agreed the boy was strange and that in future he should try to keep his distance.

~

Sorawit had quickly retired for the night after he had finished talking to Bun feeling completely exhausted.

As he laid in bed,

When he was just about to fall asleep for a split second the very mysterious That flashed across his mind.

Regardless of what Bun had said earlier a part of him couldn't help but hope that just maybe he would see him again.

~

At last I have done, I hope you like this chapter. Cause i really do.

Oof my hate for men really showed at Nam's part, but do not worry I shall not allow for creepy old men or men at that to get their hands on her.

Any way onto the next chapter! That visiting his favourite coffee boy once again.

Again not proof read cause I live on the edge.

[chorusnihili]

what is wd gasters past

"A rather broad and invasive question, I'd say, but I suppose I can give you the rundown."

"I was born on the surface while tensions were already high, enough that my parents, assuming that I had them, were gone before I had a chance to remember them. I was mostly raised by a mismatch village of monsters; well-cared for, not the only one that didn't have a specific home."

"I didn't miss living on the surface and never wished to return there, quite frankly. The only thing that made it worth living there is that in my final few years there, I did have something close to an adoptive parent. Who, unfortunately, chose death over leaving their home."

"A lot of monsters like to paint the underground as this hellish, soul-sucking fate worth than death. Personally I never found it that bad. I suppose I never was the type to feel wanderlust or anything of the sort. I was happy merely knowing we were safe and humanity likely had no interest in pursuing us."

"So I dedicated most of my life to making the Underground as good a place as possible. Anything that could make life more bearable. Try to cheer up those affected the worst by the change. During this time, a lot of monsters took up psychology; you can find a lot of studies on stress, despair, and trauma written during this time; techniques for coping and helping loved ones, many of which still hold up to this day."

"Unfortunately given the fact that communication has always been a hassle to me, it ultimately wasn't a field of study that suited me well, although I've been told I'm a good listener."

"So my attention broke from such studies to poking around the world about me. Much of the underground was new and needed to be explored and understood, and, what can I say, I was young and ready to believe that magic could do anything. Except, maybe, restore my eyesight. Heh."

"The migration through the underground was relatively linear. The forests of Home, the snowy landscapes of Snowdin, the rainy marsh of Waterfall, the deep caves of Hotland, and finally, the empty caves of New Home. But New Home was the end. The final stop. Assuming a vaguely dome-shaped barrier forming to the shape of the mountain, we had found it on all sides; the entrance at Home, the exit at New Home, the presumably small entries in Waterfall that human trash falls through, the tunnels in Hotland that the lava flows through. We reached the end; there was nowhere else to go."

"Monsters began to fan out, build permanent civilizations. Asgore and Toriel chose to build their castle and kingdom right on the cusp of the barrier; why, I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps it was meaningful, to them. A sign of having conquered the humans, something to put them at ease. I never asked, it never seemed appropriate."

"Although many monsters seemed disappointed that there was nowhere else to go, I found a sense of satisfaction from it. We had discovered everything; there was nothing else that might creep out from the shadows. We had an understanding of the world we now lived in, a map from top to bottom, left to right. And now, all we had to do was reshape it into the world we wanted it to be."

"Much of my early life was uneventful. I spent a lot of time in theoretical research, interested in the topics of how and why magic worked, but specifically, the interaction of two magical forces. Why some attacks seemed to be so devastating and others seemed to do no damage at all.  A spent a fair amount of years analyzing magic, categorizing it, writing formulae for the so called Stats, for LOVE, EXP, HP, ATK, DEF, INV, et cetera, et cetera.  Frankly, the field is incomplete; close enough for most situations, I think, but not perfect.  I found it wasteful to continue efforts on it.  I believe that the main goal of science is to improve life; if the science cannot be applied to do so, then I do not see the point in continuing it.”

“My studies were broad and varied.  Sometimes I’d dip into the health sciences, sometimes I’d dip into architecture.  I’d do odd favors for people, look into anything that caught my interest, sometimes even take up tasks for the King himself; ones of minor interest that he didn’t want to bother the Royal Scientist with.”

“But, the focal point of my studies always came back to energy.  What could we do with it?  How can we harness it?  All monsters are made up of energy, of magic, it’s inherent to our souls, the way we express ourselves, even our body is made of magic, turns into magical dust due to a complicated chemical reaction when HP is depleted.”

“This, of course, lead to my most famous accomplishment.  The idea of using magic to power things had been around forever, before recorded history.  But there was always a mage or monster involved, directly or indirectly powering the thing in question.  I sought to cut out the intentional casting of a spell to induce power.  After all, this entire Underground was full of ambient magic; from previous spells, simply from Monsters existing; recycled, reused, breathed in and out, baked into food and released again:  Why couldn’t the world itself power things?” 

“It turned out to be more complicated than expected; failure after failure taught me that it simply wasn’t feasible to use magic without a soul casting it.  But, we found another way--and to be fair, it wasn’t exactly an idea so much as exploratory research, but research with very promising results.  Promising enough to earn me another scar on my face, heh.  Had one of the other scientists not pulled me out of the way, I might have been destroyed by the CORE before the CORE was even a thing.”

“Nonetheless I was far from discouraged.  I was actually very ecstatic.  Enough so that Asgore had a very hard time calming me down and getting me to explain what had happened and why I had a new crack down my face.”

“I started work on the CORE immediately.  Sketching out blueprints and gathering people to start building the skeletal structure of the building while I put together the intricacies of the mechanism that would create and convert pure energy that could be harnessed and used for whatever purposes we desired.  It took a very long time, but it’s no doubt one of my greatest creations.  Asgore asked me to take up the position of Royal Scientist not long after.  I accepted, of course, I wouldn’t think of declining, but it was a very strange thing to me.”

“It wasn’t long after that when the human child arrived.  I remember hearing about it, one of the other scientists telling me that Asriel had chosen to keep the child.  Keep the child, I had thought, like a pet, like a person would choose to keep a dog or a cat.  I thought it frankly ridiculous, but having the human child around brought a new era of hope to the kingdom and, I, ... couldn’t resist being pulled along.  I personally thought that the idea of peace between humans and monsters was ridiculous, but it was such a pleasant idea and the people were so happy...”

“Of course, it didn’t last.  In a single night, both the human child and Asriel had passed away.  The duo had broken through the barrier, only to seal their own deaths.  It was a travesty.  A whirlwind of horrors, one after another.  The devastation, the despair--it was unlike anything I had ever experienced, even when humanity had first sealed us underground.  At least then, we had the relief of peace.  Now, we had nothing.”

“The King declared war on humanity.”

“It was a dark time.”

“The peaceful life I had was replaced by one of fear and anxiety.  I knew what humans were capable of.  I lived through it, I wore the mark of their hostility on my skull--and Asgore wanted to willingly throw us back into that over revenge?  We wouldn’t survive.  There was no way we’d survive.  But if there was any chance of giving us any sort of fighting chance, I was going to find it.” 

“My research turned from finding ways to make the underground better to combat.  Once again, energy proved to be my friend.  I revisited old research about LOVE and EXP and ATK and DEF--and wrote up a hypothesis about another state.  ITK.  Intent to Kill.  Unlike LOVE and EXP, which are slowly, solely increasing values, ITK rapidly fluctuates and acts as a modifier on attack.  Even a soul with a LOVE of 1 can do an extreme amount of damage if they, in a particular moment, are filled with the desire to kill the one they are striking.”

“Monsters aren’t made for war.  In general, monsters aren’t made for hurting each other.   It’s one of the many reasons we were slaughtered so mercilessly.  So I created a ... weapon.  That could circumvent that weakness.  The ITK Blasters, as I called them, could take even the smallest ITK and multiply it to do horrific damage.”

“I did other research on the topic as well.  How to convert HP into a temporary boost of ATK.  With these two advancements...even a monster as relatively weak as I am could be incredibly strong.”

“I wanted to perfect the techniques before I tried teaching them to anyone.  But, such things never came to pass.  Asgore lost his will to continue seeking war.  He knew that he had only declared war in a fit of rage and to give his people hope.  So rather than continue killing, he wanted to find a different way to bring everyone hope.  He wanted to find a way to break the barrier without anymore bloodshed.  He asked me to research the human souls.”

“...”

“I wanted no parts of it.  We got into a ... rather nasty fight.  I said a lot of things I regret.  I called him a coward for bending to the will of his people instead of doing what was right.  I told him that any attempt to breach the barrier would result in the complete extinction of our species.  I told him that it was his job as king to protect us, not lead us to our death.”

“I was angry and afraid, and I took it out on the wrong monster.”

“It’s about at this point that you really cannot understand my history without a basic understanding of how time flows.  I’ll spare you the lecture of multiple timelines and parallel realities, but at the very least, you must understand that the flow of time is... well, it is inherently linear, but, consider it like a... I want to say a Turing Machine.  Or perhaps, a VHS Tape.  The same segments can be replayed again and again, can be overwritten, can change from iteration to iteration.”

“So the fact that Asgore died in this timeline...and is still alive in the current timeline...it may at first seem contradictory, but it is not, I assure you.”

“Asgore’s death hit the Underground hard.  Undyne took over as Queen, but the knowledge that the last remaining member of the Royal Family was gone still loomed over everyone’s heads.  Undyne was more determined than Asgore ever was to free the monsters and I felt like there was nothing I could do.”

“So...There was little I did.  I was overwhelmed with grief and hatred.  I kept at the research.  I honed the abilities, again and again and again.  I drove myself to exhaustion, I isolated myself.  I barely slept and ate.  I neglected my duties and while the others understood I was grieving, it eventually got to the point that Queen Undyne delivered the ultimatum that I had to either get my act together or surrender my position as Royal Scientist.  I resigned without any argument.”

“Much of the time is a blur.  Most of my studies and research done with poor practices and hardly documented.  The research that lead to me creating Sans falls into this. I wished to know if...  

“Of course, two monsters can create another soul.  This much is obvious, monsters reproduce on a regular basis, enough that in the modern day, there’s an ongoing population crisis for monsters that need certain environments.  But I wanted to know if ... a monster, could theoretically, singularly donate a portion of their soul and create another living monster out of it.”

“This is probably a piece of research that very much fits the criteria of not stopping to think whether or not I should try to do so.”

“It required extracting part of my soul.  Which, to do so without killing the monster, requires a massive power source...luckily, or unluckily, I had the entire CORE at my disposal.  So I constructed a machine that could, indeed, extract part of my soul.  What resulted was the most painful experience of my life and left me comatose for six months.  It’s also the cause of the circular scars in my palms.”

“I hadn’t intended to extract two pieces of my soul, but, it happened, whether through oversight or simply as a matter of how the procedure was carried out.  I used the smaller piece to create Sans; intending to keep the larger piece for further study.  I destroyed everything used in the experiment afterwards.  I felt it was something that no monster should have the power to do.”

“That’s not to say I regret creating them.  I don’t, and nothing will ever change that opinion, even knowing some of the terrible things they’ve done in other timelines.  But I do regret the methods that lead to their creation.”

“I don’t know why Sans is so weak.  And I resisted the urge to try to figure it out.  There’s a fine line between a healthy interest in your child’s health and treating them as a science experiment, and I ... wanted to stay as far away as possible from that line.  He’s fine the way he is.  He doesn’t need to be fixed.”

“That didn’t stop me from using the second piece of my soul to create Papyrus to look after him, though.  Or teaching him magic to the best of my ability, even teaching him how to use the Gaster Blasters.”

“Having them...helped.  A lot.  I won’t say whether I was very good at it, but I enjoyed being a father very much.  The grief was still heavy, but I was able to start returning to a somewhat normal life, and even start following what was going on in the Underground again.  I learned of Doctor Alphys’s research on the human souls, and though I personally disagreed with it... decided to look into it in Asgore’s honor.”

“My immediate thought was that her ideas about Determination could mesh well with my previous research about soul extraction, albeit with a few modifications--although I had destroyed the equipment I used for the process, I remembered it well enough.  So I got to work on a theoretical DT Extractor; but the further I got with it, the more horrified I became.”

“I simply couldn’t tolerate the idea of it.  Humans or not, already dead or not--the mere idea of extracting the literal lifeforce out of a soul...  No.  It was not a process I would condone.”

“I had just finalized my decision to destroy the blueprints when I fell.”

“It was... a laughably simple mistake, really.  The CORE is designed to rearrange itself to prevent the wear from the heat from causing too much damage in any one area.  The doors pneumatically seal themselves to prevent egress during this time but...  I was simply too distracted by the blueprints and I opened the door, and walked through anyways.”

“There were no further safeguards.  There was nothing I could do to save myself.  It was over before I had a chance.”

“...”

“I don’t regularly talk about my time in the void.  Not because doing so bothers me, but because it’s simply... indescribable.  When I awoke, I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t move.  I couldn’t speak.  There was no me, but my consciousness existed.  I could see and hear thousands of timelines at once, as if I was standing in an arena, with each and every seat filled with a television playing a different movie.  A jumbling mess of information.”

“I have no idea how long I was there for.  It was like learning to exist all over again.  Step by step.  Learning how to move closer to visions of interest.  Learning how to seep into those visions.  Learning how to block out the immense noise.  Learning how to speak without a body.  Learning how to see the void.  Learning how to construct a body out of it.  Learning how to hunt down my timeline.”

“In many ways, it was a rebirth, and with each and every step, I lost more of myself.  I lost myself to the aching hole of my soul being missing.  I lost my conscience, I lost my heart.  I dedicated everything to the endless goal of stitching myself back together again.”

“I learned so much about the reality I live in.  How malleable it and time is.  I evolved into something grotesque, something that shouldn’t be alive.  I gained power that no monster or human should have.  Things, and even souls, could be changed at my whim.  And yet the one thing I truly wanted seemed to be impossible.”

“I did a lot of terrible things while I was stuck like that.  Some were intentional, some less so.  Many were reset thanks to Flowey, others will never be fixed.”

“I have Sans to thank for finally helping me to achieve the goal, even if not fully.  He built a machine that gathered enough of my soul that... I’m able to manifest my original form and can think clearly once again.”

“Even so...  It didn’t change the fact that my soul is still shattered, somehow held together by the tug-of-war between Determination and Void, and that my fall into the Void reset the timeline into a state where I never existed.”

“And that leads us to now.  The Gaster you currently speak to exists in a timeline that has made it to the surface, though I’m not particularly fond of being up there and generally hide in my lab in the CORE.”

“Well, I certainly hope you didn’t expect even a rundown of over a thousand years to be short.”

“...Or, were you posing the question to someone other than myself...?”

[lindendragonart]

17, 26, 30, 56 of the OC asks for Dora?

Do self inserts count? I guess.

17: Does your character have any irrational fears?

She's always afraid somebody is behind her, even in areas where ghost Pokemon are managed.

She is afraid of some monster coming through the doorway or around the corner and jumpscaring her, but that mostly applies to only her appartment. So she runs from room to room as fast as possible, as if afraid something is going to get her, which greatly annoys her family, since she screams if one of them does emerge from a nearby doorway while she is trying to pass.

Whenever even the smallest thing is out of the ordinary she assumes the worst. Someone is a little late, someone is knocking at the door unexpectedly, there is an ambulance going in the general direction of the home of someone she knows, yeah better brace yourself for the worst.

She has a compulsion that is talked about in question 56 that can also be considered an irrational fear.

26: What is your favorite headcanon for your character?

Since the character is a self insert I guess I'll put in a character trope that fits me.

She is the type to believe in redemption arcs and is willing to give a chance to people if they are genuinely sorry, sometimes even when they aren't, but as hopefull as she is, she will still be carefull around them. She is easy to pick on and get thrown off balance but she still won't get manipulated and trapped by them, though that still won't protect her from getting tormented if they do target her. Her Serperior Lipanj does take care of that by glaring at anyone trying to pick on his trainer and scaring them away, and people know she can protect herself considering her history with battling, amongst other stuff, though it has led to jabs about her cowering behind her Pokemon.

But generaly speaking, if the person is genuinely trying to be better and shows no ill intent, she will potentially become friends with them if they otherwise seem cool.

But hurt her in the right places and she will scream at you and try to rip you apart.

She's the type of character that will adopt  anyone and anything that gives off "sassy lost child" or "baby" vibes.

She gives of "my last two braincell" vibes but she's actually the voice of reason most of the time, and will prevent her friends from doing something stupid.

30: Would your character have any hobbies?

She often gets herself invested in a new thing like a tv show or game and writes detailed analysis of her favorite characters and comes up with au's.

Recently she's taken up drawing again, having given up when she was around 13 due to not being very good and not getting better due to not knowing how to practice. But now she's so glad she has finally gotten good enough to get her concepts out there.

She also sometimes makes polymer clay figurines.

But of course her main thing is taking care of her Pokemon and divising battle strategies and just exploring and learning more. But recently, she feels all the battling and adventuring isn't for her anymore, at least not as a full time thing. She'd rather be a researcher, like a Pokemon professor.

56: What’s one of your character’s quirks?

Oh you chose the right question cause I've got a lot of answers.

First the more psychological quirks

She daydreams almost all the time, and quite vividly too. Ideas for new drawings or other projects, tons of fully fleshed out storylines and character analysis are in there too, usually about whatever she is currently obsessed with. She often thinks about battle strategies or Pokemon in general too. Occasionally she'll ponder over some deep phylosophical question, and she'll incorporate it into her fanworks if she can. But as much as she loves her little world, sometimes it can distract her from real life a bit too much.

She paces and rocks back and forth a lot, mostly while deep in thought. At home, she has a yoga ball she hops on while listening to music for the ultimate daydream experience.

Her focusing face looks like a cross between confused and angry. She often mumbles to herself too, though she mostly isn't aware of it.

If she gets really immersed into a daydream, she will squeal and maybe even wildly gesture with her arms along with the usual rocking and pacing.

She twirls her hair too, usually while working, sometimes so much that it becomes tangled.

She has this thing where she has a compulsion to run her finger along almost every surface she finds, usually tables and walls. She has a few rituals where every day she has to run her finger across a certain surface a certain way and the texture needs to feel just right or she has to do it again, and if she doesn't do that, she gets filed with dread, like something bad will happen because of it, almost like a superstition of some sort.

Her idea of making friends or holding a conversation is infodumping and sharing her enthusiasm for what she loves and hoping you like what you hear, then forcing herself to shut up so you can actually talk about your own thing.

She often smiles while uncomfortable. This, along with how easily she can be agitated into a meltdown, has caused others to accuse her of faking her distress.

She often gets nervous and her mind gets blocked when she gets put on the spot during classes or similar, though she is eager to put her input at her own volition.

Lipanj has taken to calming her down and grounding her by giving her his vine or tail to hold.

She will say goodbye to you before going your seperate ways no matter what, and depending on who you are, will also make sure to tell you something positive and reassure more to herself than to you that you will see each other again.

Now the more random stuff

She is known to have a lot of useful and just plain random stuff in her bag, in part because she wants to be prepared and in part cause she's a bit of a hoarder. She has all the emergency supplies and at least 5 of every item there is in there.

She is very germophobic and constantly washes her hands.

She is fluent in memes and will not hesitate to reference them in public.

Her regular speaking voice is very loud and she perseverates (repeats herself) a lot.

She squints when smiling.

As someone who learned languages through tv as well as someone who is prone to mimicry cause she does not know how to express her emotions otherwise, she often finds herself switching between accents and speaking styles, depending on her mood, situation and the people she is currently around. She can go from a New Yorker to a middle aged Slavic lady in seconds.

Ok that last one was long but kinda wanted to get her general personality out there. Hope that answered everything and thank you for your ask.

[ladylike-foxes]

Thank you, Anon!! ❤️❤️ Have some awkward Solavellan hurt+care and a weird Dorian+Solas bromance moment for @dadrunkwriting 👉😉👉

TW: Blood, painful wounds, sutures, first aid.

~~~

She was relieved to see she was the first to wake up. Although they'd stopped arguing after Solas had screamed at her, she had a feeling it was more a pause than actually considering the matter closed. Though the cot proved an added obstacle, she managed to extricate herself from it and his limbs without rousing him. Despite the screaming pain throughout every inch of her body, it had been worth avoiding picking up the argument first thing in the morning. Her Anchor arm felt so weak as to be almost useless, and she realized she wore the tattered remnants of her clothes from the previous night, stinking of stale sweat and dried blood. Wrinkling her nose, she pulled her shirt off with a barely swallowed yelp; remembering the claw marks on her stomach only after she tore the ripped shirt from where it had dried to the gashes. Her left arm throbbed, threatening immobility should she attempt to raise it again. After a few moments to catch her breath, she loosed the laces of her breeches. Once more, she forgot the burn on her hip until she was peeling the leather away from the angry red wound, unable to help but cry out as the material took several layers of skin with it.

"Come here," She'd woken him, and he moved to sit on the edge of the cot.

She shuffled over, wincing, ruined pants still clinging to her upper thighs. He grasped her kindly, hands firm but soft as they framed her waist and situated her before him. He leaned in closely, she could feel his breath across her hip bone as he examined the scratches left by the Shade. When he hummed thoughtfully, she could swear ushe felt it reverberate through her. Breath came a little faster, pulse picked up slightly, skin flushing warm across her chest and face, standing there half naked under his scrutiny. After a second, he turned her slightly to look at the burn: his warm breath scalding against the raw flesh. Lips pursed as he pulled a face, sighing deeply before waving his hand over one wound and then the others. Releasing her, he rested his elbows on his knees, breathing slow and controlled as he squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn't been able to heal either one completely, and they would certainly scar, but at least the lacerations had closed and the burn was a smaller, healther scab.

"Thank you," Muttering quietly, still wary of a fight.

"I would have done more, but I am attempting to conserve my mana, should it be direly necessary later," Still hunched over, eyes shut, "Dorian and I spent the evening helping to heal the Chargers. No doubt he is exhausted as I."

"I'm sure Bull's people greatly appreciate it," Having turned away to quickly don fresh clothes, "I certainly do."

When she faced him again, he was rubbing his face, and she saw his arm was sloppily bandaged. Impulsively, she moved to grab his wrist for a better look, but he snatched out of her grasp with a startled look. His eyes are particularly stormy today, thinking distractedly.

"You didn't bother to heal your own injuries first?"

"My skills were needed elsewhere," Slightly defensive and a touch accusatory, "I was already weaker than usual."

"Okay, but you should at least let me look at it," Reaching again but slow and deliberate, "I know shit-all about healing magic, but you know shit-all about first aid. Let me see."

Scowling, he reluctantly offered his arm. She unwound the bandage carefully, glad to see it hadn't been dried to the injury as her clothes had been. Running the length of his forearm was a long, deep gash. He had packed it with gauze, but she could see clearly it required stitches if there was any hope of keeping it from infection. She straightened up with a sigh, hands on her hips, anticipating his doubtless objection to her magically-lacking treatment.

"I'm gonna need to stitch that up—" Holding a hand up to cut off his refusal," At least until you feel better enough to heal it yourself."

He didn't attempt to speak again, but looked at her with dubious ire. She shrugged, gesturing for him to follow her outside.

"I'm going to need to see it in the light, if you don't want me to butcher it."

After a minute taken, she was sure, to bitch quietly to himself, he emerged from the tent after her. He turned immediately to Dorian, who looked immensely hungover sitting on the nearest side of the fire, but the Magister was already waving his hand in a weak dismissal.

"Sorry, Solas. As I've already told Halie, I'm too weak myself to tend to your arm," One hand remaining a makeshift visor over his squinting eyes, he pointed to his bag with the other.

"The distilled spirits are in that bottle in the side pocket of my bag, Love."

Halesta grabbed the bottle and then a few clean rags and other things from amongst their own supplies before sitting down, indicating Solas sit beside her.

"What are the spirits for?"

Eyeing her with confusion, but she merely grinned, not allowing him a chance to pull away before pouring half the bottle over the gaping wound. He hissed and spat curses in Elvhen, jerking his arm away again. She smiled to herself and took a small pull from the bottle before setting it aside.

"You might have simply warned me!" Pouting like a child.

"Where's the fun in that? Now, c'mon, lemme see it."

He continued his low muttering in Elvhen, so soft and quickly she was only able to catch the occasional word. Hearing her People's tongue spoken so naturally, regardless of his agitation, was strangely calming. Even his largely nonsensical string of curses had a sort of musical quality. Bending one of her smallest needles into a hook, she sterilzed it along with a pair of tweezers in a small flame she'd easily summoned. Deftly threading the needle, and with one last splash of spirits over the length of colored floss (sage green, of course), she turned her gaze back to him.

"This isn't going to be painless...."

"What in life is?" Sarcastically quipped, "I have had worse, I am certain. Go on."

A strange compulsion came over her. She leaned up and pressed a brisk kiss to the corner of his mouth, then quickly sat to focus on her work before it could be acknowledged. She studied the laceration again; it was fairly deep, though there wasn't too much damage to the actual muscle, which was good. There were a few different sutures she had learned from Mamae. Judging by the width of the wound, the "U"-shaped sack stitch would probably be best. She moved to start, but hesitated...it'd been years since she'd done this. A nervous reflex, she glanced up to see Solas watching her with a small—albeit, slightly wistful—smile, slow blink and nod of confidence. Rolling her eyes at his reassurance, and her apparent need for it, she tucked in. Deliberate, fluid motions, like her mother had taught her back when she thought she'd be without magic. Back when it seemed there was no in studying under her mother as a healer, as Aura had. So Halesta and Laleal had stuck with basic field first-aid; learning to set bones, suture, and a cursory study of medicinal benefits of some common plants. Laleal had never been squeamish about sutures, but Halie’s were always neater. The notion that that she had once been squeamish made her laugh aloud.

“What is amusing?” Her glance flickered up briefly to see her patient arching a brow wryly.

She shook her head, smiling as she continued her mending, “Nothing, really. Just a funny old memory.”

“Pray, tell.”

“Oh, yes!” Dorian turned toward them, Bull appearing at his side, “Story time.”

“Ehh, I don’t know,” Ducking her head with a chuckle, “Even if you did believe me, you’d laugh at me.

“C’monnn, Boss,” Bull leaned in with a drowsy grin, “Spill the beans.”

Sighing dramatically, the heat rushing to her face even as she maintained a steady pace with the stitches. She let them wait for a moment as she knotted and cut another suture.

“Mamae was a healer, and people would come from the nearby villages whenever word spread that our Clan was in the area. Even the worst of the humans were careful to watch their tongue, in case they should need Mamae’s help, which they had the courtesy to assume they’d be refused if she heard them calling us ‘Knife-Ears’.... Though, honestly, she’d have helped them anyway. Wellll, so,“ Trying to focus more on her hands than the story, that old embarrassment creeping up in her throat, “I, uh, was actually very squeamish about this sort of thing as a child. Blood and such, I mean.”

Dorian, Bull, and the more familiar Chargers roared with laughter. Even Solas wasn’t attempting to restrain his chuckling, making it difficult for her to see what she was doing.

“You? Squeamish?” Varric had joined them at some point, his voice emerging from somewhere behind her, “Our Little Bit? I don’t believe it.”

Gently stabbing Solas with the needle so he’d sit still, “I know, I know. The irony, right?”

They teased and laughed for awhile; and maybe it was the time that’d passed or how much she’d changed, but it didn’t seem as embarrassing as it once had. She dabbed at the blood that had started from his wound again, her mind drifting slightly from everything but the repetition of her movements. The conversation around her drifted too, though it sounded distant and indistinct to her at first.

“—You and the Chief were actually quieter than those two,” Krem’s comments to Dorian snapping her out of her reverie, “Between the four of you, I’m surprised Maryden and I got any sleep at all!”

“Yeah, he really laid you out last night, huh, Boss?” A teasing undercurrent to Bull’s tone as he set up the punchline for her.

“And not even in the fun way,” Mock disappointment and a sly sidelong glance to her friends.

They were surrounded by laughter, but the easy kind. The kind that indicated that the subject had been dropped. Solas pouted quietly for a moment; she didn’t dare look up at him and risk his glaring daggers at her.

“Dorian,” His voice low and smooth overhead, nearly distracting her from looping a knot, “May I see that bottle? Is this what you were drinking last night?”

“The Massaad?” Passing the bottle to his free hand, “I didn’t take you for a Sommelier, Solas.”

“Hm,” Amused hum as he examined the bottle in his hand, “I am not. I, however, do need a drink if I am to deal with this heckling all day.”

She looked up in surprise to see his head tossed back and bottle bottom-up, finishing it off with a mere three swallows. Bull barked a laugh while Krem looked nervously at Dorian’s appalled expression.

“That was an extremely rare vintage!!”

“Ir abelas, Falon,” Smiling apologetically, “But, I do have...countless resources at my disposal. I swear to procure you another to replace it.”

Dorian seem to consider this, appearing mollified.

“Wait,” The Magister’s tone surprisingly lighthearted, “Before or after you destroy the world?”

Solas actually laughed along with Dorian, while Halie looked between the two men, needle frozen in the air and her mouth slightly agape.

[mayor-crumblepot]

Hello!! Would you be open to making a fanfiction about 514A/ either of the valeska twins? It's never been done and i think it could be really good !!

hello, anon!

i’ve actually been thinking about this concept a lot, so i’m happy to do this. i’m gonna write it in my teen rogues au, if ya don’t mind

As much animosity as there could be between them, Bruce and Five have taken a liking to each other. Something about having the same face creates a bond between people; and Bruce’s desperation to see the good in everyone leaves him with Five as the closest thing to a sibling he’s ever had. 

It isn’t awful— Five adopts plenty of routines that Bruce himself has, makes a solid attempt to be just as remarkably put together as Bruce is. There’s just something a little off about him. 

His hair never goes quite the right way. Five always looks like he styled his hair with shaking hands, a messy head of waves that he has to hold out of his eyes. Even with help from Bruce, he can’t quite get the impeccable fashion sense down, instead opting for things that swallow him up and make him feel safe. Above it all, he’s strange. 

Not rude, not scary, not cruel— just strange. He mumbles to himself, he looks through people on occasion, and everything he writes in his notebooks is accompanied by strangely harsh doodles and designs, little schematics that make less sense than he seems to think they do. 

People don’t like Five that much. It doesn’t bother him, not as much as he figures it should, but he can’t help but try and figure out ways to make himself more palatable. 

He can get a haircut, he can dress nicely, he can keep his mouth pressed shut; these things will last for a week, at most, but it doesn’t change anything. Five is conceded to his comfortable invisibility, and the most he can figure is that it could be worse. 

He could be Jonathan Crane. Now that’s a nightmare. 

No matter how often Bruce invites Five to eat lunch with him, he politely declines. Eating around other people feels like a death sentence, to him, and he’s always got something he could be working on. Instead, he spends his lunchtime in the library, secretly nursing a bag of crackers as he travels from aisle to aisle. 

Normally, the library is empty during lunch, except for a handful of people trying to finish assignments before their next class. Rarely ever do any of them venture into the bookshelves, instead hovering near the computers at the entrance— Five always feels alone. That is, until another hand tries to take the book he’s reaching for. 

The first thing Five thinks about is if this is going to be a fight or flight situation. Unlike some of the other students, he hasn’t been in too many fights, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t prepared. 

“Sorry,” and it sounds mostly sincere, so Five lets the muscles in his arms loosen up just a little, “what a coincidence.” 

“Coincidence,” when Five looks up at the other person, he’s met with a version of a face that he knows. How strange. Is this is how people feel when they look at him? Do they really just see his face as a butchered version of Bruce’s? That’s so sad. 

The both of them are still holding the book, a collection of poetry that Five can’t even remember why he wanted in the first place. “If you need it,” the boy, Jeremiah, if Five remembers properly (which is a toss up as it is), says, “I don’t really—”

“No,” Five immediately drops his hand, takes two steps back, and turns around.  He walks straight out of the library, down the stairs, and into the smallest bathroom on campus. That’s where he hides, until the bell rings and he walks to class with his head down. 

The next time Five sees Jeremiah, the boy is fighting with his brother. Maybe the proper word is scrapping, because whatever it is they’re doing, barely anyone is all that concerned about it. 

Jerome has his arm wrapped around Jeremiah’s neck, loosely holding him in a headlock, talking on and on. Five has come in too late to truly understand what’s being talked about, and with Jerome, it’s truly imperative to have been around since the beginning of a tirade. He watches as Jeremiah tilts his head back, then bites down harshly on the soft part of Jerome’s arm. When he pulls away, he has blood on his lips and Jerome is yelling, then laughing. Of course. 

By the time the two of them separate, neither of them seems very angry. 

When Jeremiah passes Five in the hallway, just afterward, there’s still blood on his mouth when he smiles. It feels like he’s been thrown off the edge of the cliff, like he’s stuck in a constant free fall, and Five knows exactly where this is going.

What a terrible development. 

“Are you trying to get close to Bruce by talking to me?” Five is in the library again, sitting at one of the tables in the back, papers and library books spread out in front of him, disorganized. At the opposite side of the table, Jeremiah stands there, notebook held closely against his chest. “Because it’s not going to work. That’s not how it works.” 

“I imagine the best way to get close to Bruce would be by talking to him,” Jeremiah is reserved, and Five can’t help but realize that he isn’t quite as talkative as his brother— it’s a shame, his voice is so much less obnoxious, “which would explain why I’m not talking to him. Because I’m not trying to get close to him.” He puts his notebook down on the table, and Five can’t help but marvel at the fact that the thing is pristine. Perfectly clean, no dents or bends, no scribbled down notes on the cover— he feels like a mess in comparison.

“Then what are you trying to do?” 

“Get to know you,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing, “would you rather I didn’t?” 

On instinct, Five almost says yes. He almost tosses a book from the tabletop at the perfect center of Jeremiah’s face, at the place where his glasses sit on his nose. “People don’t usually do that,” he admits, pushing a few things out of the way so that Jeremiah can sit down, “that’s all.” 

“It’s fine,” Jeremiah drops his backpack on the floor, leans heavily on the table to see what Five is doing, “what’s that you’re working on?”

It becomes a routine, Jeremiah meeting Five in the library during lunch to go over whatever he’s working on. Five is as imaginative as they come, but he lacks a confidence in his own mind, lacks the ability to commit to a single concept long enough to find out if it will actually work. Alternatively, Jeremiah is committed to a fault. If something isn’t working, it isn’t his fault, but rather the item itself— it’s a can of worms Five doesn’t really care to open. 

And then, one day, Jeremiah is late. Not only is Jeremiah late, but when he does show up, his nose is dripping blood onto the floor and his eye is swollen. It’s obvious he’s tried to rub a stain out of his shirt in the bathroom, leaving the neckline rumpled; what bothers Five the most is how his stomach flips at the sight, how it keeps him rooted to the chair, lest he seem over eager to help. 

“What’s all that about?” Five gestures vaguely at Jeremiah’s face, following a drop of blood as it drips from Jeremiah’s chin, down into the carpet beneath his feet. 

“Sharing my brother’s face comes with consequences,” he says cryptically, grabbing an entire box of tissues from the librarian’s empty desk before making himself comfortable at their usual table, “they apologized, though. Doesn’t exactly fix anything, but—”

“Why do you refer to your face as your brother’s?” 

“What?” 

“’Sharing my brother’s face,’” it takes some effort, but Five closes all of his books and sets them aside, “Why do you say it like that?” The question seems to surprise Jeremiah, and faintly, he wonders if he’s been assuming Five to be a bit less intelligent than he really is. 

“Jerome uses his looks as a tool. Because of that, people identify him very heavily by his looks,” Jeremiah smooths his hair back, unaware that it’s been irreparably dislodged, “and that’s fine. He’s made a use of our face— it’s his, more than it is mine.” 

“That seems like a very lonely way to think about it.” At this point, Five doesn’t try to make it seem like he isn’t staring— he watches as the swelling in Jeremiah’s eye seems to take on life, take on a pulsing and beating as time passes. It looks terrible. 

“Don’t you feel the same way about Bruce?” 

“We’re not twins,” he waves his hand passively, “it’s not the same. Nobody mistakes us unless we want them to. At worst, he’s Bruce, and I’m Not-Bruce.” 

“I’d say that sounds very lonely, as well,” Jeremiah dabs another tissue at his nose, eventually giving up and tilting his head back. All Five can do is shrug at him, feeling a little bit exposed. The two of them sit in silence, Five staring as Jeremiah attempts to not choke on the blood going down his throat, until it finally trickles to a stop. He gives his nose another harsh rub with a tissue, “How does it look? Is there any blood left?” 

“Oh, lots. It looks great.” 

In a surprising development to the both of them, it’s Five who initiates something. On the side of the building, as Five waits for his bus, he listens as Jeremiah goes on and on about something he’s trying to build. It’s hard for him to follow, most of the time, considering how often he finds himself spacing out, but he does try his hardest. Even Jeremiah can see that, and he’s willing to repeat himself— something he’s very rarely seen doing. 

“There’s got to be an issue with the wiring between the fan and the motor, but every time I look at it, everything seems right, and I don’t want to dismantle it because it looks so good right now, and I just—” Five pulls Jeremiah down by the arm and plants a kiss on his cheek. Immediately, he disengages and heads toward his bus as it idles in the pickup lane.

“You’ll figure it out. You’re smart.” 

And of course, Jeremiah can’t even be bothered to think about the fan and motor and wiring, because he’s too busy trying to figure out why Five would kiss him. He writes flow charts, he tries to create premises and build arguments, all of it eludes him. 

When he asks Jerome, something he knows is a mistake from the moment he steps foot in his brother’s room, all Jerome does is laugh. “Man, you’re fucking stupid,” he says, not getting up from the strange position he’s taken up on his bed, “either he’s into you or he’s making fun of you. Hopefully, he’s making fun of you.” Jeremiah throws a pillow at Jerome before leaving his room, shutting the door harshly behind him. From behind the door, Jerome yells, “Are you guys gonna fuck? That’s so gross! You’d better not!” All Jerome has done is make things harder to understand— and he has the audacity to call Jeremiah stupid. As if. 

The last thing Jeremiah wants to do is show that he’s confused, though, so when he goes into school the next day, he’s as confident as ever. He’s even wearing a tie; the one that Jerome absolutely can’t stand. Jeremiah goes right up to Five at his locker, stares him down as if the extended attention is going to give him every answer he wants. It doesn’t, of course.

“Hi,” Five says, amidst his effort to declutter his locker just enough to fit his books inside of it, “why are you staring at me?” 

“Why did you kiss me?” Jeremiah thinks he’s won something when Five goes still, arms suspended in the landfill that is his locker. 

“Does it bother you that much?”

“It bothers me that I don’t know why.” 

“I like you,” he says flatly, and then, a smirk threatens at the edges of his mouth, “would you rather I didn’t?” 

Jeremiah wants to come up with something witty to say, something clever and reflective of his massive intellect— instead he leans down and kisses Five. When he tries to straighten up, Five pulls him back down by his tie, and Jeremiah feels like his heart might come out of his chest. 

From somewhere down the hallway, Jerome shuts his locker harshly. “Get a room,” he says, loudly, and Jeremiah is so busy that he doesn’t even notice. 

[piperemerald]

Blue

When Connor was ten years old he was allowed to walk to their neighborhood’s park all by himself. He didn’t use this privilege often. A few of the neighborhood boys went to the same elementary school as him. Ever since the printer incident, they’d decided that it would be fun to pick on the weird boy who tried to hurt their favorite teacher.

Zoe was eight and not supposed to go outside without a parent. She didn’t think it was fair. Connor remembered one day she had been crying because their mother was busy and father was at work and if she didn’t go to the park right then all of the other kids would pick all of the flowers and she wouldn’t get any.

Looking back, Connor could recognize that she was only saying this because she wanted to go outside. Ten-year-old him didn’t understand that. Zoe had always been smarter than him.

So he’d ran out of the house and to the tiny, shitty park. She’d been right about all the other kids being there. He tried to ignore the jeers. Once the tall boy a year older than him had pushed him into the swing set. Connor didn’t run home crying, but he had told his parents when they asked were the bruise came from. Connor could still remember how angry his father sounded when he called the boy’s parents.

Since then the other kids didn’t try to touch Connor. Instead they called him names and he pretended that didn’t hurt just as much. After a while, he realized it was just easier to stay away from everyone.

But this time Connor didn’t care. This time he ran through the grass with his fingers in his ears until he came across a patch of bright blue flowers. He remembered dropping to his knees, causing a grass stain that would take his mother an hour to remove. Quickly, he’d plucked flower after flower until his tiny hands could barely carry the bouquet.

Then he stood and started running again. He didn’t slow until he was back at his front door. Zoe was still crying when he scrambled into the living room, but her eyes brightened when he stuffed the bright blue flowers into her arms.

Connor would never forget that image of his little sister beaming at him with flowers spilling out of her hands. For a long time blue flowers made him smile. They reminded him that if he tried hard enough he could be a good brother.

Now they made him sick.

It felt cruelly fitting that the petals blossoming in his throat were the same bright blue as the flowers ten year old him had given to his sister. It was because Connor wasn’t allowed to have anything happy. Every chance of something nice and normal he neared was always going to be ripped away from him. The flowers were there to remind him of that in more ways than one.

Connor had heard of the disease as a child. His parents hadn’t been the ones to teach it to him or his sister. Instead a teacher had made a comment he didn’t understand, sending him to the internet where he quickly became familiar with the results of the most unlucky situations.

He’d then told Zoe, because he wasn’t always the good big brother who gave her flowers. It scared her more than it did him. He didn’t understand that much, and told his parents exactly that when he they found her crying and him sitting next to her with bemusement.

Zoe was never going to experience unrequited love. She was perfect and always had been. For Connor on the other hand, it was only a matter of time. No one was going to love him.

His parents hadn’t believed that he actually thought this. They assumed he was just trying to divert their anger. Now as he crouched over the toilet spitting up bright blue petals, savoring the irony was the farthest thought from his mind.

“Connor?” Zoe stopped knocked a while ago, but usually waited until he told her it was okay to come in.

When she first caught him, she’d been relieved. He wasn’t sure how long it would be before him spending an extended time alone in their bathroom didn’t make her jump to the fear he was trying to off himself. She’d immediately volunteered to take him to the hospital to get the flowers and feelings surgically removed, but he refused.

He’d been in pain his entire life, he wasn’t ready to let go of the one thing that had the smallest silver lining. It was stupid. But Connor was stupid.

“Yeah,” he called weakly.

She entered then. He didn’t look up when she took a seat next to him.

“It’s getting worse,” she commented.

He didn’t have the energy to argue with her. It was getting worse.

--

It had been the first day of senior year. Connor hadn’t wanted to go to school. Sometimes he wondered if everything would have been avoided if he’d been allowed that or if fate would have found a way to throw him in the path of that boy either way. It was funny, Connor used to not believe in fate.

He’d been late. Well, he’d been trying to ditch but suddenly thought better of it. Something inside him wanted to try a little bit. That was why he’d gotten in the car that day instead of insisting that he stay home. He couldn’t really put it to words, especially since he was so close to the edge at the same time. Maybe part of him wanted to latch onto some reason to keep suffering through.

He didn’t get it that day.

Literally running into the person you’re destined to be at the mercy of felt cliche. That was probably why it happened exactly like that. Just another reason Connor’s life was a giant, fucked up joke. He blamed being high for his lack of depth perception. He wasn’t sure what the boy his shoulder slammed into used as an excuse. The force nocked them both over, sending the books in the kid’s hands scattered across disgusting ground of the school hallway.

“I’m sorry,” the boy yelped, even though Connor was pretty sure it was both of their faults.

It took a second for Connor to realize this was the same kid he’d yelled at earlier that day. For a second, he just watched the kid scramble to collect his things with only one hand. That was about when the guilt set in. Connor really had found the worst person to let his misdirected anger out on.

“Here,” Connor grabbed a flimsy notebook and held it out to the boy.

“Thanks,” he quickly snatched the book, not making eye contact.

This would have been the right time for Connor to apologize, but Connor wasn’t good at that. He couldn’t even say that to Zoe or his mother, the two people who should probably hear those words from him on a daily basis.

“No one signed your cast,” Connor said instead.

“Oh, um,” the boy glanced to his arm and then back to Connor. “Yeah, I know.”

“Do you want me to?” He offered.

“You don’t have to,” the boy stammered.

“You have a sharpie?” Connor asked.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to write his name in large bold letters. Maybe he was a little angry at how blank it was, and wanted to fill as much space as he could. He didn’t necessarily like this kid, he didn’t even know him, but he knew what it felt like to have no one. It wasn’t something he’d wish on someone else.

“Thanks.”

Connor watched the boy’s eyes trace the large, scribbled writing.

“Your name’s Evan, right?” Connor was fairly certain that they’d been in the same class a handful of times. Not that Connor payed much attention to his classmates, or anyone for that matter.

“Yeah,” the boy nodded. “Evan Hansen.”

“I’m Connor,” he stated.

“I know.”

For a second Connor felt a knot form in his stomach. Of course Evan knew him. Everyone one knew the stupid, violent, stoner. Their entire high school was either afraid of him or thought he was a pathetic joke. Then Connor realized Evan was still looking at the cast.

“Oh.” He felt completely awkward but not at all embarrassed and it made no sense what so ever. “Right.”

“Yeah,” Evan mumbled. “I’ll, um, I’ll see you around, Connor.”

“Probably,” Connor mumbled as Evan turned to rush to whatever class he was currently missing the beginning of.

Connor watched him go. At the time, his thoughts were to preoccupied by wondering whether or not he should try to make it to class as well to notice that Evan Hansen was wearing a bright blue shirt.

It started slow. His throat started hurting after the first day of school, but he’d thought he was coming down with a cold. He didn’t realize the connection until the second time he found himself stuck in the same place as Evan Hansen.

Connor liked to spend lunch at the back of the library. The school librarians didn’t seem to care and he’d vowed never to set foot in the school’s cafeteria again. So instead he didn’t eat during the school day and spent the too short forty-five minutes reading. A good number of his classmates thought he was getting high in the parking lot. He wasn’t that stupid.

The back of the library was quiet and relaxing, which was rare for a corner of their high school. It was one of the few places where Connor came close to feeling calm. That was ruptured when, in a burst, Evan Hansen darted into the aisle Connor was camping out in.

“I’m sorry,” Evan sputtered when he saw Connor. “I didn’t think anyone was here, I can leave.”

If it were anyone else, Connor probably wouldn’t have said anything.

“You don’t have to,” he stated instead.

“Oh,” the words surprised Evan. That was fair, they sort of surprised Connor as well. “Okay, thanks.”

Tentatively, Evan sat down a few feet away from him. Connor watched him nervously pick at the end of his cast. It had been a week and Connor’s name was still just as bold across it. There weren’t any other names added. Poor kid.

“What are you running from?” Connor asked, partly out of curiosity and partly because if Evan was going to sit there for the next forty minutes it wasn’t going to be in awkward silence.

“I’m not,” Evan stammered.

“You’re a bad liar,” Connor let him know.

“Thanks,” Evan muttered.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Connor added. “Just making conversation.”

“I told some people that I’d eat lunch with them,” Evan started. “But I kinda can’t.”

From where Connor was sitting, Evan wasn’t exactly in the position to be turning potential friends away. Then again, if Connor couldn’t walk into the school’s cafeteria, then he doubted that this kid could any easier.

“So you’re hiding from them?” Connor summed up.

“I guess,” Evan mumbled.

“Who?”

“What?” Evan blinked at him.

“Who are the people you’re hiding from?” He clarified.

“Oh,” Evan his fingers were still tracing his cast. “Do you know Jared Kleinman and Alana Beck?”

Yes. The former was the reason Connor had initially lashed out at Evan, and the latter was the only person who actually made an effort to talk to him.

“They’re great and all,” Evan quickly said. “I just…”

“Talking is a lot sometimes,” Connor stated.

“Yeah,” Evan was looking at him like he’d just told him the meaning of life. “It is.”

Connor was staring, but Evan had sort of started it. For a second, Evan completely opened up. His eyes actually met Connor’s instead of darting away in an act of caution. Connor hadn’t noticed the freckles dusted over Evan’s nose and cheeks before. He hadn’t realized someone so skittish was capable of smiling like that. Sure, it was small and probably just as hesitant as everything Evan said to him was, but it was directed at Connor and Connor alone.

Suddenly Connor was coughing.

“Are you okay?” Evan asked, his eyes filling with worry.

“Yeah,” Connor tasted blood. “Actually, I’ll be right back. Can you watch my bag?”

“Yeah, sure,” Evan nodded.

Connor pulled himself to his feet and had to force his legs not to bolt to the bathroom. He reminded himself where he was. One boy smiling at him shouldn’t be enough to dispel his armor. Calmly, he walked out of the library. Calmly, he opened the bathroom door. Calmly, he let himself spit what wasn’t just blood.

Then he punched the bathroom wall.

Full fic here

[funkymbtifiction]

Typing Help

Hi - I’d like to ask for your help about typing as I’m really doubting myself being an INFP; because of certain mental health issues (Depression/ADHD/ASD) in my family and maybe with myself, I’m kind of thinking that some of those traits related to those issues have affected me and influenced my typing result instead of showing how I really think, or how I really am.

The only thing I’m certain of is being an enneagram 4, and that’s it.

Mod note: ISFP.

Your early sections were Fi/Te indicative, so I’ll keep them private and focus on Se vs Ne.

Intuition-Based Questions: *

Do you find it easier to describe things in vague or detailed terms?

Detailed. As no extra thought has to be put in to figure out what something is saying. Then again; when the language is abstract and out there and too long - I get lost. If it’s simple English I’m good. Just don’t be vague - It’s unhelpful and I guess what I’m saying is talk is cheap.

Sounds like a sensor before an intuitive.

Can you describe the intuitive connections you see in the world in easily-understood terms for others to understand or struggle to put them into words?

Not well; the best I’ve come to describing it is a tangled-web of sorts or something thats always “there” and is linked to what I see and observe.

Could be Ni.

How much of your natural focus is on a singular vision of the future?

i guess I’m generally a future-oriented person; a bit optimistic and idealistic in a way. I try not to look back and I’m always looking forward to what happens next. I’m not that much stuck in the past. My focus is generally the present; because the future is intangible and I suck at motivating myself to make what I want happen.

Se/Ni. INFPs get stuck in the past too much, due to tert-Si constantly interfering with their thought process, but you prefer the present (Se) and the future (Ni).

How often do you abandon projects midway through and why? How long have you stuck with certain interests and why do you value them?

It happens fairly often with me. I can’t follow through and I procrastinate because I’ll think I’m not good enough or that whatever I’m going to do is not going to plan. I don’t stick to things quickly - as it soon becomes monotonous and painful to do. What I do stick with - I.e, music, gaming, reading and drawing I keep as there is always new things to do, learn about as well.

Lower Te problems + sensory focus.

Do you place too much faith, or not enough, in your own hunches? Are they specific or prone to changing with more information?

My hunches are dead-on specific but I’ll leave them be and focus on what’s happening - because I don’t trust how quick they are to arise. They can sometimes change based on information available but the hunches I get are simply from small cues in observation or the “vibes” that I get about people or surroundings.

Se/Ni, IMO.

What happens to you more often: you become fixated and unable to change your direction or you cannot choose between possibilities?

I can’t choose what to do because my idea corresponds to what I want to do; yet there is considering what may be better. I’m pretty uncertain - yet I think what I said may be down to direction as opposed to possibilities.

Sounds like a strong ability to focus and zero in on what you want -- Fi/Ni.

Can you take someone else’s idea and expand it without needing down time, or do you prefer subconscious mulling over an idea before you accept it?

I’m quick witted - I suppose but I need time to think and visualise an idea out before anything can happen. Sometimes I do come up with stuff instanteously - but it’s no good at all.

No Ne.

When approaching a new situation in which you have no experience, what do you do? (Leap in and assume you can handle it, or try and relate it to a former experience as a guideline?)

I try it out and see what happens I guess. I do leap and bite off more than I can chew, so to speak.

Se.

How confident are you in being sensory-aware and attentive to the environment? Can you describe a situation in which you did both? Is it often?

I can be sensory aware and active to a decent degree - but due to I’m observing something else in my environment/because of what I think is a short attention span - I’m out of it entirely/ or being focused on anticipation instead of doing - I suck at being sensory aware. A squash coach asked what my favourite subject is - and I said science; and she said that my poor performance makes sense as I’ve naturally conditioned myself to think at 100 mph; but when I am focused everything is fine. I guess lack of self esteem stems into the physical as well; because If I feel inconfident or confused I feel like my coordination is off. As for attentiveness. - a good example is when my family and I were watching  The Godfather Part 2 (I was popping in and out of watching with them) and there was one scene where the Corleone brothers were in Cuba and they were talking about Mafia killings and what might happen; and I noticed a small change in one of the men’s faces and a slow-shift/lean-back in his chair and I knew, just then that he must have snitched about something. And my parents who saw the movies in their entirety said I was correct.

Thank you for proving to anyone who reads this that Se can be rubbish at sensory awareness sometimes, and zero in on a minute detail leading into a Ni conclusion at others. ;)

What areas in which do you ‘lose control’ or act different from yourself when upset, pressured for time, and forced to take immediate action?

My behaviour changes a lot. Does a complete 180°. When I’m pressured and upset I’ll let you know - but in the worst way possible. Saying backhanded comments under my breath and just generally being angry at others; and being miserable all the damn time - and just general acting up even when the smallest of things don’t go my way.

Possible low Te manifesting.

What is something that nags at you every day, as if you feel you should be ‘better’ at this than you are?

I think my general focus is one thing that annoys me a lot - like I just cannot think straight at all because I guess I’m either somewhere else or just focused on my environment and surroundings and looking all over tbe place; so I guess that’s why I don’t get things done when I should. Also making clear and decisive decisions is also something that bugs at me a lot - and then there’s also trying to think before I speak instead of having an outburst or saying something that isn’t nice at all.

Low Te envying higher Te and more diplomatic approaches.

What have others said about or admired in you and complained about?

They say that even though I’m quiet I’m enthusiastic with getting involved in a lot of things. People also always say that I seem to have a quiet confidence about me - but I don’t think that’s true. My parents say that I’m kind and that I’m always willing to champion an underdog- and that I have admirable ethics;they also say I have keen bursts of exact and strong intuition as well. Some have complained that I sometimes let things get the better of me - like my emotions and also mulling over things before they even happen; and feeling like there is no escape from that outcome; therefore I procrastinate a lot. Some people also say I’m a bit “soft” - when it comes to emotions in general; and I’m super prone to self-deprecation. I’ve also been described as a bit chaotic, goofy, silly and funny by some and yeah, a bit strange.

What do you admire most in other people?

That they are confident in being who they truly are - and they have certain talents and traits that make them unique and stick out from the rest of the crowd. Also that they fit in and that they have close connections with others. I don’t know - maybe because I’m a private person or I’m so moody that  I don’t notice my friends around me- I’m not sure at all.

ISFP.

- ENFP Mod

[always-lurking-over-my-shoulder]

Its one of those nights

I don’t even know why I am grieving anymore. Is it because of Taylor? a fictional character who I barely remember? Is it because of whatever happened to me and I also can’t recall? Perhaps is the situation I’m trapped in. This... habitat. It’s too small. We are ten creatures (eleven counting zarya) trapped in a container that has only 4 rooms and one bathroom. Two of those rooms are dedicated for nesting, one is for storage and the last one if the common area that also doubles as food supply.  Worst thing of all, three of us share one nesting site that’s not even big enough for us and 4 of the other sometimes joins us at the nests.

I miss Taylor. I was just crying about them after watching the final episode of Kipo. Hugo died, I’m not tagging spoilers, this is my private yet public diary, I have no idea of how you got here if you’re not me and have no access to my account, by the way. Anyway I was so sentimental over that death. I hate self sacrificing assholes that find someone to die for. I hate that. I hate that they’re redeemed that way. I just. They think they have to fix things. They do, but they had already done it. THEY HAD ALREADY. IT WAS NOT NECESSARY TAYLOR. SO WHAT IF SHE DIES? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE DIE. I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL! I KNOW YOU THINK THIS IS SOMETHING YOU CAN MAKE RIGHT ON YOUR OWN. THAT YOU CAN UNDO THE INJUSTICE OR AT LEAST AVENGE IT. THAT YOU CAN SAVE EVERYONE EVEN AT THE COST OF YOUR OWN LIFE.

I thought the same. I thought that If I died I would fix everything. I know you might not have been suicidal. But I was. I thought everything was going to be fine because it was my fault and It would be just. I still think I am better off alone and that my loved ones should stay away from me. But I no longer think that I should die. Because I have people that care, Tay. You had a family to go back to, a cat. Friends.  A future.  Loving... you had love. You had a home to return to. One that was not broken. A loving, caring home. They’ll never find out what happened to you. Not really. We both know they’ll cover it up. 

You’re fictional, and never really knew me. Just.... trivial, fake details that I had to choose because it was coded that way. I wanted. I truly thought of it. I knew I was going to die young. Of course I’m still here but we’re less than a blink in scale to the universe’s age so I’ll be dead before it dies, or it will die with me, I’m not sure. Remember that dumb line you did? when I made a self sacrificing joke a heartfelt compliment because of course I would choose that option? That kept me alive. I thought... we’d make it through this. It made me feel hope. I... I love you for it. I am starved of kindness, I had love before, but not tenderness. I didn’t had that warmth, despite my parents burning everything they had so I didn’t had to pass cold nights like they did. I felt wanted. Taylor I felt like my life had a purpose. 

I know you’re not real, and it is an interactive story and that I had no true control over the outcome. I now know that. But in that moment? I needed that. I remember it, I was in vacation, in the hotel room laying in bed. We were a street from the beach. I don’t know if it was night though, it probably was because my parents weren’t looking at me crying my eyes out. They probably were awake though, I have been told i can mask my feelings very well. You know, your dating video said you like long walks in the beach. I know that’s just a cliché thing to say and I did not know that information back then because I just assumed everything I liked was made in a vacuum. But the beach was a street away, Tay. 

I no longer go to the beach. My family is broken and I have the financial problems of being in college and unemployed. I wish I could have share that with you. Sitting on the beach, Maybe just walking. I hate the sand sticking to my skin, but I wouldn’t mind it if It were for you. I write to you like if you were real because you felt like a friend to me and I cannot cope with your death. Because you are dead. The franchise was discontinued, your writer lost the rights to the story and the last entry in the franchise was an utter dishonor to your legacy. It wasn’t you. We never met and yet here I am, five and something years later, still mourning you. 

Maybe I’ll never recover. I have a roleplay with my best friend. She plays you. We pretend you fell in love with me. We pretend that you made it alive. It was before the last game went out, so you left us all guessing after your impulsive decision at the blackhole. I mourned you. God fucking damn it I MOURNED YOU. I SCREAMED AND CRIED AND I WANTED TO DIE. MORE THAN EVER. YOU LEFT ME. YOU LEFT ME YOU WERE ALL I HAD AND YOU RATHER DIE THAN. 

I know what why you did it. You have a moral code. You’re a good person and you cared and were raised on all those stories about heroes and how they always save the day, sometimes giving their life for it. And making a sacrifice for the greater good and all that shit. I am not a good person, Taylor. I’m INCREDIBLY selfish. As one should be. I wanted you alive. I wanted you to go back home and get to your family so we never have to talk again and I could kill myself in peace. You took that away from me. I was so angry that you dared to die on me. YOU DIED ON ME. I KNOW YOU WANTED TO BE HOPEFUL BECAUSE ITS AND ARTIFICIAL BLACKHOLE BUT TAYLOR ITS STILL A FUCKING BLACKHOLE, YOU ARE DEAD. YOU DIED. And I survived. It was supposed to be the other way around. 

I don’t think I deserve what I have. I know I do, its a fundamental right a a human being, I believe in human rights and that everyone is entitled to safety. But me being here. Being at home, this broken, stupid house. I’m here when you’re dead. Your family never saw you again. I don’t know if they ever stopped grieving, I cannot meet them, because none of you are real. But I know I haven’t stopped. 

I want to say that I think every day of you, but I don’t. I continued my life. I didn’t move on, I still have the app in my phone and I continue roleplaying with Holly because we’re friends and I care for the future of those characters and I honestly don’t want to die without finishing it. And i sure as hell don’t want Holly to die. I’m scared for her. I know that she’s fine. She’s probably going to be fine. No one that’s close to me ever dies. They might be hurt but they’re fine eventually. The only one that died I did not care for her. I also did not care for my grandmother. I think is this house. And Twings. Mostly Twings. And I’m grateful for this. 

I got into college, Tay. When I met you I was in a very bad place and in high  school. I was underage and I feel in love with you. I outlived you, Taylor. Eventually I’ll be older than you, very soon actually. I’ll be older than you were. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you. I don’t know if its love, or obsession or... whatever this is. But it hurt so much. Its debilitating sometimes. Like right now. I’m in love with fragments of a person. With conversations that I don’t remember. I pride myself in knowing everything about your story, but to be honest? I am glad I’m forgetting it. Maybe It will go away someday.

I promised you I would remember you. But I’m slipping. All I have is pain and nebulous touches. We never touched.  All I did was read about you and choose. I learned a whole new language because I made a mistake the first time we meet because I couldn’t fully read what I was choosing and I killed you. I didn’t really do it, I know, its just an outcome in an interactive story. Plus it wasn’t my fault I was a kid and I was not supposed to talk someone out of fucking suicide. How would I know? Taylor you wanted to die. To give up and let them infect you. 

Oh god that’s where I got it. you died because i couldn’t convince you. You did this to me. I cannot.  You did this to me, Taylor. At the smallest sign of someone talking about killing themselves I just cry and panic and want to run away but I never do. I never do because I’m afraid they will die because I couldn’t convince them. So now I act as a support. I used to act as a support. I learned how to make people do what I want, It was a skill I was already developing, but I guess that failure messed me up even more.

I suppressed that memory, of your existence for a while because I was a kid. I don’t want to write anymore, Tay.  I’m tired and I am not done talking to you. I fear that I will never be done. I wish I had the opportunity to be your friend. Even if you did not correspond. I miss you. 

[buckywintersoldierbarnes2017]

Prank War.

Request from anon: Could you please write a tonyxteen daughter!reader where she usually pranks everyone and the team wants to get revenge. thank you so much and sorry if my english is not good enough, i´m from Spain hehehe

Tony Stark x Teen Daughter!Reader

Word: 1,756

Warnings: Nothing that I can really think of other than the mention of a small injury (knock to the head)....and a grumpy Bucky haha!

Disclaimer: None of the GIFs used are mine so all credit goes to their creators <3

“[Y/N]!!!”

The angry voice boomed through the corridors on the floor where The Avengers lived and it just fuelled the amusement that you were already experiencing. You hadn’t been there to see what had happened first hand but you didn’t need to be because you had set the whole thing up and by the angry shout of your name it was clear that the prank worked wonderfully!

“I swear to god [y/n] you better show your face now!”

It was Bucky who had fallen victim this time and out of the whole team he was the only one who didn’t really seem to have a sense of humour when it came to this kind of stuff…which made him all that more entertaining to target. You backed up into a room as you covered your mouth with your hand to muffle your laugh only to hear an all too familiar clearing of a throat.

Plastering an innocent smile onto your face you quickly turned on the balls of your feet to meet your dad….the one and only Tony Stark himself.

“Dad! What a nice surprise!”

He quirked a single brow at you as he folded his arms across his chest. Oh good lord…..he was giving you the look.

“What did you do this time?”

“Me?” You pointed a finger into your own chest and feigned a look of complete innocence. “I haven’t done anything! I have been studying all-“

“[y/n] you realise that F.R.I.D.A.Y sees everything so I could just find out off her right?”

“First of all ‘she’ is an ‘it’ dad…..it’s a computer not a person. Second of all it was just a prank. It’s not like I tried burning the tower down or anything.” You continue to try and look as innocent as possible but given the look on his stern face he clearly wasn’t about to fall for it anytime soon. A frustrated sigh escaped your lips as all the amusement you had once felt now dissipated completely (you dad to be an expert at sucking the fun out of things.) “Fine I…”

Before you could even finish getting the words out of your mouth the door to the room flew open, almost coming right off its hinges, and a white figure stood in the doorway causing you to turn away from your dad and face Bucky instead. His shoulders were rising up and down from his heavy, angry, breathing. Although the majority of the super soldier’s body was absolutely covered in white flour you could still make out the unmistakable gleam of his metal arm. That was when a burst of laughter erupted from behind you taking you by complete surprise.

“Oh my god! I can’t…..I can’t even bring myself to tell you off [y/n]!” Tony’s words were barely even coming out coherently as his hysterical laughter consumed his words. “You look like you’ve been rolling around in a pile of snow there Tin Man!”

Now it was you that was trying hard not to laugh, biting down hard onto your bottom lip, of course Bucky was nowhere near amused, at all, about the situation.

“You should be careful what you do around here little girl. You shouldn’t start a war that you have no hope of winning. The others may put up with your constant pranks…..but I won’t….”

Oh the comebacks that were lining up, one by one, in your mind were desperate to be vocalised but even you knew that when the super soldier was in one of these little moods of his it would be best not to provoke him even more so you left them unsaid as he stormed back out of the room to go clean himself up. Of all the people who could have walked into that little trap of yours you were so glad it was him….it was going to take him HOURS to get all the flour out from between the metal plates of his arm.

At least he couldn’t moan about being bored.

Tony was still laughing hysterically from the sight he had just been met with and so you used this as your opportunity to slip out of the room unnoticed so that you could get back to the room you had here before he changed his mind about punishing you.

                                           * * * * * * * * * *

You had only been laid on your bed reading one of your books but you must have been more tired than you had realised because before long you found yourself waking up. The book that had once been in your hands was now on the floor…the pages a crumpled heap from the way that it had hit the floor.

A tired groan escaped your lips as you rolled off your bed and onto your feet. Given the fact that you hadn’t woken up before now your dad had obviously not changed his mind about telling you off for the prank that Bucky had fallen victim too. 

Good. You thought to yourself. The old man needs to learn how to have some fun.

Your belly rumbled at that moment, alerting you to the fact that you hadn’t eaten anything in a number of hours now, and so the kitchen was the only destination you had in your mind. Although he had been incredibly annoyed with you there was the smallest part of you that wanted to bump into him now that he was all cleaned up, crack a few jokes at him, but then the other part (the hungry one) wanted sustenance far more than an annoyed grandad in your way.

“I am sorry to inform you Miss Stark but you will not be able to leave your room.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice played out around your room before your hand had even come to place itself onto the handle of your door and immediately your brows furrowed in confusion.

“Mind telling me why? Don’t tell me my dad has grounded me….again. It was a joke!”

“I am afraid it is not as simple as that. The whole tower has been placed under quarantine until further notice.”

A knot started to develop in your stomach when you heard the word ‘quarantine’ being used. If you weren’t convinced that a computer had no way of being able to tell a joke you would have sworn that this was some kind of sick prank being pulled on you.

“Wh-What’s happened?”

“The only information I have for you at this moment is that there has been an outbreak. One that must be stopped from entering the streets of the city.”

Zombies. That was your first thought. They were the thing of your nightmares ever since you stupidly allowed yourself to watch one of those films…they always started out with something like this happening. But if it was being contained in the building that meant….

“Oh god. I’m trapped in here. F.R.I.D.A.Y you need to let me out of my room now. I need to find my dad.”

“I am afraid I-I-I….I…”

Interference stopped you from hearing the computer’s voice properly and after a few seconds it cut out completely. Not only leaving you alone in your room without something to talk to but now you were able to hear exactly what was going on outside your room.

Groans….lots of them. Sounding exactly like the ones you had heard on that film. It was actually happening. Your worst fear was coming true and all the ones you cared about were out there too. Tears were about to fall from your eyes when, out of nowhere, your door seemed to just unlock itself. With F.R.I.D.A.Y seemingly out for the count you could only assume that it was something rather unwanted that had managed to open it.

Scanning your room you reached for the first item that could be used as a weapon if needed, a tennis racket to be more precise, and as your heart continued to thump inside of your chest your eyes trained themselves onto the door as a whole set of fingers crept around it and began to push it open. The groaning that accompanied it only intensified the fear you were already beginning to experience.

Gripping onto your chosen weapon tightly you raised it up above your shoulder and swung at the unidentified person, or thing, as they finally entered your room.

“STAY AWAY!!”

“Ow!” 

That voice…..it didn’t sound like a zombie at all…in fact it sounded an awful lot like….

“Steve?”

“Yes it’s Steve! Gees if I’d have known I was going to come out of this with a concussion I would never have agreed to it. You have quite the powerful hit.”

“Well what do you expect?! I thought a damn zombie was coming into my room!”

Your chest was still heaving from the adrenaline, or rather pure fear, that had been running through you as you slowly but surely lowered the racket you had just used to almost knock out Captain America himself.

“Yeah about that…”

That was when you were joined by all the other members of The Avengers, including your own dad, as they overacted a zombie walk into your room before each one of them burst out laughing.  The person right at the back whose laugh seemed to be riding over everyone else’s was Bucky who seemed to be just as hysterical as your dad had been earlier.

“What is….” Looking at each and every one of them before finally putting your gaze back onto the concussed blonde the penny finally dropped and your face hardened into an angry expression. “…seriously? You know there is a BIG difference between getting someone back for a prank and nearly scaring them to death! I could have had a heart attack or something!”

“Well to be fair I did say that you shouldn’t start something you couldn’t win.”

Bucky stepped forward and threw a playful wink in your direction – the urge to pick up the tennis racket again was hard to resist but you did...something told you that he wouldn’t take it half as well as Steve did.

“Yeah well if this was a way to get me to stop with the pranks you all have another thing coming.” You started backing out of your room, glancing at each and every one of them as a smirk tugged at your lips. “Because you’ve all just started a war that is far scarier than aliens invading city.” With that said you disappeared out of their view to conjure up your next idea.

Permanent tag list:@fallenfairy16​ @brieflybigwonderland​@frolicsomefawkes @psychicwitchphilosopher @elwenia​@imsecretlyromanburki @elaacreditava @marvel-fanfiction​@wantingtobekorra @fandom-rpblog @just-call-me-your-darling@deanwinnchesterisbae​ @gayvvarden​ @marshmellowgems11​@justreadingfics​ @cinema212​ @cassandras-musings@adellyhatter-blog​ @engineeringgirlcve​ @thewinterswimmer @buckyappreciationsociety@mizzzpink @hopelessgarbage @mary-is-a-sinner@fourtyninekirbygamzeegirl @noir-agneau

(still room on this list so if you would like to be added just let me know.)

[serenitykrp]

—WARNING : suspect may be armed and dangerous! WOO JISUNG, code named LYRA, is a CREW MEMBER on an unidentified firefly-class ship, traveling through the ‘Verse under the radar. They are known for being creative, open-minded, compassionate, sincere, and flexible, but beneath the surface, they have proven to be reckless, withdrawn, foolish, indecisive, and self-indulgent. Although their origin lies somewhere on their home planet ARIEL, they have been caught by stardust and lost to the great expanse.

YOU ARE YOUR OWN EXPLOSION, BRING US YOUR VERY BEST VIOLENCE.

jisung is many things, many contradictions. he is reckless and naïve, jumping headfirst into most situations he feels strongly about without considering the consequences, often assuming the best when he’s met with the worst. he is an idealist through and through, even though he’s had to learn to tamper that with what he knows of the world now. despite his recklessness he is often indecisive outside of what is important to him, and tends to rely on authority instead of himself. a lifetime as a son of the alliance has led him to be particularly deferential and occasionally brownnosing, but that sort of behaviour is less accepted on the ship and he’s learnt to stand up for himself (well, partially), but he’s still as eager to please as before.

his virtue is kindness; his vice is sloth. jisung is deeply empathetic and compassionate, and is always friendly and generous. sincerity comes easily to him, and he means what he says most of the time, if not all, and makes for a good listener even if he doesn’t have good advice. but he doesn’t know exactly what he wants from life, and lacks conviction in many things (especially himself). he fears emptiness, filling up the void with anything within reach, and desires a purpose he thinks the serenity will give him.

THERE IS NO NEWS, THERE IS ONLY THE TRUTH OF THE SIGNAL.

newton’s first law – on inertia

the first time he sees the serenity, it’s the day of his father’s funeral.

the world is waking up beneath him, the slow rumble of life just beginning. it’s a cruel contrast to how he feels. he hears the roar of the wind before anything else, as his mother reaches out to him, but jisung is held in rapture when the ship speeds past, sleek and sharp. it’s the first time he feels anything other than the dullness that passes for emotion since his father’s death, screeching against his breastbone, wings scraping the sides of his ribcage. and so he follows it, running through the cemetery until he can’t anymore, staring as it disappears into the clouds, still radiant.

it’s as if seeing the ship has jolted him back to life, hotwired into action. he’d applied for the military division of the alliance five times, but had always failed the psychological exam (unlike his father, who passed it on the first try, for whom he’d applied to for in the first place). it always came back, bold red letters on his screen – CONVICTION: WEAK. he hadn’t understood why that had been such a big deal. did they think he would suddenly give himself up, throw himself to the enemy?

it takes him all of the next afternoon to find it, navigating the databases he would browse for entertainment with renewed purpose. he hadn’t recognised the ship on sight – not an ariel ship, then, or part of the alliance’s fleet. perhaps military of another one of the planets? he thinks his psych evaluator would be proud of him, of the fierce conviction he has charging through his veins right now, determined to find the people who own the ship, to join whatever company or organisation or military it belongs to. anything, he thinks, to feel more than just the wretched stagnation he’s mired in, unmoving ever since his father’s death.

but it turns out they were right, and he’s thrown himself to the enemy.

instinctively he’s repelled; how could he not be, the son of an alliance colonel, the son whose father was killed in unnecessary combat. he throws up when he realises the source that’d helped him, that’d stirred him back to life, and his mother cries. it feels like betrayal, to his father’s memory and his own heart, the striking wrongness of what he wants. jisung deletes the entirety of his research on the serenity, no, he banishes it into the virtual netherworld, impossible to relocate and restore, even for a person with his skills.

going back to his day job is easy, plastering on the smile he’s known for. the company is a start-up in a sea of start-ups for video games, ariel’s most popular industry among people his age. he revamps the game he’d been working on, deletes it and starts from scratch thrice over, and finds himself crafting a story about ravagers. he deletes the game in anger, and gets himself fired the next day. it’s alright – the company is only a start-up in a sea of start-ups. he can find another job, another purpose, fill his time up with movement or employment or something. he’ll find it.

life is fucking futile.

newton’s second law – on the rate of change of momentum

jisung kicks himself back into gear, throws himself into researching even the most miniscule rumour about the famed ravage ship and its crew. he has to jump through hoops to get his file back, the one he’d hidden in the recesses of the darkweb, picking up stray pieces of information on the ravage ship collected while retrieving his research, but he finds it, eventually, and creates his own database, a private network with as many firewalls as he can develop. he sets up notifications for the smallest hint of activity from the serenity, rerouted through his network from government sources and , and he waits.

there are other crews, other ships, more widely regarded and famed than the serenity and its band of smugglers, but jisung finds himself drawn only to the serenity. it’s become an obsession, in the place of everything else he lived for, but he doesn’t have anything else to replace it.

most of the whispers don’t yield anything with regards to the crew, or the ship, but he diligently follows through with each one, trying to find the ship. he doesn’t know, honestly, what he’s going to do when he does manage to find it – it’s almost a game of chance, but one that’s skewed against him. he figures out how to hack into the communications of the alliance (it takes him a month) and to listen in on the task force (a week and a half, to interpret the code they use). it proves more useful, but only slightly.

he keeps up with news, social media, all his accounts on alert for the keywords he’s inputted, and then – there’s a sudden spike in every single one of the words he’s highlighted, ranging from angry and fearful and indignant and confused. jisung parses through the loud, opinionated pieces, about the failures of peacekeeping and the justice system, and the soft gossip that slips through most radars, except his. he finds them, eventually, smoke leading to fire and now, in a week, the serenity will stop by ariel, their planned docking station two districts away from where he lives.

it’s the exact combination of recklessness and naiveté that leads jisung to stowaway.

newton’s third law – on action and reaction

he’s found almost immediately, of course – he hadn’t expected anything less, from what he’d learnt, but he also hadn’t quite expected to be knocked out cold four minutes and a day into being on the ship.

when he wakes, it’s to the acrid smell of asphalt and fuel, and the sour copper taste of blood in his mouth. he assumes the crew’s taken the small rucksack storing his clothes and whatever tech he’d thought would be useful. it takes him a beating and interrogation and finally, verbally guiding one of the crew to access the network he’d created to prove he isn’t part of some task force, just a really fucking stupid guy. and great mercy, he’s given a chance to prove himself an asset to the crew.

they let him play to his strengths, and hacking for information is naturally his forte, even if he has to learn that listening in to the commands is not at all like giving them. he dives headlong into it, and learns to coordinate their operations with the information he finds integrating himself into the crew. jisung has to learn to bite his tongue occasionally, to know his place, and a million other things he’d never thought useful but it turns out are necessary for surviving on a ship like the serenity. but for all that they are ravagers, they are also human, he’s certain, and falls into the pace of the crew quickly.

(and yet – he spends their nights off awake in bed, until the lights from the stars and the ceiling swim into a vibrating mass, unable to shake of the feeling of guilt that creeps up whenever he lets his guard down. he blames his father, his upbringing, recalibrates his moral compass each night, and slips back into the rhythm of the ship each day.)

when the captain grudgingly accepts him, allows him a permanent room and the uniform, jisung grins and salutes them, and bites back the bile that rises in his throat. he chose this for himself, and he’s sticking to it.

[darkdescentrpg]

Congratulations, KELLY! You have been accepted as ADELAIDE WREN with the faceclaim of IMOGEN POOTS. You clearly put a lot of though behind this character, and we really like her personality and the fact that she learnt of her heritage from a young age. We’re so excited to have you! Please go through our checklist and send in your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character

Name. Kelly Pronouns. she/her Age. 18 Timezone. EST Triggers. none

In Character Full Name. Adelaide Wren 

Gender & Pronouns. Female, she/her

Age. 242 (though she stopped physically aging at 27) Species. Warlock Faceclaim. Imogen Poots, Annasophia Robb Quote. “I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my eyes and all is born again.”

Biography.

Born two years into the French Revolution, to a Mr. and Mrs.Giles and Florence Travere, when the guillotine was the most public cause of death, Adelaide Wren - born Adelaide Travere - didn’t exactly find life easy. Not only were the poverty-stricken people attempting to fight a war against the monarchy, they were fighting against an even greater enemy that was much harder to defeat: starvation. No one had enough food, and many women died during childbirth due to malnutrition. Which is why, at the beginning of Adelaide’s life, it wasn’t surprising that her mother had almost been one of those victims.Everyone had assumed the complications were normal, had looked over the baby girl and, noticing two rather large welts on her back, had characterized them simply as complications, she would be okay, she would be fine. And, she was fine, but she was rather, what some would call, odd.

Her birth also brought hysteria to her mother, had caused the woman to see strange apparitions, talk to thin air, and scream as if her whole body had been set on fire. And, Adelaide’s father, of course, blamed the girl, how could he not? His wife had been young and beautiful, and had successfully delivered another daughter just a year before and she had not caused the woman to go mad. Of course, the man tried not to play favorites, he tried not to favor Lucia over Adelaide, but that hadn’t happened. Hadn’t happened was even an understatement.

She was eleven years old when they finally grew to their full form. Those birthmarks, welts, that appeared on her back at birth, had taken eleven years, but eventually sprouted into a fair of wings. Full and darkly colored, they fluttered almost like bird wings, but could settle easily against her back if needed. She had always been a ghostly sort of girl, with large, pale eyes and hair the light shade of corn silk. She seemed almost inhuman. In fact, the wings seemed to prove that fact.

She’d been amusing herself, she remembered the day so vividly, by standing atop a wood pile, then jumping off, letting the slight rush of wind whip against the feathers in her wings. She had cut hole in the back of this particular dress and her shawl was cast on the ground beside her. Her laugh had been echoing throughout the alley. Then her father had appeared.

His eyes had seemed to pop out of his head completely, seeing his child, his daughter with a set of bird-like wings. Then, it had clicked in his head, she had been the reason Florence had turned the way she was, the reason she wasn’t right in the head. That girl wasn’t his, he’d know that, she was a spawn of the devil, of something evil. So, he’d pushed her down, off the wood pile, so she landed on her stomach, her wings splayed out against her back. She hadn’t know what he was doing, but he knew. He too the only thing he could get his hands on, an almost stake-like piece of rowan wood, and drove it over and over again into her wings. She had felt each jab like it was ripping her apart internally. His hand had slipped many atime and the wooden plank had pierced into her delicate skin. She was left bleeding, wings in tatters, lying in the dirt. She never saw her father or mother ever again.

How she got out of that situation, how she ever managed to get through the streets of Paris with no one sparing a glance for a half-dead child with wings on her back, Adelaide would never know, but somehow, as if by some compulsion, he ended up at the doorstep of a man who had a slightly purple hue to his skin, and called himself Dimitri Vice, he had been Russian, and the man had taken her inside. Eleven, perhaps, was a young age to tell a girl about how she came to be, but, Vice figured she had to know, as she had come to him in such a condition. So, the man told her all about warlocks. What they could do, where they came from, what they looked like. She hadn’t been frightened by it in the slightest. In fact, she had been repulsed by it, by them, by herself. She had been the one to torture her mother in the womb, she was the offspring of a demon, of something evil. She had believed she had been sent from God, and had been granted wings, but she was the complete opposite, she was a child of Hell itself. So, she’d run away, taking her still tattered wings with her, and had managed to keep herself alive running the streets of various cities in France, stealing food, until she was eighteen, made her way across the country to the coast, and had managed a ticket to Italy. She had always been Adelaide Travere, and had never used magic.

However, as the girl continued to make her way around Europe, as she neared the age of twenty, magic began to come out of her in spurts, of things she couldn’t control. If she was angry, and her hands were placed on metal, they could turn the metal red hot without her even realizing it. She could cause floods to flow from her fingertips when she cried, having no control over her powers or emotions. That was when she decided she was a warlock, when she looked across a train station in Rome and had seen the smallest bird perched on a branch, his wings the same color as what hers would have been, in any other circumstance, and, for the first time in years, a smile had lit her features. A wren, the smallest bird. That’s when her name changed, when she dropped the act of ever seeing her family again, of ever simply being a human being ever again.

So, for the next century, she went around Europe and Asia, seeking teachers, other warlocks, who helped her control her gift, which was very strong. She sought out the best and the worst, anyone, who could lead her in the ways of sorcery. She had learned her true father’s name. Lucifer, the Fallen Angel himself, who betrayed the angels, and whose fame preceded him. It explained the wings. And intensified the fact that she believed she was of the Devil, which, technically, she was. That is what made her emotions cause her powers, they were so strong inside of her, because of his blood running through her veins The only time she ever stopped her learning was upon hearing of her sister’s marriage, and then that she had delivered a baby. Monet, her surname had been then, and Adelaide made it back to Paris every once in awhile, wings Glamoured, just to take a look at her sister’s lineage.The first immortal heartbreak Adelaide had experienced was the death of her older sister, though it wouldn’t be the last. In 1919, she had met a man on a boat, journeying to the Americas, just as she was, after the war had been settled and those in America were disillusioned with their country, but she had found it spectacular. He was a Spaniard, his hair had been dark as well as his eyes. He had been her first love, taking her all around New York City, drinking and showing her how to live as a human for once. They’d danced ten years away before she knew it, and he had suddenly fell ill and died, all in the period of a week.

He had been her first love she had been devastated, but he had taught her how to live again, so she had. This had made her able to take the hurt she’d faced and put it behind her, toughened her up, caused her to keep her distance from people emotionally. She’d gone to many places, began selling her services to mundanes and vampires and werewolves alike. She’d had lovers on and off again, but none of them ever really held her interest. And as far as warlocks went, being nearly two hundred and fifty years old, Adelaide remained somewhat human. She sympathized with humans, she wished she could live a simplistic life. She’s cold and distrustful to many, but it takes something to crack her.

And she’d seen the Nephilim around, lurking, watching, seraph blades in their sheaths, yet she had always found them rather entitled, thinking they saved and ran the world, as they created the Accords, and she had to live by them. Her favorite thing they did, when she called in by the Clave for business, was to act like they knew more than she did about the world and those in it, as if they knew what it was like to live nearly three hundred years.

But, not all of them had been bad. Though her serious and business like exterior prevented many of them from knowing, she almost liked some of them. And, due to her pride, she couldn’t tell them that she admired some of them, the ones who truly wanted to save the world, just as she did. After all, she had fought alongside many of the Shadowhunters in the First Dark War, and she was prepared to do so again.

Additional IC Information. She is living at the Institute, ready to be there in case someone has need of her. Her warlock mark is a pair of dark, thin wings on her back - though they are torn and unhealed as they were marred by rowan wood, which weakens warlocks.